MY AUNT'S FLOWER GARDEN.
Having despatched the venerable Coligny much to her own satisfaction and
apparently to the satisfaction of her hearers, Mdlle. Honoria returned
to private life; Messieurs Philomène and Dorinet removed the footlights;
the audience once more dispersed itself about the room; and Madame
Marotte welcomed the new-comer as Monsieur Lenoir.
"_Monsieur est bien aimable_," she said, nodding and smiling, and, with
tremulous hands, smoothing down the front of her black silk gown. "I had
told these young ladies that we hoped for the honor of Monsieur's
society. Will Monsieur permit me to introduce him?"
"With pleasure, Madame Marotte."
And M. Lenoir--white cravatted, white kid-gloved, hat in hand, perfectly
well-dressed in full evening black, and wearing a small orange-colored
rosette at his button-hole--bowed, glanced round the room, and, though
his eyes undoubtedly took in both Müller and myself, looked as if he had
never seen either of us in his life.
I< saw Müller start, and the color fly into his face.
"By Heaven!" he exclaimed, "it is--it must be ... look at him,
Arbuthnot! If that isn't the man who stole my sketch-book, I'll eat
my head!"
"It _is_ the man," I replied. "I recognised him ten minutes ago, when he
first came in."
"You are certain?"
"Quite certain."
"And yet--there is something different!"
There _was_ something different; but, at the same time, much that was
identical. There was the same strange, inscrutable look, the same
bronzed complexion, the same military bearing. M. Lenoir, it was true,
was well, and even elegantly dressed; whereas, the stranger of the Café
Procope bore all the outward stigmata of penury; but that was not all.
There was yet "something different." The one looked like a man who had
done, or suffered, a wrong in his time; who had an old quarrel with the
world; and who only sought to hide himself, his poverty, and his bitter
pride from the observation of his fellow men. The other stood before us
dignified, _décoré_, self-possessed, a man not only of the world, but
apparently no stranger to that small section of it called "the great
world." In a word, the man of the Café, sunken, sullen, threadbare as he
was, would have been almost less out of his proper place in Madame
Marotte's society of small trades-people and minor professionals, than
was M. Lenoir with his _grand air_ and his orange-colored ribbon.
"It's the same man," said Müller; "the same, beyond a doubt. The more I
look at him, the more confident I am."
"And the more I look at him," said I, "the more doubtful I get."
Madame Marotte, meanwhile, had introduced M. Lenoir to the two
Conservatoire pupils and their mammas; Monsieur Dorinet had proposed
some "_petits jeux_;" and Monsieur Philomène was helping him to
re-arrange the chairs--this time in a circle.
"Take your places, Messieurs et Mesdames--take your places!" cried
Monsieur Dorinet, who had by this time resumed his wig, singed as it
was, and shorn of its fair proportions. "What game shall we play at?"
"_Pied de Boeuf_" "_Colin Maillard_" and other games were successively
proposed and rejected.
"We have a game in Alsace called 'My Aunt's Flower Garden'" said Müller.
"Does any one know it?"
"'My Aunt's Flower Garden?'" repeated Monsieur Dorinet. "I never heard
of it."
"It sounds pretty," said Mdlle. Rosalie.
"Will M'sieur teach it to us, if it is not very difficult?" suggested
Mdlle. Rosalie's mamma.
"With pleasure, Madame. It is not a bad game--and it is extremely easy.
We will sit in a circle, if you please--the chairs as they are placed
will do quite well."
We were just about to take our places when Madame Marotte seized the
opportunity to introduce Müller and myself to M. Lenoir.
"We have met before, Monsieur," said Müller, pointedly.
"I am ashamed to confess, Monsieur, that I do not remember to have had
that pleasure," replied M. Lenoir, somewhat stiffly.
"And yet, Monsieur, it was but the other day," persisted Müller.
"Monsieur, I can but reiterate my regret."
"At the Café Procope."
M. Lenoir stared coldly, slightly shrugged his shoulders, and said,
with the air of one who repudiates a discreditable charge:--
"Monsieur, I do not frequent the Café Procope."
"If Monsieur Müller is to teach us the game, Monsieur Müller must begin
it!" said Monsieur Dorinet.
"At once," replied Müller, taking his place in the circle.
As ill-luck would have it (the rest of us being already seated), there
were but two chairs left; so that M. Lenoir and Müller had to sit
side by side.
