depriving myself of that happiness so long is that----"
"Well, monsieur? it is that----?"
"That---- Look you, madame, I propose to be quite frank; have I your
permission?"
"Why, of course."
"I propose to tell you of all the torments I have suffered. In the first
place, I love you--but you are well aware of that; I have told you so
before."
"Yes, you have told me so; but that is no reason why it should be true.
All men say as much to a woman who is at all attractive, and of whom
they flatter themselves that they can make the conquest."
"But, in that case, madame, what must a man do to prove that he really
loves?"
"In the first place, it seems to me that he should not let centuries
pass without calling; you must agree, monsieur, that that is a curious
way of proving one's love."
"But, madame, when he is received coldly, when the person in question
does not deign to address a word to him, after having given him some
reason to hope; and when she laughs and talks incessantly with other men
before his eyes, without any pity for the anguish he suffers----"
Armantine laughed aloud, disconcerting me so that I dared not go on.
"Ah!" she cried, when her paroxysm of merriment had subsided; "that is
to say, monsieur, that if a woman was weak enough to listen to you and
believe you, she must never listen to any other man's gallant speeches?
When a gentleman accosted her, she should run away at once, lest he be
tempted to offer her his homage? Perhaps, too, she ought to make wry
faces, squint when anyone looks at her, for fear she might be thought
pretty?"
"Oh! madame!"
"If that's your way of thinking, monsieur, I must warn you that you
would very often have occasion to lose your temper with me. I like to
have men pay court to me; I like to have them think me pretty--yes, and
tell me so. I don't know whether that is coquetry, but, in my opinion,
there is no greater pleasure for a woman."
"No greater pleasure? Not even love? Not even to be loved sincerely?"
"One does not prevent the other."
"Well! tell me that you love me; let me prove to you that I adore you,
and I promise not to be jealous of all the men I see fluttering about
you. When a man has the certainty of being preferred to all others, then
suspicion is an insult. But is he not justified in trembling, when he
has received no favor?"
Armantine did not reply, but she was deeply moved. I tried to take
advantage of her agitation to embrace her; but she pushed me away and
eluded me, saying:
"What are you doing? Someone may come at any minute. I cannot deny
myself to callers; the servants know that you are here."
"Very well! meet me somewhere. Do you not go out whenever you choose?"
"Yes, but---- One thing I will not do, and that is, go to your rooms.
Someone might see me go in, and I should be ruined! I am not a
_gaillarde_, like Frederique, you know."
"Let us meet somewhere."
"I should never dare to go alone to any out-of-the-way place."
"You can take a cab."
"I should be afraid, all alone, in a cab. No, monsieur, I am no
dare-devil; I am very cowardly."
"Say rather, madame, that you do not choose to grant me an assignation."
"Ah! monsieur is losing his temper already. Well, let me see; to-morrow
I am to go to the Champs-Elysees with Madame Gerbancourt and her
sister--two _petites-maitresses_ whom you must have seen here. They are
not beautiful, but they are always beautifully dressed. Madame
Gerbancourt has rather a good figure; her sister is too thin."
"I haven't the faintest recollection of the ladies."
"No matter! You will find us sitting opposite the Cirque."
"Very good!"
"It will be about two o'clock. You may come and speak to me. They live
near by, on Rue de Ponthieu. When they start to go home, I will say that
I am waiting for Frederique. They will leave me, I will stay with you,
and then----"
"Oh! you are adorable! I swear to love you all my life!"
"Really? I thought that you were in love with Madame Dauberny too?"
"With your friend? No, indeed; I have never dreamed of such a thing! I
would have been glad to obtain her friendship; her original character
pleased me mightily; but I have failed to do it. You must have noticed
how coldly she treated me yesterday."
"Yes, I did. But I don't know what has been the matter with her lately;
she is so capricious; I see much less of her than I used."
The doorbell rang, announcing visitors. I took leave of Madame
Sordeville at once, fearing that something might happen to make her
change her mind; for she was very capricious, too, and it was not safe
to give her time to retract.
"Until to-morrow!" I said, very tenderly, as I left the room.
