We are just going; we are all downstairs, and I left my Marquise
Pompadour to come in search of you; I should say that that was rather
kind on my part, eh?"
"Parbleu! you couldn't leave me here and go off without me, when my
clothes are at your rooms."
"Come, come; we are going to have supper at Vachette's."
"Why not at the Maison d'Or? it's nearer. You see I never thought to
bring a cloak or an overcoat to wear over my disguise. You have a
carriage, I trust?"
"A carriage, when there are eight of us! We will run; the weather's fine
and that will warm us up."
Edmond was in the vestibule with his little _débardeur_ on his arm; two
young men, friends of Freluchon and himself, each accompanied by an
unmasked domino, and the little woman dressed as a Louis XV marchioness
completed the party. The merry band walked away, shouting _oh!_ and
_éh!_ as the custom is during the Carnival, each with his chosen
companion on his arm; our widower alone had no one, which fact did not
prevent his shouting louder than the others, for he said to himself:
"If I haven't a woman on my arm at this moment, I flatter myself that
the one I have captivated is worth more alone than all four of their
supper companions."
They arrived at Vachette's, where Freluchon, being a man of forethought,
had engaged a private room beforehand. The table was laid; the ladies
removed their hoods, caps, gloves, everything that would interfere with
their eating; and they all whispered and laughed as they glanced at the
Spaniard.
"Who on earth is this tall scarecrow without a lady?" they asked
Freluchon; "is he a provincial on his first visit to Paris?"
"No, mesdames," Freluchon replied, "he's a widower who has sworn to
remain faithful to his defunct spouse; he's a male Artemis; he is
Orpheus, who has lost his Eurydice and is constantly looking for her. If
you wish, I will make him weep in a moment."
"No, no, thanks! we prefer to laugh. But why does he wear a disguise if
he's so grief-stricken?"
"To disguise his grief; he is persuaded that he has no right to divert
himself except in that costume."
"Mesdames, don't you think Freluchon is stuffing us?"
"To table! to table!"
"See, there are ten places, and only nine of us," observed one of the
young men.
"True," replied Freluchon, "I ordered supper for ten because I thought
that Chamoureau would bring a lady."
"That's so!" cried Edmond; "I hadn't noticed. How's this, my dear
Chamoureau, didn't you make a little acquaintance at the ball? What does
this mean? how, then, did you pass the time?"
Chamoureau drank a glass of chablis and replied with a triumphant smile:
"I beg pardon, messieurs, I beg pardon! if I haven't brought a lady to
supper, that doesn't prove by any means that I am not so highly favored
as you are by--by Cupid!"
"The deuce! do you mean it, Chamoureau?" cried Freluchon; "you've been
favored by Cupid! Come, tell us about it! When I found you in the foyer,
looking, as if stupefied, at the remains of a stick of candy, I supposed
that your presents had been repulsed with loss."
"Oh! not by any means! on the contrary my candy was not once repulsed;
in fact, I have given away a great deal of it during the night!"
"Really! then you have had a number of intrigues."
"I have had nothing else all night long; I left one woman to take
another, and vice versa!"
"What a Lovelace!"
"How is it, monsieur," said the little Pompadour, "that after making so
many conquests at the ball, you haven't brought a single one to supper?
That is not very gallant for a hidalgo!"
"Pardon me, pretty marchioness," rejoined Chamoureau, after tossing off
another glass of chablis, with which he constantly watered his oysters,
"my first conquests were worth little more than a stick of candy.
Frankly, I found that they were not what I was looking for, so I dropped
them, as Henri Monnier says in his _Famille Improvisée_. But the
last--oh! the last----"
"She dropped you, I suppose," said Freluchon.
"No indeed! _Diantre!_ let us not joke about her! it's a very serious
affair with her. Ah! Dieu!"
"Ha! ha! what a touching sigh!"
"Well, monsieur, why didn't you bring that one to supper--the one who is
responsible for that groan?"
"I promise you that I would have asked nothing better; indeed, I invited
her, but she refused--she couldn't come."
"Perhaps she was afraid of compromising herself?"
"I don't say that; and yet I can understand that in her position----"
"Ah! she's a woman with a position! Is she on the stage?"
"Well, hardly! no, no! she's a very great lady."
"About five feet six?"
"I am not joking; she's a lady of the very best society."
"Ha! ha! you rascal of a Chamoureau! I believe you are laughing at us."
"Or that she laughed at him!"