"I begin with my left-hand neighbor," said Müller, addressing himself
with a bow to Mdlle. Rosalie; "and the circle will please to repeat
after me:--'I have the four corners of my Aunt's Flower Garden
for sale--
thee, and lov'd thee, and ne'er can forget._'"
MDLLE. ROSALIE _to_ M. PHILOMÈNE.--I have the four corners of my Aunt's
Flower Garden for sale--
thee, and lov'd thee, and ne'er can forget._'
M. PHILOMÈNE _to_ MADAME DE MONTPARNASSE.--I have the four corners of my
Aunt's Flower Garden, etc., etc.
MADAME DE MONTPARNASSE _to_ M. DORINET.--I have the four corners of my
Aunt's Flower Garden, etc., etc.
Monsieur Dorinet repeats the formula to Madame Desjardins; Madame
Desjardins passes it on to me; I proclaim it at the top of my voice to
Madame Marotte; Madame Marotte transfers it to Mdlle. Honoria; Mdlle.
Honoria delivers it to the fair Marie; the fair Marie tells it to M.
Lenoir, and the first round is completed.
Müller resumes the lead :--
"_In the second grow heartsease and wild eglantine;
Fair exchange is no theft--for my heart, give me thine_."
MDLLE. ROSALIE _to_ M. PHILOMÈNE:--
"_In the second grow heartsease and wild eglantine;
Fair exchange is no theft--for my heart, give me thine_."
M. PHILOMÈNE _to_ MDLLE. DE MONTPARNASSE:--
"_In the second grow heartsease_," &c., &c.
And so on again, till the second round is done. Then Müller began
again:--
"_In the third of these corners pale primroses grow;
Now tell me thy secret, and whisper it low_."
Mdlle. Rosalie was about to repeat these lines as before; but he stopped
her.
"No, Mademoiselle, not till you have told me the secret."
"The secret, M'sieur? What secret?"
"Nay, Mademoiselle, how can I tell that till you have told me? You must
whisper something to me--something very secret, which you would not wish
any one else to hear--before you repeat the lines. And when you repeat
them, Monsieur Philomène must whisper his secret to you--and so on
through the circle."
Mdlle. Rosalie hesitated, smiled, whispered something in Müller's ear,
and went on with:--
"_In the third of these corners pale primroses grow;
Now tell me thy secret, and whisper it low_."
Monsieur Philomène then whispered his secret to Mdlle. Rosalie, and so
on again till it ended with M. Lenoir and Müller.
"I don't think it is a very amusing game," said Madame Marotte; who,
being deaf, had been left out of the last round, and found it dull.
"It will be more entertaining presently, Madame," shouted Müller, with a
malicious twinkle about his eyes. "Pray observe the next lines,
Messieurs et Mesdames, and follow my lead as before:--
'_Roses bloom in the fourth; and your secret, my dear,
Which you whisper'd so softly just now in my ear,
I repeat word for word, for the others to hear!_'
Mademoiselle Rosalie (whose pardon I implore!) whispered to me that
Monsieur Philomène dyed his moustache and whiskers."
There was a general murmur of alarm tempered with tittering.
Mademoiselle Rosalie was dumb with confusion. Monsieur Philomène's face
became the color of a full-blown peony. Madame de Montparnasse and
Mdlle. Honoria turned absolutely green.
"_Comment!_" exclaimed one or two voices. "Is everything to be
repeated?"
"Everything, Messieurs et Mesdames," replied
Müller--"everything--without reservation. I call upon Mdlle. Rosalie to
reveal the secret of Monsieur Philomène."
MDLLE. ROSALIE (_with great promptitude_):--Monsieur Philomène whispered
to me that Honoria was the most disagreeable girl in Paris, Marie the
dullest, and myself the prettiest.
M. PHILOMÈNE (_in an agony of confusion_):--I beseech you, Mam'selle
Honoria ... I entreat you, Mam'selle Marie, not for an instant to
suppose....
MDLLE. HONORIA (_drawing herself up and smiling acidly_):--Oh, pray do
not give yourself the trouble to apologize, Monsieur Philomène. Your
opinion, I assure you, is not of the least moment to either of us. Is
it, Marie?
But the fair Marie only smiled good-naturedly, and said:--
"I know I am not clever. Monsieur Philomène is quite right; and I am not
at all angry with him."
"But--but, indeed, Mesdemoiselles, I--I--am incapable...." stammered the
luckless tenor, wiping the perspiration from his brow. "I am
incapable...."
