THE DENIS FAMILY.
Madame Denis did not think it proper that two young persons as innocent
as her daughters should breakfast with a young man who, although he had
been only three days in Paris, already came in at eleven o'clock at
night, and played on the harpsichord till two in the morning. In vain
the Abbe Brigaud affirmed that this double infraction of the rules of
her house should in no degree lower her opinion of his pupil, for whom
he could answer as for himself. All he could obtain was that the young
ladies should appear at the dessert; but the chevalier soon perceived
that if their mother had ordered them not to be seen, she had not
forbidden them to be heard, for scarcely were they at table, round a
veritable devotee's breakfast, composed of a multitude of little dishes,
tempting to the eye and delicious to the palate, when the sounds of a
spinet were heard, accompanying a voice which was not wanting in
compass, but whose frequent errors of intonation showed lamentable
inexperience. At the first notes Madame Denis placed her hand on the
abbe's arm, then, after an instant's silence, during which she listened
with a pleased smile to that music which made the chevalier's flesh
creep, "Do you hear?" she said. "It is our Athenais who is playing, and
it is Emilie who sings."
The Abbe Brigaud, making signs that he heard perfectly, trod on
D'Harmental's foot under the table, to hint that this was an opportunity
for paying a compliment.
"Madame," said the chevalier, who understood this appeal to his
politeness perfectly, "we are doubly indebted to you; for you offer us
not only an excellent breakfast, but a delightful concert."
"Yes," replied Madame Denis, negligently, "it is those children: they do
not know you are here, and they are practicing; but I will go and tell
them to stop."
Madame Denis was going to rise.
"What, madame!" said D'Harmental, "because I come from Ravenne do you
believe me unworthy to make acquaintance with the talents of the
capital?"
"Heaven preserve me, monsieur, from having such an opinion of you," said
Madame Denis, maliciously, "for I know you are a musician; the lodger on
the third story told me so."
"In that case, madame, perhaps he did not give you a very high idea of
my merit," replied the chevalier, laughing, "for he did not appear to
appreciate the little I may possess."
"He only said that it appeared to him a strange time for music. But
listen, Monsieur Raoul," added Madame Denis, "the parts are changed now,
my dear abbe, it is our Athenais who sings, and it is Emilie who
accompanies her on the guitar."
It appeared that Madame Denis had a weakness for Athenais, for instead
of talking as she did when Emilie was singing, she listened from one end
to the other to the romance of her favorite, her eyes tenderly fixed on
the Abbe Brigaud, who, still eating and drinking, contented himself with
nodding his head in sign of approbation. Athenais sang a little more
correctly than her sister, but for this she made up by a defect at least
equivalent in the eyes of the chevalier. Her voice was equally vulgar.
As to Madame Denis, she beat wrong time with her head, with an air of
beatitude which did infinitely more honor to her maternal affection than
to her musical intelligence.
A duet succeeded to the solos. The young ladies appeared determined to
give their whole repertoire. D'Harmental, in his turn, sought under the
table for the abbe's feet, to crush at least one, but he only found
those of Madame Denis, who, taking this for a personal attention, turned
graciously toward him.
"Then, Monsieur Raoul," she said, "you come, young and inexperienced, to
brave all the dangers of the capital?"
"Yes," said the Abbe Brigaud, taking upon himself to answer, for fear
that D'Harmental might not be able to resist answering by some joke.
"You see in this young man, Madame Denis, the son of a friend who was
very dear to me" (the abbe put his table-napkin up to his eyes), "and
whom, I hope, will do credit to the care I have bestowed on his
education."
"And monsieur is right," replied Madame Denis; "for, with his talents
and appearance, there is no saying to what he may attain."
"Ah! but, Madame Denis," said the Abbe Brigaud, "if you spoil him thus I
shall not bring him to you again. My dear Raoul," continued the abbe,
addressing him in a paternal manner, "I hope you will not believe a word
of all this." Then, whispering to Madame Denis, "Such as you see him, he
might have remained at Sauvigny, and taken the first place after the
squire. He has three thousand livres a year in the funds."
"That is exactly what I intend giving to each of my daughters," replied
Madame Denis, raising her voice, so as to be heard by the chevalier, and
giving a side-glance to discover what effect the announcement of such
magnificence would have upon him.
