"Why, it's just that if the outside is the same, what's inside it
isn't the same. Isn't she going to be married?"
"Yes, she's going to marry a young Huguenot, who must be somewhere
about, hiding in some corner or another. Ah! No! he isn't in a corner
either. There he is, like all the others, fluttering round 'The
Bijou.'"
"And you? You don't flutter round her?" asked M. de Juzencourt.
"I? I'd marry her--because, sooner or later, one's got to get married,
or one's parents make a fuss, because of keeping up the name, you
know--but as to fluttering round--By Jove, no! that isn't in my line!"
and then, in a languid way, he went off to Henry de Bracieux.
"How hot it is," he began, glancing at him dreamily, and speaking in a
low voice, with an affected drawl. "You are lucky not to turn red.
You've got such a complexion, though, that's true. You look like a
regular Hercules, and yet, with that, your complexion is as
delicate--"
As he was leaning towards him, and looking sentimental, Henry
exclaimed impatiently, in his full, sonorous voice:
"Oh! hang my complexion!" and turning away, he left young La Balue
planted there in the middle of the drawing-room, and went off himself
to Jean de Blaye, who, with a melancholy expression on his face, was
standing at some distance off, watching Bijou through the intricacies
of a dance, for which six partners had all tried to claim her.
When M. de Clagny approached Denyse, and bowed to her ceremoniously,
she said at once, without even returning his bow:
"Grandmamma has told me that you are going away. I am sure that it is
because of me?"
He nodded assent, and she put her little hand through his arm, and
moved in the direction of another room, which was almost empty.
"Please," she began, in a beseeching tone, "please, do not go away."
"And I, in my turn," he answered, deeply moved, "must say, please,
Bijou, do not ask what is impossible. I have not been able to be with
you without getting as foolish as all the others. I have let myself go
on dreaming, just as fools dream, and now that all is over, I must try
to become wise again, and to forget my dream, and in order to do that
I must go away, very far away, too."
"You thought that--that I should say yes?" she asked.
"Well, you were so good to me, so sweet and confiding always, that I
did hope--yes, God help me--I did hope--that perhaps you would let me
go on loving you."
"And so it was my fault that you hoped that?" she said dreamily.
"It wasn't your fault--it was mine; one always does hope what one
wants."
"Yes, I am sure that I ought not to have behaved as I did with you."
And her eyes filled with tears as she murmured, almost humbly: "I am
so sorry! will you forgive me?"
"Bijou!" exclaimed M. de Clagny, almost beside himself. "My dear
Bijou, it is I who ought to ask your forgiveness for causing you a
moment's sadness."
"Well, then, be kind--don't go away! not to-morrow, at any rate!
Promise me that you will come to Bracieux to-morrow to see us act our
play! Oh, don't say no! And then, afterwards, I will talk to
you--better than I could this evening." And gazing up at him with her
soft, luminous eyes, she added: "You won't regret coming, I am sure."
Jean de Blaye was just passing by at that moment, and Bijou stopped
him, and said, in a coaxing way:
"Won't you ask me for a waltz? do, please, you waltz so well."
And laying her hand on his shoulder, she disappeared, just as Pierrot
arrived to claim his dance.
"Leave your cousin in peace," said M. de Jonzac, who was seated on a
divan watching the dancing. "You are much too young to ask girls to
dance with you--I mean girls like Bijou."
"Ah, how old must I be then before I can ask them--not as old as you,
I suppose?"
"You certainly have a nice way of saying things."
"I say, father, why do Jean and Henry say that young La Balue gets to
be worse and worse form?"
"Young La Balue? Oh, I don't know."
"They say that he makes himself up."
"That's true."
"And that he gets to be worse and worse form! How?"
"If you want to know how, you have only to ask your cousins: they will
tell you."
"They won't, though! I asked them, and Jean just said, 'Don't come
bothering here.' Are we going home soon?"
"Going home? why, your cousin is sure to stay for the cotillion."
"I was very stupid to come here instead of staying with M. Giraud and
the abbe."
"Ah, by the bye, why didn't he come--M. Giraud? Bijou asked for an
invitation for him."
"Yes, but he wouldn't come: he is awfully down in the dumps, and has
been for some time. He doesn't eat, and he doesn't sleep either;
instead of going to bed, he goes off walking by the river all night."
"And you don't know what's the matter with him?"
"The matter with him! I think it is Bijou that is the matter with
him."
"What do you mean? Bijou the matter with him?"
"Why, yes, it's the same with Jean, and Henry, and Paul. You can see
very well, father, that they are all running after her, can't you? not
to speak of old Clagny, who isn't worth counting now." He stopped a
minute, and then finished off, in a sorrowful way: "and not to speak
of me either, for I don't count yet."