"Silence in the circle!" cried Müller, authoritatively. "Private
civilities are forbidden by the rules of the game. I call Monsieur
Philomène to order, and I demand from him the secret of Madame de
Montparnasse."
M. Philomène looked even more miserable than before.
"I--I ... but it is an odious position! To betray the confidence of a
lady ... Heavens! I cannot."
"The secret!--the secret!" shouted the others, impatiently.
Madame de Montparnasse pursed up her parchment lips, glared upon us
defiantly, and said:--
"Pray don't hesitate about repeating my words, M'sieur Philomène. I am
not ashamed of them."
M. PHILOMENE (_reluctantly_):--Madame de Montparnasse observed to me
that what she particularly disliked was a mixed society like--like the
present; and that she hoped our friend Madame Marotte would in future be
less indiscriminate in the choice of her acquaintances.
MULLER (_with elaborate courtesy_):--We are all infinitely obliged to
Madame de Montparnasse for her opinion of us--(I speak for the society,
as leader of the circle)--and beg to assure her that we entirely
coincide in her views. It rests with Madame to carry on the game, and to
betray the confidence of Monsieur Dorinet.
MADAME DE MONTPARNASSE (_with obvious satisfaction_):--Monsieur Dorinet
told me that Rosalie Desjardin's legs were ill-made, and that she would
never make a dancer, though she practised from now till doomsday.
M. DORINET (_springing to his feet as if he had been shot_):--Heavens
and earth! Madame de Montparnasse, what have I done that you should so
pervert my words? Mam'selle Rosalie--_ma chère elève_, believe me,
I never....
"Silence in the circle!" shouted Müller again.
M. DORINET:--But, M'sieur, in simple self-defence....
MULLER:--Self-defence, Monsieur Dorinet, is contrary to the rules of the
game. Revenge only is permitted. Revenge yourself on Madame Desjardins,
whose secret it is your turn to tell.
M. DORINET:--Madame Desjardins drew my attention to the toilette of
Madame de Montparnasse. She said: "_Mon Dieu!_ Monsieur Dorinet, are you
not tired of seeing La Montparnasse in that everlasting old black gown?
My Rosalie says she is in mourning for her ugliness."
MADAME DESJARDINS (_laughing heartily_):--_Eh bien--oui!_ I don't deny
it; and Rosalie's _mot_ was not bad. And now, M'sieur the Englishman
(_turning to me_), it is your turn to be betrayed. Monsieur, whose name
I cannot pronounce, said to me:--"Madame, the French, _selon moi_, are
the best dressed and most _spirituel_ people of Europe. Their very
silence is witty; and if mankind were, by universal consent, to go
without clothes to-morrow, they would wear the primitive costume of Adam
and Eve more elegantly than the rest of the world, and still lead
the fashion,"
(_A murmur of approval on the part of the company, who take the
compliment entirely aux serieux_.)
MYSELF (_agreeably conscious of having achieved popularity_):--Our
hostess's deafness having unfortunately excluded her from this part of
the game, I was honored with the confidence of Mdlle. Honoria, who
informed me that she is to make her _début_ before long at the Theatre
Français, and hoped that I would take tickets for the occasion.
MDLLE. ROSALIE (_satirically_):--_Brava_, Honoria! What a woman of
business you are!
MDLLE. HONORIA (_affecting not to hear this observation_)--
"_Roses bloom in the fourth, and your secret, my dear,
Which you whispered so softly just now in my ear,
I repeat word for word for the others to hear_."
Marie said to me.... _Tiens_! Marie, don't pull my dress in that way.
You shouldn't have said it, you know, if it won't bear repeating! Marie
said to me that she could have either Monsieur Müller or Monsieur
Lenoir, by only holding up her finger--but she couldn't make up her mind
which she liked best.
MDLLE. MARIE (_half crying_):--Nay, Honoria--how can you be so--so
unkind ... so spiteful? I--I did not say I could have either M'sieur
Müller or... or...
M. LENOIR (_with great spirit and good breeding_):--Whether Mademoiselle
used those words or not is of very little importance. The fact remains
the same; and is as old as the world. Beauty has but to will and
to conquer.
MULLER:--Order in the circle! The game waits for Mademoiselle Marie.
MARIE (_hesitatingly_):--
"_Roses bloom in the fourth, and your secret_"
M'sieur Lenoir said that--that he admired the color of my dress, and
that blue became me more than lilac.