I was so happy, that I trod on air. I was sure of my triumph now. When a
woman gives us an assignation, is it not equivalent to a surrender? And,
under such circumstances, the man who does not grasp the opportunity is
an idiot--or something worse!
XXIX
AN ENCOUNTER ON THE CHAMPS-ELYSEES
The day of my assignation was magnificently clear. I gave thanks to the
weather; for if it had been stormy, she would not have been likely to
walk on the Champs-Elysees; and the day before, in my delight, I had not
thought of that. But everything seemed propitious, and I fairly swam in
bliss. Pomponne curled his lip slightly, as he looked at me with an
idiotic expression; the fellow evidently considered himself very
penetrating. I thought of nothing but Armantine; I was really in love
with her, and it seemed to me that I had never loved other women so
dearly.
While dressing, I found Madame Dauberny's note in my pocket. I was
overjoyed that I had not heeded her advice; but still I reread the note
once more. I determined that, when I met the writer, she would have to
explain what she meant by that warning.--"Our brief intimacy," she
wrote, "has left in my heart marks of its passage."--Really, I should
not have suspected it, in view of her present treatment of me.
I was on the Champs-Elysees a little before two. It was cold; but the
sun was so bright that there were many people driving and walking. The
Champs-Elysees is the general rendezvous of the world of fashion.
Magnificent equipages passed back and forth, or vanished in the
direction of the Bois de Boulogne, escorted by innumerable equestrians,
who always glanced inside the carriages as they passed; and when they
saw a young and beautiful woman, they instantly assumed a more dashing
air, and made their steeds prance and curvet, so that horse and rider
might be admired at the same time.
The pedestrians, too, were very numerous; for winter costumes have a
charm of their own, and the cloaks and furs in which a pretty woman
wraps herself sometimes form an admirable foil for delicate features or
dainty graces: the flowers we find under the snow seem fairer than
others. You need not cry out--there are flowers under the snow.
My own attire was irreproachable, and I flattered myself that it was in
excellent taste. I strolled along, beaming with anticipation, toward the
appointed place. There were many people seated, but I soon spied her I
sought. Armantine was there, with two ladies whom I recognized as having
seen among her guests. The three vied with one another in elegance. I
approached them and bowed, as if the meeting were accidental.
Madame Sordeville welcomed me with the sweetest glance, pointing to a
chair by her side. We exchanged the customary greetings, and I seated
myself beside Armantine.
"So you are not afraid of the cold?" she said laughingly.
"When ladies defy it, what would you think of me if I were afraid of
it?"
"And then," said one of her companions, "if we had to pass the whole
winter indoors, for fear of the cold, I fancy we should not be very
fresh in the spring."
The ladies criticised the costumes and equipages of those who passed,
and I put in a word or two now and then. But I was rather distraught,
for I was dreaming of the happiness which I hoped for and expected, and
I was counting the minutes. My plan was already formed. There are some
excellent restaurants on the Champs-Elysees, with charming private rooms
into which one can slip without being seen. If she refused to go to a
restaurant, there were plenty of cabs; I had only to hire one with
blinds and tell the driver to take us outside the walls.
I glanced at Armantine from time to time and motioned toward her two
companions, murmuring under my breath words which she understood; for
she whispered:
"Be patient a while."
At last, about three o'clock, Madame Gerbancourt said to her sister:
"We must be thinking about going home, for we are to have company
to-day, you know.--Are you going soon, my dear?"
This question was addressed to Armantine, who replied:
"Madame Dauberny promised to join me here, and I shall wait for her. If
Monsieur Rochebrune will honor me with his company till she comes, it
will be very kind of him. It is putting his good nature to a severe
test, but we have only one cavalier, and I must make the most of him."
I hastened to reply that I was entirely at her service; my heart beat
fast with joy, for I thought that the two sisters were going away at
last. But the younger said, as she drew her cloak about her:
"Oh! we have time enough; it isn't three o'clock. Your people won't come
so early; we don't dine at three!"
"But they are provincials, my dear, and they think it's more polite to
come and bore us two hours ahead of time."
"So much the worse for them! I am going to stay here until my watch says
three o'clock."
"Obstinate!--You see, monsieur, she is younger than I am, and I always
have to give way to her."