Unfortunately for the future establishment of the Demoiselles Denis, the
chevalier was not thinking of uniting the three thousand livres which
this generous mother gave to her daughters to the thousand crowns a year
which the Abbe Brigaud had bestowed on him. The shrill treble of
Mademoiselle Emilie, the contralto of Mademoiselle Athenais, the
accompaniment of both, had recalled to his recollection the pure and
flexible voice and the distinguished execution of his neighbor. Thanks
to that singular power which a great preoccupation gives us over
exterior objects, the chevalier had escaped from the charivari which was
executed in the adjoining room, and was following a sweet melody which
floated in his mind, and which protected him, like an enchanted armor,
from the sharp sounds which were flying around him.
"How he listens!" said Madame Denis to Brigaud. "'Tis worth while taking
trouble for a young man like that. I shall have a bone to pick with
Monsieur Fremond."
"Who is Monsieur Fremond?" said the abbe, pouring himself out something
to drink.
"It is the lodger on the third floor. A contemptible little fellow, with
twelve hundred francs a year, and whose temper has caused me to have
quarrels with every one in the house; and who came to complain that
Monsieur Raoul prevented him and his dog from sleeping."
"My dear Madame Denis," replied the abbe, "you must not quarrel with
Monsieur Fremond for that. Two o'clock in the morning is an unreasonable
time; and if my pupil must sit up till then, he must play in the daytime
and draw in the evening."
"What! Monsieur Raoul draws also!" cried Madame Denis, quite astonished
at so much talent.
"Draws like Mignard."
"Oh! my dear abbe," said Madame Denis, "if you could but obtain one
thing."
"What?" asked the abbe.
"That he would take the portrait of our Athenais."
The chevalier awoke from his reverie, as a traveler, asleep on the
grass, feels a serpent glide up to him, and instinctively understands
that a great danger threatens him.
"Abbe!" cried he, in a bewildered manner, "no folly!"
"Oh! what is the matter with your pupil?" asked Madame Denis, quite
frightened.
Happily, at the moment when the abbe was seeking a subterfuge, the door
opened, and the two young ladies entered blushing, and, stepping from
right to left, each made a low courtesy.
"Well!" said Madame Denis, affecting an air of severity, "what is this?
Who gave you permission to leave your room?"
"Mamma," replied a voice which the chevalier recognized, by its shrill
tones, for that of Mademoiselle Emilie, "we beg pardon if we have done
wrong, and are willing to return."
"But, mamma," said another voice, which the chevalier concluded must
belong to Mademoiselle Athenais, "we thought that it was agreed that we
were to come in at dessert."
"Well, come in, since you are here; it would be ridiculous now to go
back. Besides," added Madame Denis, seating Athenais between herself and
Brigaud, and Emilie between herself and the chevalier, "young persons
are always best--are they not, abbe?--under their mother's wing."
And Madame Denis presented to her daughters a plate of bon-bons, from
which they helped themselves with a modest air which did honor to their
education.
The chevalier, during the discourse and action of Madame Denis, had time
to examine her daughters.
Mademoiselle Emilie was a tall and stiff personage, from twenty-two to
twenty-three, who was said to be very much like her late father; an
advantage which did not, however, suffice to gain for her in the
maternal heart an affection equal to what Madame Denis entertained for
her other two children. Thus poor Emilie, always afraid of being
scolded, retained a natural awkwardness, which the repeated lessons of
her dancing-master had not been able to conquer.
Mademoiselle Athenais, on the contrary, was little, plump, and rosy;
and, thanks to her sixteen or seventeen years, had what is vulgarly
called the devil's beauty. She did not resemble either Monsieur or
Madame Denis, a singularity which had often exercised the tongues of the
Rue St. Martin before she went to inhabit the house which her husband
had bought in the Rue du Temps Perdu. In spite of this absence of all
likeness to her parents, Mademoiselle Athenais was the declared favorite
of her mother, which gave her the assurance that poor Emilie wanted.
Athenais, however, it must be said, always profited by this favor to
excuse the pretended faults of her sister.
Although it was scarcely eleven o'clock in the morning, the two sisters
were dressed as if for a ball, and carried all the trinkets they
possessed on their necks, arms, and ears.
This apparition, so conformable to the idea which D'Harmental had formed
beforehand of the daughters of his landlady, gave him a new subject for
reflection. Since the Demoiselles Denis were so exactly what they ought
to be, that is to say, in such perfect harmony with their position and
education, why was Bathilde, who seemed their equal in rank, as visibly
distinguished as they were vulgar? Whence came this immense difference
between girls of the same class and age? There must be some secret,
which the chevalier would no doubt know some day or other. A second
pressure of the Abbe Brigaud's foot against his made him understand
that, however true his reflections were, he had chosen a bad moment for
abandoning himself to them. Indeed, Madame Denis took so sovereign an
air of dignity, that D'Harmental saw that he had not an instant to lose
if he wished to efface from her mind the bad impression which his
distraction had caused.