MULLER: (_coldly_)--_Pardon_, Mademoiselle, but I happened to overhear
what Monsieur Lenoir whispered just now, and those were not his words.
Monsieur Lenoir said, "Look in"... but perhaps Mademoiselle would prefer
me not to repeat more?
MARIE--(_in great confusion_):--As--as you please, M'sieur.
MULLER:--Then, Mademoiselle, I will be discreet, and I will not even
impose a forfeit upon you, as I might do, by the laws of the game. It is
for Monsieur Lenoir to continue.
M. LENOIR:--I do not remember what Monsieur Müller whispered to me at
the close of the last round.
MULLER (_pointedly_):--_Pardon,_ Monsieur, I should have thought that
scarcely possible.
M. LENOIR:--It was perfectly unintelligible, and therefore left no
impression on my memory.
MULLER:--Permit me, then, to have the honor of assisting your memory. I
said to you--"Monsieur, if I believed that any modest young woman of my
acquaintance was in danger of being courted by a man of doubtful
character, do you know what I would do? I would hunt that man down with
as little remorse as a ferret hunts down a rat in a drain."
M. LENOIR:--The sentiment does you honor, Monsieur; but I do not see the
application,
MULLER:--Vous ne le trouvez pas, Monsieur?
M. LENOIR--(_with a cold stare, and a scarcely perceptible shrug of the
shoulders_):--Non, Monsieur.
Here Mdlle. Rosalie broke in with:--"What are we to do next, M'sieur
Müller? Are we to begin another round, or shall we start a fresh game?"
To which Müller replied that it must be "_selon le plaisir de ces
dames_;" and put the question to the vote.
But too many plain, unvarnished truths had cropped up in the course of
the last round of my Aunt's Flower Garden; and the ladies were out of
humor. Madame de Montparnasse, frigid, Cyclopian, black as Erebus, found
that it was time to go home; and took her leave, bristling with
gentility. The tragic Honoria stalked majestically after her. Madame
Desjardins, mortally offended with M. Dorinet on the score of Rosalie's
legs, also prepared to be gone; while M. Philomène, convicted of
hair-dye and _brouillé_ for ever with "the most disagreeable girl in
Paris," hastened to make his adieux as brief as possible.
"A word in your ear, mon cher Dorinet," whispered he, catching the
little dancing-master by the button-hole. "Isn't it the most unpleasant
party you were ever at in your life?"
The ex-god Scamander held up his hands and eyes.
"_Eh, mon Dieu_!" he replied. "What an evening of disasters! I have lost
my best pupil and my second-best wig!"
In the meanwhile, we went up like the others, and said good-night to our
hostess.
She, good soul! in her deafness, knew nothing about the horrors of the
evening, and was profuse of her civilities. "So amiable of these
gentlemen to honor her little soirée--so kind of M'sieur Müller to have
exerted himself to make things go off pleasantly--so sorry we would not
stay half an hour longer," &c., &c.
To all of which Müller (with a sly grimace expressive of contrition)
replied only by a profound salutation and a rapid retreat. Passing M.
Lenoir without so much as a glance, he paused a moment before Mdlle.
Marie who was standing near the door, and said in a tone audible only to
her and myself:--
"I congratulate you, Mademoiselle, on your admirable talent for
intrigue. I trust, when you look in the usual place and find the
promised letter, it will prove agreeable reading. J'ai l'honneur,
Mademoiselle, de vous saluer."
I saw the girl flush crimson, then turn deadly white, and draw back as
if his hand had struck her a sudden blow. The next moment we were
half-way down the stairs.
"What, in Heaven's name, does all this mean?" I said, when we were once
more in the street.
"It means," replied Müller fiercely, "that the man's a scoundrel, and
the woman, like all other women, is false."
"Then the whisper you overheard" ...
"Was only this:--'_Look in the usual place, and you will find a
letter_.' Not many words, _mon cher_, but confoundedly comprehensive!
And I who believed that girl to be an angel of candor! I who was within
an ace of falling seriously in love with her! _Sacredie_! what an idiot
I have been!"
"Forget her, my dear fellow," said I. "Wipe her out of your memory
(which I think will not be difficult), and leave her to her fate."
He shook his head.
"No," he said, gloomily, "I won't do that. I'll get to the bottom of
that man's mystery; and if, as I suspect, there's that about his past
life which won't bear the light of day--I'll save her, if I can."