"I assure you that she did not laugh at me! In the first place, she
unmasked, and I saw the most captivating face. These ladies are very
pretty most assuredly, but my superb brunette would throw them all into
the shade!"
"I say, Spaniard, do you know that you make us tired with your
brunette!"
"If she wouldn't come to supper with you," said little Amélia, "that
proves right away that she was intending to take supper with someone
else, doesn't it, mesdames?"
"Yes, yes; Amélia is right."
"Oh! you are mistaken, mesdames; it isn't at all as you imagine."
"Well, Chamoureau, where do you expect to see your wonderful conquest
again? has she given you an assignation?"
"She has done more, my dear fellow: she has given me her address, with
permission to call on her--at her hôtel!"
"So she has a hôtel--furnished probably."
"And when he goes to ask for his charmer, the concierge will say: 'It's
on such a floor, monsieur, such a number; the numbers are on the
doors'--Ha! ha!"
"Laugh away! laugh all you please! 'He laughs best who laughs last!'"
"The moment you begin on proverbs, I haul down my flag. But where does
your conquest live? Perhaps I know her house."
"Freluchon, ask me for my fortune, ask me for my life----"
"You wouldn't give 'em to me, I know; go on."
"I would give them to you rather than tell you the name and abode of my
fascinating brunette!"
"Oho! is it as bad as that?"
"I have sworn to be discreet, and I shall keep my oath! If I hadn't
promised, it would be a different matter."
"Inasmuch as you have sworn--you will tell us the whole thing at
dessert!"
"Never!--better a thousand times to be a widower!"
"Bravo! that's not bad! I'll remember it!"
"You are making me talk nonsense, Freluchon; but in Carnival time----"
"Join me, mesdames and messieurs; I drink to Chamoureau's mysterious
conquest!"
"Good! here's her health!"
"For my part, I won't drink it," said the marchioness; "don't you do it,
mesdames; he had the face to say that she was prettier than we are!"
"Forgive him, mesdames; passion makes him blind."
"I am rather inclined to think that he's drunk."
Chamoureau did not stint himself while the young men were talking and
laughing with their companions, but addressed himself constantly to the
decanters within his reach, saying to himself:
"Ah! these strumpets won't drink to my conquest! All right! I'll drink
to her myself, in madeira and champagne! To your health, seductive,
enrapturing Sainte-Suzanne! You are as far above these lights-o'-love as
the oak is above the weed! You could crush them by a single glance; your
eyes shine like real diamonds, whereas all these creatures are simply
white topazes--To your health again, divine woman! I drain my glass to
you."
By dint of drinking of healths and draining his glass, Chamoureau
fuddled himself completely; then his head grew heavy, his eyes closed,
and he fell asleep.
Our sleeper was awakened by a succession of light taps on his shoulder.
He opened his eyes and looked about him. He was still in the small room
where he had supped, surrounded by the remains of the feast; but all his
table companions had disappeared, and he saw nobody but the waiter who
had roused him.
"Hallo! what's the meaning of this?" murmured Chamoureau, rubbing his
eyes. "Where are my friends--those gentlemen--and their ladies?"
"They all went away just a minute ago, monsieur."
"What! they went away without me, without waking me!"
"Yes, monsieur, they did it on purpose. I was going to wake you, but
Monsieur Freluchon said: 'No, don't wake him till we're gone; that will
teach him to go to sleep in our company!'"
"Oh! how stupid! some silly nonsense, some wretched joke all the time!
Why, bless my soul! it's broad daylight!"
"Parbleu! long ago, monsieur! it's nearly eight o'clock."
"Sapristi! and I have to go to Freluchon's to change my clothes!
However, there are plenty of cabs, luckily. Is there anything for me to
pay, waiter?"
"No, monsieur, it's all paid."
"Good!--To think that I haven't an overcoat to hide this costume!
Freluchon is to blame for that; 'you won't be cold,' he said.--It isn't
the cold I'm afraid of, but the street urchins.--Call a cab, waiter;
have it come as near the door as possible."
"Bless me! monsieur, they ain't allowed to come on the sidewalk."
"Well, then, right in front of the door."
Chamoureau covered himself with his cloak as well as he could; he pulled
his cap over his eyes, drew his chin inside his ruff, pulled up his
boot-tops, and when the waiter announced that the cab was waiting below,
rushed down the stairway and across the sidewalk so recklessly that he
nearly overturned a woman carrying a tray of bread.