"Madame," said he directly, with the most gracious air he could assume,
"that which I already see of your family fills me with the most lively
desire to know the rest. Is not your son at home, and shall not I have
the pleasure of seeing him?"
"Monsieur," answered Madame Denis, to whom so amiable an address had
restored all her good humor, "my son is with M. Joulu, his master; and,
unless his business brings him this way, it is improbable that he will
make your acquaintance."
"Parbleu! my dear pupil," said the Abbe Brigaud, extending his hand
toward the door; "you are like Aladdin. It is enough for you to express
a wish, and it is fulfilled."
Indeed, at this moment they heard on the staircase the song about
Marlborough, which at this time had all the charm of novelty; the door
was thrown open, and gave entrance to a boy with a laughing face, who
much resembled Mademoiselle Athenais.
"Good, good, good," said the newcomer, crossing his arms, and remarking
the ordinary number of his family increased by the abbe and the
chevalier. "Not bad, Madame Denis; she sends Boniface to his office with
a bit of bread and cheese, saying, 'Beware of indigestion,' and, in his
absence, she gives feasts and suppers. Luckily, poor Boniface has a good
nose. He comes through the Rue Montmartre; he snuffs the wind, and says,
'What is going on there at No. 5, Rue du Temps Perdu?' So he came, and
here he is. Make a place for one."
And, joining the action to the word, Boniface drew a chair to the table,
and sat down between the abbe and the chevalier.
"Monsieur Boniface," said Madame Denis, trying to assume a severe air,
"do you not see that there are strangers here?"
"Strangers!" said Boniface, taking a dish from the table, and setting it
before himself; "and who are the strangers? Are you one, Papa Brigaud?
Are you one, Monsieur Raoul? You are not a stranger, you are a lodger."
And, taking a knife and fork, he set to work in a manner to make up for
lost time.
"Pardieu! madame," said the chevalier, "I see with pleasure that I am
further advanced than I thought I was. I did not know that I had the
honor of being known to Monsieur Boniface."
"It would be odd if I did not know you," said the lawyer's clerk, with
his mouth full; "you have got my bedroom."
"How, Madame Denis!" said D'Harmental, "and you left me in ignorance
that I had the honor to succeed in my room to the heir apparent of your
family? I am no longer astonished to find my room so gayly fitted up; I
recognize the cares of a mother."
"Yes, much good may it do you; but I have one bit of advice to give you.
Don't look out of window too much."
"Why?" asked D'Harmental.
"Why? because you have a certain neighbor opposite you."
"Mademoiselle Bathilde," said the chevalier, carried away by his first
impulse.
"Ah! you know that already?" answered Boniface; "good, good, good; that
will do."----"Will you be quiet, monsieur!" cried Madame Denis.
"Listen!" answered Boniface; "one must inform one's lodgers when one has
prohibited things about one's house. You are not in a lawyer's office;
you do not know that."
"The child is full of wit," said the Abbe Brigaud in that bantering
tone, thanks to which it was impossible to know whether he was serious
or not.
"But," answered Madame Denis, "what would you have in common between
Monsieur Raoul and Bathilde?"
"What in common? Why, in a week, he will be madly in love with her, and
it is not worth loving a coquette."
"A coquette?" said D'Harmental.
"Yes, a coquette, a coquette," said Boniface; "I have said it, and I do
not draw back. A coquette, who flirts with the young men and lives with
an old one, without counting that little brute of a Mirza, who eats up
all my bon-bons, and now bites me every time she meets me."
"Leave the room, mesdemoiselles," cried Madame Denis, rising and making
her daughters rise also. "Leave the room. Ears so pure as yours ought
not to hear such things."
And she pushed Mademoiselle Athenais and Mademoiselle Emilie toward the
door of their room, where she entered with them.
As to D'Harmental, he felt a violent desire to break Boniface's head
with a wine-bottle. Nevertheless, seeing the absurdity of the situation,
he made an effort and restrained himself.
"But," said he, "I thought that the bourgeois whom I saw on the
terrace--for no doubt it is of him that you speak, Monsieur Boniface--"
"Of himself, the old rascal; what did you think of him?"
"That he was her father."
"Her father! not quite. Mademoiselle Bathilde has no father."
"Then, at least, her uncle?"
"Her uncle after the Bretagne fashion, but in no other manner."
"Monsieur," said Madame Denis, majestically coming out of the room, to
the most distant part of which she had doubtless consigned her
daughters, "I have asked you, once for all, not to talk improprieties
before your sisters."