"Oh! you exaggerate all that," said M. de Jonzac, quite convinced that
his son was in the right, but not wanting to own it. "Bijou is
certainly very pretty, and it is not surprising that--"
Pierrot interrupted his father eagerly.
"Oh! it isn't that she is just pretty only, but she is good, and
clever, and jolly, and everything. They are quite right to fall in
love with her, and, if I were only twenty-five--"
"If you were twenty-five, my dear young man, she would send you about
your business, as she does the others."
"That's very possible," replied Pierrot philosophically, but at the
same time sadly; and then, pointing to Bijou, who was just standing
talking to Jeanne Dubuisson in the middle of the room, he said: "Isn't
she pretty, though, father? Just look at her; she is dressed
absolutely like Jeanne, their dresses are just alike, stitch for
stitch, as old Mere Rafut says. I'm sure that, if they mixed them up
when they were not in them themselves, there'd be no telling which was
which after; and yet like that on them, I mean, they don't look alike
at all! Do you think I might venture to ask her for a dance,
father--Jeanne Dubuisson?"
"Oh, yes; she is good-hearted enough to give you one!"
A minute or two later and Jeanne went off with Pierrot for the next
dance. M. Spiegel crossed over to Bijou, and asked her for the waltz
which was just commencing, but she shook her head, saying:
"I am so tired, if you only knew!"
"Only just a little turn, won't you?" he begged. "Ever since the
beginning of the evening I have not been able to get a single waltz
with you."
"Oh, no; please don't ask me! I do want to rest; I--" and then,
suddenly making up her mind to speak out, she said, "Well, then, no;
it isn't that--I know I am not clever at telling untruths--I am not at
all tired, but I don't want to waltz with you, because--"
"Because?"
"Because I am afraid of hurting Jeanne's feelings--"
"Hurting Jeanne's feelings! But how?" he asked, in surprise.
"Well, it sounds very vain what I am going to say, but I must tell you
all the same. Why, I think that Jeanne worships you to such a degree
that she is jealous of everyone who approaches you, or who speaks to
you, or who looks at you even!"
M. Spiegel looked displeased; he knitted his brows, and his
placid-looking face suddenly took a hard expression.
"She has told you so?"
Bijou answered with the eagerness and embarrassment of anyone feeling
compelled to tell an untruth.
"Oh, no--no, I have just imagined it myself; you know I am so fond of
Jeanne! I know all that passes in her mind, and I should be so
wretched if I caused her any unhappiness--or even the slightest
anxiety; do you understand what I mean?"
"I understand that you are just an angel of goodness, mademoiselle,
and that it is no wonder they are all so fond of you!"
Bijou was looking down on the floor, her breath coming and going
quickly, a faint flush had come into her cheeks, and her nostrils were
quivering, as she listened silently to the young professor's words.
He put his arm round her waist, took her little hand in his, as she
offered no resistance, and whirled her off into the midst of the
dance. M. Spiegel waltzed divinely, and Bijou was passionately fond of
the waltz _a trois temps_. With a flush on her cheeks, her eyes
half-closed, and her lips parted, showing her dazzling white teeth,
she went on whirling round as long as the orchestra played. Several
times she passed quite close to Jeanne, without even seeing her poor
friend, who was being jerked about by Pierrot. The youth kept treading
on his partner's toes, or knocking her against the furniture; and
when, now and again, Jeanne would stop to get breath, Pierrot would
chatter away most eloquently about all kinds of sports, of which she
was absolutely ignorant.
"You know," he said, putting out his enormous foot and his formidable
knee, "I am a very second-rate dancer, but I'm very good at football.
Our team is going to play a match this winter against the
Pont-sur-Loire team; you ought to see it; it will be first-class! I
keep goal; you should just see what jolly kicks--"
He broke off as Jeanne did not speak. She was looking uneasily at her
_fiance_ as he passed and re-passed, apparently happy in guiding Bijou
along through the rapid whirl of the dance.
"I am boring you," said Pierrot; "shall we go on now?"
"No," she replied, in a changed voice; "I do not feel quite myself,
and it is so warm! Will you take me across to papa--he is playing
cards over there. I should like to go home!"
Whilst they were on their way to M. Dubuisson, Bijou stopped M.
Spiegel just near the orchestra; and said, in a laughing voice:
"Why, you are indefatigable--one must get one's breath, though;
besides, the waltz is just finishing now!"
She glanced at the four wretched musicians, who were in a deplorable
state, with their shiny-looking coats, their limp shirt-fronts, and
their faces bathed in perspiration.
"Why, Monsieur Sylvestre!" she suddenly exclaimed. "Good evening,
Monsieur Sylvestre! Well, I never! I didn't expect to see you!"
The poor fellow looked up eagerly, and, gazing at Bijou, with his
soft, blue eyes full of deep distress, he stammered out:
"I did not expect to be seen either, mademoiselle!"