The woman shouted after Chamoureau, who had knocked off three loaves,
calling him: "Beast, brute, dirty scum!" But he let her shout, for he
was already out of sight inside the cab; he gave Freluchon's address and
the cab drove away followed by the hoots of the urchins who had gathered
to see a masker, and by the shrieks of the woman with the tray on her
head, who was obliged to pick up her loaves.
They soon reached the house on Rue Saint-Georges in which Freluchon
lived. Chamoureau leaped out of his cab under the porte cochère, and
hastily paid the cabman and dismissed him; because, in his everyday
clothes, he could easily walk home.
That transaction completed, the widower said to the concierge:
"I am going up to Freluchon's room."
"What for?" demanded the concierge, eyeing the Spaniard from head to
foot.
"What for? why, don't you know me? I am Chamoureau, Freluchon's best
friend."
"Yes, I recognize monsieur now, in spite of his masquerade."
"I am going up to my friend's room to get my clothes--unless Freluchon
left them with you."
"Monsieur Freluchon left nothing with me, and it ain't worth while for
you to go up, as there's no one there. Monsieur Freluchon didn't come
home to sleep."
"What's that you say, concierge? it's impossible."
"It's the truth, monsieur."
"Then you have my clothes here?"
"No, monsieur. Last night, if you remember, Monsieur Freluchon came in
with a boy who had a bundle--your clothes, no doubt."
"Well, yes; what then?"
"The boy was going to leave the bundle here, but Monsieur Freluchon had
to go upstairs to get some money, so he took the bundle up, saying:
'Chamoureau would rather dress in my room than in yours.'"
"Very good; then my clothes are upstairs. Let's go and look for them; if
Freluchon isn't there, you must have his key."
"That's just what I haven't got; sometimes he leaves it with me, but he
generally takes it with him; and he didn't leave it last night."
"By Jove! this is too much! my clothes are in his room, he knows it, he
has his key in his pocket, and he doesn't come home to sleep! What is
going to become of me in my Spanish costume? It's an outrage to have to
go home dressed like this!"
"Monsieur can take a cab."
"I know that well enough; it wasn't worth while to send the other one
away. But I've got to get out of the cab; and I live on Carré
Saint-Martin, where there are always lots of people passing. If my
house had a porte cochère, I would have the cab drive under it; but
no--it's a house-door; and my concierge and all the neighbors will see
me come home in this state! Sapristi! this is an infernal trick for
Freluchon to play on me.--But I have an idea. Concierge, suppose you
lend me some of your clothes?"
"Oh! they wouldn't fit, monsieur; I am short and thin, and monsieur is
tall and stout."
"That's so; I'm a fine man, and you are not. Well, I must swallow the
absinthe. Concierge, be kind enough to step out and find me a cab."
"But I am all alone, you see, monsieur; my wife has gone out to work and
I can't leave my post."
"I will look out for your post--never fear."
"But that isn't the same thing; you don't know the tenants."
"That's of no consequence. Go; my reputation is at stake. Here's forty
sous for your trouble; I pay well, you see."
"All right, I'll go; I hope I'll find one on the stand."
"A cab I must have, dead or alive! do you hear?"
The concierge decided, albeit regretfully, to desert his post, and
Chamoureau stepped inside.
"Luckily the porte cochère is open," he said, "I shall not have to pull
the string!"
VIII
A FALSE CONCIERGE
Chamoureau concealed himself in the farthest corner of the concierge's
room, in an old armchair that might have served the purpose of a couch.
He placed himself with his back to the window through which visitors
addressed the functionary whom he represented, and, in order that he
might be observed less easily, he removed his plumed cap and replaced it
with an old cap that he found on a table.
So long as people simply passed and repassed the lodge, the false
concierge did not put himself out; he did not turn his head, but
contented himself with cursing Freluchon, who had put him in that
embarrassing position.
But soon someone opened the window, a man's head appeared, and a loud
voice inquired:
"Is Monsieur Delaroche in?"
Chamoureau did not stir and did not say a word. The voice repeated,
louder than before:
"Is Monsieur Delaroche in?"
The same immobility and the same silence on Chamoureau's part. Whereupon
the voice assumed a formidable intonation, capable of breaking all the
panes of the window.
"Sacrebleu! are you deaf? are you still asleep? This is the third time
I've asked if Monsieur Delaroche was in, and you don't answer! What kind
of a damned concierge is this!--Wait a bit, till I come into your lodge;
I'll shake you and teach you to sleep at this time of day!"
Chamoureau, who was not at all anxious that that gentleman should enter
the lodge and shake him, decided to answer without turning:
"He's in! yes, yes, he's in!"