"Ah, yes," said Boniface, "my sisters; do you believe that, at their
age, they cannot understand what I said, particularly Emilie, who is
three-and-twenty years old?"
"Emilie is as innocent as a new-born child," said Madame Denis, seating
herself between Brigaud and D'Harmental.
"I should advise you not to reckon on that. I found a pretty romance for
Lent in our innocent's room. I will show it to you, Pere Brigaud; you
are her confessor, and we shall see if you gave her permission to read
her prayers from it."
"Hold your tongue, mischief-maker," said the abbe, "do you not see how
you are grieving your mother?"
Indeed Madame Denis, ashamed of this scene passing before a young man on
whom, with a mother's foresight, she had already begun to cast an eye,
was nearly fainting. There is nothing in which men believe less than in
women's faintings, and nothing to which they give way more easily.
Whether he believed in it or not, D'Harmental was too polite not to show
his hostess some attention in such circumstances. He advanced toward her
with his arms extended. Madame Denis no sooner saw this support offered
to her than she let herself fall, and, throwing her head back, fainted
in the chevalier's arms.
"Abbe," said D'Harmental, while Boniface profited by the circumstance to
fill his pockets with all the bon-bons left on the table, "bring a
chair."
The abbe pushed forward a chair with the nonchalance of a man familiar
with such accidents, and who is beforehand quite secure as to the
result.
They seated Madame Denis, and D'Harmental gave her some salts, while the
Abbe Brigaud tapped her softly in the hollow of the hand; but, in spite
of these cares, Madame Denis did not appear disposed to return to
herself; when all at once, when they least expected it, she started to
her feet as if by a spring, and gave a loud cry.
D'Harmental thought that a fit of hysterics was following the fainting.
He was truly frightened, there was such an accent of reality in the
scream that the poor woman gave.
"It is nothing," said Boniface, "I have only just emptied the
water-bottle down her back. That is what brought her to; you saw that
she did not know how to manage it. Well, what?" continued the pitiless
fellow, seeing Madame Denis look angrily at him; "it is I; do you not
recognize me, Mother Denis? It is your little Boniface, who loves you
so."
"Madame," said D'Harmental, much embarrassed at the situation, "I am
truly distressed at what has passed."
"Oh! monsieur," cried Madame Denis in tears, "I am indeed unfortunate."
"Come, come; do not cry, Mother Denis, you are already wet enough," said
Boniface; "you had better go and change your linen; there is nothing so
unhealthy as wet clothes."
"The child is full of sense," said Brigaud, "and I think you had better
follow his advice."
"If I might join my prayers to those of the abbe," said D'Harmental, "I
should beg you, madame, not to inconvenience yourself for us. Besides,
we were just going to take leave of you."
"And you, also, abbe?" said Madame Denis, with a distressed look at
Brigaud.
"As for me," said Brigaud, who did not seem to fancy the part of
comforter, "I am expected at the Hotel Colbert, and I must leave you."
"Adieu, then," said Madame Denis, making a curtsey, but the water
trickling down her clothes took away a great part of its dignity.
"Adieu, mother," said Boniface, throwing his arms round her neck with
the assurance of a spoiled child. "Have you nothing to say to Maitre
Joulu?"
"Adieu, mauvais sujet," replied the poor woman, embracing her son, and
yielding to that attraction which a mother cannot resist; "adieu, and be
steady."
"As an image, mother, on condition that you will give us a nice little
dish of sweets for dinner."
He joined the Abbe Brigaud and D'Harmental, who were already on the
landing.
"Well, well," said the abbe, lifting his hand quickly to his waistcoat
pocket, "what are you doing there?"
"Oh, I was only looking if there was not a crown in your pocket for your
friend Boniface."
"Here." said the abbe, "here is one, and now leave us alone."
"Papa Brigaud," said Boniface, in the effusion of his gratitude, "you
have the heart of a cardinal, and if the king only makes you an
archbishop, on my honor you will be robbed of half. Adieu, Monsieur
Raoul," continued he, addressing the chevalier as familiarly as if he
had known him for years. "I repeat, take care of Mademoiselle Bathilde
if you wish to keep your heart, and give some sweetmeats to Mirza if you
care for your legs;" and holding by the banister, he cleared the first
flight of twelve steps at one bound, and reached the street door without
having touched a stair.
Brigaud descended more quietly behind him, after having given the
chevalier a rendezvous for eight o'clock in the evening.
As to D'Harmental, he went back thoughtfully to his attic.