I was strongly tempted to reply that she did very wrong to give way. But
I contented myself with tearing savagely at whatever I found in my
pocket. There are times when one vents one's spleen on whatever happens
to be at hand.
Suddenly we heard sounds of a dispute; the sounds drew nearer and came
to a standstill about ten yards behind us, and a man's voice, which,
although a little hoarse, rang out like a clarinet, cried:
"I tell you, you shan't go off like that! I've been looking for you long
enough. It ain't an easy job to run you to earth; but I've got you now,
and I'll hang on to you!"
"Come, come, no nonsense, Pere Piaulard!" replied another voice; "you
shouldn't insult a friend. I'm a friend, and you're a friend; you're an
old friend, an old fellow I respect. Don't shake me like that! _Cre
coquin!_ I don't like to be shook!"
The tones of this second voice struck me as familiar; I could not say at
once of whom they reminded me, yet I was conscious of a vague feeling of
alarm, of apprehension; I listened anxiously for what was to come.
The clarinet-like voice continued, more forcibly than before:
"Friends has nothing to do with it! Customers is all I know. You owe me
money, and you've got to pay me; the last time you came to my place to
drink with your girl, you didn't so much as ask my leave not to pay, but
skulked off with your good-for-nothing slut through the back door, while
the waiter was busy somewheres else."
"As I hadn't any money, what would have been the sense of my asking
leave not to pay? Would that have put any _stuff_ in my pockets?"
"When you haven't got anything to pay with, you shouldn't go and drink
at a place where you owe twenty-two francs already."
"Well, that's a good one! I owe you money, and you want me to take away
my custom, eh? Why, your wits are wool gathering just now, old
Piaulard."
"A fine thing your custom is! Monsieur Ballangier's custom! My word!
You're the kind of customer that ruins a place!"
I could doubt no longer: the name of Ballangier rang in my ears; indeed,
I had already recognized the man; my face was flushed with shame, and my
heart stood still. I dared not stir, or turn my head. I longed to be a
hundred miles away. If I could have made my escape unseen by that man, I
would have fled without a word. But he would probably see me. What was I
to do? How could I hide from him?
All these thoughts passed through my mind at the same instant. The
ladies spoke to me, but I did not reply; I had no idea what I was
saying. Doubtless my perturbation was reflected on my face, for
Armantine cried:
"What on earth is the matter with you, Monsieur Rochebrune? You seem to
be in pain; aren't you well?"
I stammered something, but I was listening--listening intently. It
seemed to me that the voices came still nearer.
"Come now, Pere Piaulard, let alone of my coat! it's old, and you'll
tear it."
"I won't let you go. Pay me what you owe me; with the old account, it's
twenty-nine francs. I need the money; pay me, or come before the
magistrate; he'll have you arrested as a good-for-nothing, a tramp, a
vagabond, as you are--and something worse, perhaps."
"I say! no rough words, or I'll lose my temper, too!"
"Mon Dieu!" said Madame Gerbancourt; "are those horrid men coming any
nearer?"
"One of them is very drunk!" said Armantine. "How disgusting! Why, the
men ought to be arrested! If we hadn't Monsieur Rochebrune with us, I
should have run away long ago."
"Oh! mon Dieu! I believe they're going to fight; and they're coming this
way!"
"Oh! look, monsieur!"
I did not turn my head; I pretended not to hear, pulled my hat over my
eyes, and sat perfectly still.
Suddenly all three of the ladies jumped to their feet with a cry of
alarm. Armantine seized my arm, so that I was compelled to rise.
Ballangier, trying to escape from his persecutor, had almost fallen over
our chairs, to one of which he clung to keep from falling. The wretch
was drunk, but not enough so to prevent his recognizing familiar faces;
and the fatality which had brought him to that exact spot decreed that
he should be at my side when I rose to follow the ladies.
The miserable sot uttered a cry of joy on recognizing me, and, seizing
my overcoat with both hands just as his creditor descended upon him, he
cried:
"Stop, Piaulard! you may go to the devil now! Here's a friend who'll
answer for me--pay for me if necessary. Ah! he has the _stuff_, he has;
and I forbid you to call me a thief before him; if you do, I'll have a
crack at you in my turn--ugly mug!"