"Why didn't you say so then, you old fool?"
"He's in! he's in!"
The loud-voiced individual went upstairs, and our widower hurled himself
in his chair once more, muttering:
"After all, I was a great fool not to answer. Probably no one has gone
out so early as this, and I don't risk anything by saying they're in;
and then, even if they should be out, what do I care?"
Soon various other persons appeared at the window.
"Is Madame Duponceau visible?"
"Yes, yes, she's there."
"Is Monsieur Bretonneau in?"
"He's there, he's there."
"Is there anybody at Mademoiselle Crémailly's?"
"She's there, she's there."
"Then she's back from the country?"
"She's there!"
"In the country, or here?"
"She's there, she's there!"
"Sapristi! tell me what you mean, concierge: is Mademoiselle Crémailly
still in the country, or has she come back to Paris?"
"She's there, she's there!"
"Very well, then I'll go up. Still on the fourth?"
"She's there!"
"Heavens! what a donkey that concierge is! one would say he was a
parrot--repeating the same thing over and over again."
"I'm beginning to get infernally tired of this!" said Chamoureau to
himself; "altogether too many people come to this house. The deuce! now
it's raining great guns! and my cab doesn't come! Can it be that there
wasn't one on the square? that's usually the way when it rains hard. O
Freluchon! you shall pay me for this! The rascal probably went home with
his Pompadour!"
Soon a lady's maid appeared at the window.
"Madame's paper, please, Monsieur Mignon," she said. "I am a little
late--not that madame's hair is dressed yet, but I must have time to
read the paper before she does, as usual; especially as there's a most
intensely exciting _feuilleton_ just now. It's too splendid for
anything, I tell you: four killed already, and one that they're getting
ready to poison! and a woman who always has a dagger hidden in her belt!
and a château where there are subterranean vaults with instruments of
torture, and the author describes the way of using them! There's an
interesting executioner and there's corpses and tortured people on every
page! Oh! such a lovely novel! Now that's what I call literature, and I
know what I'm talking about; I don't read all this mawkish stuff, not
me! I want a crime, a murder, in every chapter; then I say: 'there's an
author who has a wonderful talent and who has studied murders to some
purpose.'--But look here! I believe you're not listening to me! And
where's my paper? God bless my soul! he's still asleep! Well, I'll come
in and get it myself."
The young servant entered the room, looked over several papers that lay
on the table, and took her own, saying:
"You must have been kept up late last night, old Mignon? I'll bet it was
because Madame Duponceau went to the ball. There's a woman who's up to
snuff; she tells her old beau that she has a sick headache or one of her
nervous attacks, and means to go to bed at nine o'clock; so she
dismisses him with an: 'I'm going to dream of you, my loulou!' and he's
no sooner out of sight than she skips off to the ball with another man.
But still it's the custom, it's done everywhere, as the song says:
"Trompe-moi, trompons-nous,
C'est un plaisir assez doux!"
Bless my soul! he's really asleep.--Au revoir, Père Mignon. Take this,
to wake you up, as you haven't anything to say to me."
And the girl brought her fist down hard on the old cap that Chamoureau
had put on his head; then she ran laughing from the room, while the
unlucky widower, who dared not stir and had taken the blow without a
word, with difficulty extricated himself from the cap which was jammed
down on his nose.
"That servant is very familiar with the concierge," he muttered; "if I
were Madame Mignon, I would keep an eye on her.--And that cab doesn't
come! It seems as if everything was against me!--But what's all this
noise in the house? One would think there was a row on every floor. Gad!
I wish I were a long way from here!"
There was, in fact, a great shouting on the second floor, a quarrel on
the third, and a lively exchange of insulting epithets on the fourth.
One would have thought that the house was given over to pillage; all the
tenants were in the halls, the uproar increased momentarily and seemed
to approach the concierge's lodge. Soon the voices became distinct;
everybody seemed to be coming downstairs. Some persons went out; but the
tenants collected in front of the concierge's window and began to abuse
him.
"So this is the way you carry out my orders, is it, you blockhead of a
concierge?" cried a young man wrapped in a handsome dressing-gown. "It
seems to me that I pay you well enough for you to give some attention to
what I say to you. I told you last night that if anyone should ask for
me this morning, I was not at home, not at home to anybody! it was
impossible to misunderstand me. I added simply: 'You will not let
anything come up but my breakfast, my chocolate, which they make for me
in the restaurant close by.'--A child always brings it, so that you
couldn't make any mistake about that. But lo and behold! someone rings;
I say to myself: 'there's my chocolate.' I open the door, and what do I
see? my tailor! A creature whom I left because he dressed me wretchedly,
and now he insists on my paying him a regular apothecary's bill--a bill
in which he charges sixty francs for a waistcoat! And that fellow
shrieks and threatens me! I was tempted to pitch him over the
stair-rail.--And it's you, you idiot, who are responsible for this
scene! Pay a tailor! In God's name, what do you take me for?"