I stood as if petrified. I had not the strength to move a muscle. The
great colossus, who was on the point of striking Ballangier, paused in
amazement, and stared at me with the expression of one who cannot
believe his ears. As for the ladies, they continued to pull me by the
arm.
"For heaven's sake, push that man away!"
"Do come, Monsieur Rochebrune!"
"That drunkard takes you for a friend of his; drive him away, do! Come!
let's not stay here. Oh! it's horrible to come in contact with such
people!"
But I was incapable alike of speech and action. Moreover, Ballangier did
not relax his grasp on my coat.
"Drive me away!" he cried; "me--his friend--the most intimate friend
he's got in the world! I think I see him driving me away, good old
Charles! Charlot--Rochebrune, if you like that better. Ah! you think I'm
mistaken, do you? you think I don't know him? Just ask him if he don't
know me; ask him, and see what he says. Piaulard, you're an old ass! I'm
not a vagabond and a tramp, for I've got friends to answer for
me.--You'll answer for me, won't you, Charles? you won't let this old
rascal arrest me?"
Since Ballangier had mentioned my name, and I, by my silence, had
admitted that he was not lying when he said that he knew me, Madame
Gerbancourt, her sister, and even Armantine herself, had dropped my arm;
and, as a crowd soon collected about us, the first two speedily
disappeared, and were lost in the multitude. Armantine also walked away,
but I could see that she was still listening.
"If it's true that monsieur knows you, and if he chooses to pay your
bill," said tall Piaulard, walking toward me, "that makes a difference,
and things can be settled without a row."
I realized at that moment all the falseness and absurdity of my
position; I realized also how foolish it is to be afraid of prejudice
and the opinion of gossips. Passing abruptly from shame to anger, I
extricated myself roughly from Ballangier's grasp, and, seizing him by
the collar, shook him violently.
"Yes, I am unfortunate enough to know you!" I cried; "twenty times I
have helped you, rescued you from want; but that gives you no right to
make demands on me in a public place, when you are drunk. I will do
nothing more for you, you wretch! And I forbid you ever to speak to me
again!"
Excited by anger and disgust, I pushed Ballangier so violently that he
fell with a crash among the chairs, at some distance. The crowd, always
easily swayed in favor of the man who makes the most noise, began to
laugh when the drunken man fell. I heard Monsieur Piaulard's voice
threatening his debtor anew, but I was no longer disturbed by that; I
had recovered my courage. I pushed my way through the crowd and looked
about for Armantine; but the first person I saw was Madame Dauberny,
standing in a group of people a few steps away. She seemed to be
inquiring what had happened. I paid no attention to Frederique; it was
Madame Sordeville whom I was looking for. I walked on, and ere long I
was at a distance from the crowd and from the spot where that sickening
scene had taken place. I spied a woman, alone, and walking very fast. It
was Armantine. I ran after her, overtook her, and detained her.
"Ah! I have found you out at last!" I cried.
She turned and looked at me. Her expression was cold, and her manner
almost impertinent; she stared at me a moment as if she did not know me,
but concluded at last to answer:
"Ah! is it you, monsieur? How is it that you didn't stay with
your--intimate friend?"
"Oh! I trust, madame, that you do not suppose that I associate with that
wretch! There are some things, circumstances, which appear very odd,
very strange at first sight, but which can easily be explained!"
"But I beg you to believe, monsieur, that I do not desire any
explanation; you are entirely at liberty to select your friends in
whatever social rank you choose."
"How strangely you speak to me, madame! What a manner! What icy
coldness! What a change in your demeanor!"
"Oh! you are mistaken, monsieur; I assure you that my manners are the
same as always. To be sure, they may, perhaps, differ a little from
those of the people you associate with. But, excuse me, monsieur, I
cannot stand here any longer, and I am not going in the same direction
that you are."
"What! you are going to leave me!"
"Adieu, monsieur!--By the way, I must tell you that I do not receive any
more. We have ceased to have our evenings at home."
She gave me a disdainful nod, and, without listening to my efforts to
detain her, walked away so rapidly that I soon lost sight of her.
I was stupefied; that woman's conduct seemed to me so outrageous, so
insulting, that it was some time before I could believe in its reality.