Next came a lady's maid in a frenzy.
"Why did you let anybody go up to Madame Duponceau's? You know very well
that madame is never visible before one o'clock at the earliest. You
have been told enough times! I had gone out to buy some rolls; the bell
rang; madame thought I had forgotten my key and opened the door, and
there was a strange gentleman who's paying court to madame and has never
seen her except by candle-light. You can judge of my mistress's despair,
for her face wasn't made up; every morning she puts on white and pink
and red and black--paints herself all colors--to say nothing of the
false hair and artificial teeth and substitutes of all sorts.--And to
show herself to monsieur in that state! she was furious; she slammed the
door in his face, saying: 'I'm not in!' But the trick was turned all the
same; the stranger stood like a statue on the landing, and when I came
back my mistress paid me and discharged me; I've lost my place--and all
because this old goose of a concierge said that Madame Duponceau was
visible at this time of the morning! But this ain't the last of it; I
must have another place or else I'll complain to the landlord and have
you sent about your business."
"I," said a man, "asked him ten times if Mademoiselle Crémailly had come
back from the country; he finally said yes, so I went up to the fourth
floor--and when one's lame, it isn't pleasant to go up four flights of
stairs--and I found nobody but the cook, breakfasting with a soldier.
Very pretty, on my word! I'll let Mademoiselle Crémailly know about it."
"I was breakfasting with my cousin, monsieur; that ain't a crime. He was
on duty last night at the Opéra, and he looked in this morning to say
good-day; where's the harm? I asked him to breakfast with me--just a
boiled egg--there's no need of making a long story out of that. You can
tell Mademoiselle Crémailly if you want to. I'm not afraid of her
discharging me for such a little thing as that. This concierge hasn't
got two sous' worth of common sense, to tell you mademoiselle had come
back from the country, when she's going to be there at least two weeks
longer! He must have had too much white wine this morning."
A lady enveloped in a simple _peignoir_ cried even louder than the
others:
"You are a miserable villain, concierge! You will be the cause of a
duel. Moncornu found Hippolyte in my room. To be sure, Hippolyte was
doing nothing wrong there; he had taken off his overcoat, it is true,
but only so that he could light my fire better. Every day a man takes
off his overcoat to kindle a lady's fire. That's the way the most
harmless actions are twisted into crimes in a jealous rival's eyes.
Moncornu rushed upon Hippolyte, using language which I will not repeat.
Hippolyte is not the man to allow himself to be insulted without
replying. I tried in vain to pacify them. From words they came to
threats, and finally they went out to fight. O God! if Hippolyte is
killed, I shall not survive him! If Moncornu is the one, I shall never
be consoled; still I would rather it should be Moncornu than
Hippolyte.--You horrid brute of a concierge, you are the cause of all
this! Your orders were to say: 'Madame is at the bath,' as usual, and
you said: 'She's there, she's there!' You're a blockhead, a donkey! you
never were fit to keep a door!"
All these clamors and upbraidings assailed Chamoureau's ears without
inducing him to turn his head; on the contrary, he slunk down still
deeper into his chair and tried to show nothing but his cap. But the
obstinate silence of the person whom they all supposed to be the
concierge simply intensified the general indignation. They shouted at
him:
"What have you to say to all this?"
"Come, speak!"
"Tell us why you did it."
"You see, he won't say a word!"
"Monsieur doesn't even condescend to answer us."
"Don't you hear us, concierge? have you suddenly gone deaf?"
"Can it be that he's still asleep?"
"That isn't possible; we've made noise enough to wake the dead."
"This silence isn't natural!"
"He doesn't move; can he have had a stroke of apoplexy?"
"We must find out what the matter is. The poor fellow! here we are
abusing him, and perhaps he is dead!"
Meanwhile someone had opened the door, and several persons rushed in at
the same moment. They ran to the easy-chair and began by turning it
round so that they could see the person seated in it; whereupon there
were exclamations of surprise on every side.
"It isn't Père Mignon!"
"It isn't the concierge!"
"It's a false concierge!"