It seemed to me that I must have been dreaming. For a moment, I was
tempted to run after her; but I had enough control over myself to
understand that it would be weak and cowardly to make any further
attempt to speak to a woman who had treated me with such contempt. And I
had believed that she loved me! Ah! how I had fooled myself! Because a
drunken man in cap and blouse had called me his friend, because I had
admitted that I knew him, I became a compromising personage, and she
could no longer afford to see me or speak to me! she had even given me
to understand that she did not propose to receive me at her own house!
and all that, without listening to what I might have to say, without
finding out whether I could or could not explain that unpleasant
adventure. Ah, madame! I thought that you had a heart; I found that I
was mistaken, that you had a mind only; and that is a very barren mind
in which no trace of sentiment can ever be detected.
I stood a long while on the same spot, absorbed in my thoughts. But the
throng had largely disappeared, and the Champs-Elysees was becoming
deserted; snowflakes falling on my face explained the sudden change. The
weather was no longer the same; the radiant sun was obscured by clouds,
which, with the snow, gave a totally different aspect to the scene.
"Well!" I said to myself, as I walked slowly away, "nothing is constant,
in the heavens or on earth! We must submit to the storms of the heart,
as to those of nature."
As I retraced my steps toward the scene of that unfortunate meeting, I
remembered the paroxysm of anger to which I had given way; and now that
I was once more able to reflect, I was stirred by a feeling of regret
and pity when I thought how violently I had thrown to the ground the
poor wretch who sought my assistance. I knew that his conduct was most
reprehensible, that he had abused my kindness a hundred times; but to
spurn him, to throw him into the dust! Was it possible that I had really
treated him so? That woman's presence, my anger, my humiliated
self-esteem, had led my reason astray. What could have become of the
poor fellow? He had fallen at my feet without attempting to defend
himself, without a complaint; and it seemed to me that I had read only
surprise and grief in his eyes, instead of anger. If that other man had
had him arrested!--and that seemed to be his intention, for I had not
thought of giving him what Ballangier owed him, and that was the first
thing that I should have done. How could I find out how the episode had
ended?
I looked about; I recognized the place where I was sitting with the
three ladies, but there was no one there. The snow had put all the
idlers to flight. The people who passed walked rapidly, with their heads
down; there were no hucksters, no itinerant singers, nobody to whom I
could apply for information. I walked on, but had not taken thirty steps
when I saw a man leaning against a large tree, apparently unconscious of
the snow that covered his cap and blouse. He stood quite still, but his
eyes were turned in my direction. I walked toward him: it was
Ballangier.
He looked at me with a shamefaced, timid expression; when he saw me
walking sadly toward him, I fancied that tears glistened in the eyes
which no longer dared to meet mine; and when I stood beside him, and was
on the point of apologizing for pushing him away so roughly, he fell at
my feet, on the snow, and humbly begged my pardon for speaking to me
when I was with friends.
Ah! I was no longer angry with him; I made haste to raise him, and shook
him by the hand. I believe that my eyes too were moist.
"You forgive me, then?" murmured Ballangier. "I was drunk, you see; I
had been drinking; if it hadn't been for that, I wouldn't have spoken to
you. I should have remembered that one time a scene almost like this
broke off a marriage you had in view.--But you punished me, and you did
right; I deserved it. Still, you know, I am little used to such lessons
from you. _Dame!_ when you threw me down, that sobered me off in an
instant. You were in such a rage with me--and you've always been so
good-natured before. But you did well; yes, you did well to treat me
like that, for it shook me all up. I realized that I was a great scamp,
a miserable wretch; that I was always on hand to do you a bad turn, to
put you to shame; although I didn't say--no, it don't make any
difference how drunk I may be, I'll never say that thing. But I promise
you that this will be the last. You'll never have any reason to complain
of me again."
"I believe you, Ballangier, I believe you! But your conduct is no excuse
for mine. I ought not to have treated you harshly, as I did just now.
You were drunk, and I should have taken pity on your condition. When I
think that I pushed you so roughly that you fell, I am terribly angry
with myself. Come, give me your hand again, and forgive me for throwing
you down."
Ballangier took my hands and effusively pressed them in his, while great
tears fell from his eyes and he muttered: