"It's a masker."
"He isn't masked."
"It's a masker, all the same; that's what they call people disguised."
"It's a thief who broke into the lodge while the concierge was away."
"He's taken his cap already."
"Answer; what are you doing here, merry-andrew?"
Chamoureau decided to rise; he tossed the concierge's cap aside, resumed
his own cap with the plumes, and replied, affecting a dignified air:
"In the first place, messieurs and mesdames, I am not a thief and you
will soon have proof that I am not. I am waiting for the concierge to
return; he has gone to get me a cab, for you will understand that I
could not go home on foot in this disguise."
"But you don't belong in the house. Why did you come here?"
"I came here, intending to go to the apartment of my intimate friend
Freluchon, on the fourth floor, opposite Mademoiselle Crémailly, because
my clothes are there and I expected to put them on. But Freluchon did
not come home, which was very wrong on his part, as he has my clothes."
"Oh! it very often happens that he doesn't come home at night," murmured
the young servant who came for the newspaper, smiling as she said it.
"You understand now, messieurs and mesdames, why I let everybody go up;
Père Mignon did not tell me his orders, he didn't have time; besides,
even if he had, I should probably have made mistakes, for I am beginning
to realize that the trade of concierge demands strict attention as well
as memory."
Chamoureau's explanation seemed plausible, but no one was willing to go
away until the concierge came. His wife arrived first, however, and when
she saw the gentleman in fancy costume in her room, she exclaimed:
"Mon Dieu! my husband has been changed! Who in the world is this
Spaniard? What's happened to Mignon? I want my husband! He's never been
to Spain!"
They strove to pacify the concierge's wife by repeating what Chamoureau
had just told them, but she refused to credit the Spaniard's story and
continued to cry:
"That ain't true, I say. Mignon wouldn't have left his post for this
disguised man that nobody knows. He took Mignon's place; what's he done
with him? If my husband don't return soon, I'll have this carnivalizer
arrested!"
But the concierge's return put an end to his wife's shrieks and to the
tenants' suspicions.
"Faith, monsieur," he said, going up to Chamoureau, "I had lots of
trouble finding a cab for you; I went to at least four stands, and not a
cab to be seen! I met an empty one at last, on Rue de Provence a minute
ago, and brought it here. But if I'd known I should be away so long, I
certainly wouldn't have done your errand for you!"
"Especially as your substitute does such nice things!" cried Madame
Duponceau's maid.
"Let me hear no more of all that nonsense!" said Chamoureau, leaving the
room.--"Your husband isn't lost, you see, Madame Mignon.--Messieurs and
mesdames, you must be convinced now that I am not a thief. I have the
honor to salute you."
With that, Chamoureau hurried to the sidewalk and was stupefied to find
there an open _milord_.
"Why, concierge," he cried, in dire distress, "I asked you to get a
closed cab, so that I couldn't be seen."
"Go and get one for yourself and leave us in peace!" exclaimed Madame
Mignon, who was still in a bad humor.
Chamoureau made the best of it, jumped into the _milord_, gave the
driver his address, and throughout the journey held his cap in front of
his face, like a fan.
IX
A BUSINESS AGENT'S OFFICE
Chamoureau occupied a very comfortable apartment on what is called the
Carré Saint-Martin, that is to say, the junction of Rue Saint-Martin and
the boulevard. There he carried on the profession of business agent; he
undertook the purchase or sale of houses, the investment of funds, the
recovery of old debts, in short, everything which business
agents--_hommes d'affaires_--generally undertake; most of them having
passed the examination for admission to the roll of advocates, and some
having even assumed that title, they are generally familiar with the
laws and with all the tricks of the profession.
Chamoureau did not lack clients, for he had the reputation of being an
honorable man, and was one in fact; in his case that quality was an
advantageous substitute for cleverness, which unfortunately is not
always a guaranty of uprightness. By which we do not mean that a man may
not be both a fool and a knave. Nature is sometimes as lavish of evil as
of good qualities.
Several persons had already called to confer with the business agent on
the morning following the Opéra ball. They had found no one but the
woman employed to do his housework, who always found the key at the
concierge's lodge. Not finding Chamoureau, she assumed that he had gone
out very early on business.
At eight o'clock, a man from the country made his appearance. He seemed
to be half-bourgeois, half-peasant; he was about fifty years of age,
short and thickset; his head was set low between his shoulders; his
features were ugly and without distinction, their only expression being
that distrust so customary among country people, who are always
suspicious of those who live in cities and believe that they are always
trying to cheat them; probably because when they themselves are at home
they have no scruples about cheating city folk.
This man asked the concierge if Monsieur Chamoureau, business agent, was
at home, and the concierge replied:
"He must be; I haven't seen him go out;" the fact being that he had not
seen him come in; but concierges do not always notice the goings and
comings of their tenants.
The little stout man started upstairs, but thought better of it and
returned to the concierge.
"I say--between you and me--this Monsieur Chamoureau who keeps a real
estate office--can I trust him? is he a good business man? You see how
it is--I'm from the country, but I don't want to get cheated here in
Paris! And, you see, I've heard as how your business agents was as
likely as not to be thieves who did their business at the expense of the
poor devils who put theirs in their hands."
"Oh! monsieur, you needn't have any fear about Monsieur Chamoureau; he's
a very square man! nobody's ever said a word against his honesty. He
pays everybody cash--even his baker; he don't owe the least bit of a
debt in the quarter!"
"Well, well! that's good enough! and he ain't a woman's man--a rake--a
spendthrift?"
"Not at all; he leads a very quiet life and don't put on any airs; he
don't stay out too late--always comes home when the theatre's out, when
he goes there. To be sure, the theatres keep it up nowadays till an hour
that makes it unpleasant for concierges--but still, that ain't Monsieur
Chamoureau's fault."
"That's good too! and is he married? has he got a wife and children?"
"No; he was married, but he's been a widower a short time; and he keeps
up his regret for his wife, which is very noble on his part; he can't
talk about her without crying."
"Oh, well! if he cries for his wife, I see that I can trust him. So I'll
just go up and hand over my papers to him. You see, it's about
collecting some money for me at some of the departments and from
notaries. They told me like this: 'You just give some business agent a
power of attorney and he'll attend to it all for you.'--So I had the
power of attorney made out with the name left blank; and you think I can
safely turn it over to your Monsieur Cha--Chamouilleau?"
"You can, monsieur; you needn't have any fear."
"In that case, I'll go up. Good-day, monsieur le concierge."
The little man arrived at Chamoureau's door on the second floor.
"Monsieur went out early," said the charwoman, "but he'll certainly be
back soon; if you'd like to wait, please take a seat."
"I'll wait as long as I've come; I'd rather wait than go back."
The countryman sat down in a sort of reception room lined with shelves
which were filled with boxes, all of which gave the room a sort of
resemblance to a solicitor's office; only the clerks were lacking. But
the sight of boxes and of docketed files of papers always produces a
great effect on clients of the type of the little thickset man. He
looked around, evidently impressed, and said to himself:
"Yes, yes! this must be a famous business agent; there's lots of papers
in them boxes!"
The countryman had been awaiting Chamoureau's return about fifteen
minutes, when another person arrived. This was a man of middle age,
with a bald head, long face and bumptious manner, who at once reminded
one of the Joseph Prudhomme so well delineated by Henri Monnier.
This gentleman, who was dressed all in black, with a white cravat, which
did not prevent his having a decidedly dirty look, entered the room with
his head in the air, saying:
"I wish to speak at once with Monsieur Chamoureau, business agent;
announce me, servant; I am Aimé-Désiré-Jules Beaubichon, professor of
bookkeeping; however, your master knows me; I have seen him twice--in
this domicile,--concerning the delicate affair, the purport of which I
have succinctly laid before him. It relates to the subject of marriage;
he has told me of a young woman whose virtue and morals he will answer
for; and I am most particular touching those qualifications, provided
that a suitable dowry be added to them, the face and form being in my
eyes mere superfluities of little importance to a housewife in watching
her soup-kettle!--I am disposed to take upon myself the bonds of
matrimony once more if all the conditions are in accord with my social
position, which, I venture to say, is as honorable as it is lucrative;
fifteen hundred francs a year, without counting gifts from pupils--when
they make any!"
The servant continued to dust the furniture as she listened to this
harangue; when it was at an end, she replied:
"Monsieur Chamoureau went out early; he's sure to be back soon; if you'd
like to wait--monsieur here has been waiting a quarter of an hour."
Monsieur Beaubichon cast a sidelong glance at the man from the country,
who put his hand to his hat; whereupon the professor concluded to touch
his own slightly and to address his companion.
"Is monsieur also awaiting Monsieur Chamoureau?"
"Yes, monsieur, with your permission."
"I have no intention of objecting. Would monsieur care to learn
bookkeeping, double or single entry?"
"Me! learn bookkeeping! God bless me! what for?"
"What for? why, in order to know it."
"And what use would it be to me?"
"Why, to keep your books; to have everything down in black and white!"
"In the first place, I haven't got any books--oh, yes! except the
_Country Cook_ for the women, and fairy stories for the young ones, and
their catechism for 'em to learn their lesson out of; but all of them
keep themselves in a closet; there ain't no need for us to learn to keep
'em."
"Dense ignorance!" muttered Monsieur Beaubichon, shrugging his
shoulders.--"Then you are not in business, monsieur?" he continued,
aloud.
"Oh, yes! I sell wine from my own vines, and fruit from the orchard when
there's a good crop!"
"Well, then you must have books to write in--'sold Monsieur So-and-So so
much; received from Monsieur Thingumbob so much.'"
"It ain't worth while, for I almost always sell for cash, and then, if
anyone does owe me money, why, there ain't no danger of my forgetting it
before he pays me."
The professor gave another shrug and began to pace the floor.
"And people say that we are going forward, they declare that our
progress is constant! But where is this boasted progress, I pray to
know, when this countryman has no ledger wherein to keep a running
account with his apricots and his pears!--Servant, your master does not
return; a pupil awaits me; I go to place my learning at his service, to
instil my knowledge into him. I will return. Beg Monsieur Chamoureau to
wait for me, and may he be pregnant with information concerning the
marriageable young lady!"
The gentleman in black having retired, the countryman said to the
charwoman:
"Who in the devil is that fellow who puffs himself out when he talks,
just exactly like a bladder when you blow it up? He looks like a
schoolmaster--with his books he wants to learn me to keep. And then I
saw how he hoisted up his shoulders and called me 'dirty'[H] under his
breath! But just let him come down our way, and I'll bet he don't so
much as know how to plant beans or hoe potatoes! All these fellows that
put on so many airs in the city ain't good for nothing in the country;
they don't know how to use a spade nor yet a pickaxe! But it's my
opinion that the man what makes the vegetables grow that you eat
deserves to be thought just as much of as that critter what makes
scrawls on books."
The servant continued to dust the furniture, nodding her head
approvingly.
"I'd like to know if your master, Monsieur Cha--Chabouleau puts on airs
and eyes country folks like that crow that just went out; because if he
does, why, I wouldn't give him any business of mine, d'ye see."
"No, monsieur, no; never fear. Monsieur Chamoureau is too well-bred not
to be polite to everybody, especially his clients. He'd take off his hat
to a child two years old, if the child should give him his business."
"All right! but seemin' to me your bourgeois is staying out a long
while."
"In Paris, monsieur, one can never be sure how long it will take to do
an errand."
"That's so; because there's so many carriages passing--that delays you.
Well, here it is raining now!"
"And monsieur didn't bring his umbrella."
"They told me nobody used umbrellas in Paris now, as there's so many
busses that folks never walk."
"That's an exaggeration, monsieur; people still go on foot when they
prefer to walk."
"They told me that there's going to be a railroad underneath Paris, so's
you can take the underground and go quicker when there's too many people
on top. That ain't a bad idea.--But, sapristi! the bourgeois don't seem
to come back."
Twenty minutes more had passed, when there was a great uproar in the
street; hoots and shouts of laughter, and yells from the street urchins.
The servant opened a window on that side to ascertain the cause of the
tumult.
The _milord_ containing our widower had stopped in front of the house,
and before he had had time to alight, a crowd had collected round the
cab, because its occupant was in plain sight.
Shouts of _"à la chienlit!"_ went up on all sides. The concierge stood
in his doorway, looking on with the rest. Chamoureau, having paid his
driver, could hardly force his way through the crowd, which yelled at
him:
"Oh! you Spaniard!"
"Just look at him! ain't he dazzling with his spangles!"
"He's a Spaniard--he's a regular sun!"
"But he'll lose his boots; he's treading on 'em!"
At last, by dint of pushing this way and that, Chamoureau reached the
door; he tried to enter in a hurry, but the concierge barred the way,
saying with an air of importance:
"What do you want? where are you going?"
"What's that? where am I going? Why, to my rooms, parbleu!"
"You have evidently made a mistake; we don't let rooms to buffoons!"
"On my word! this is too much!--How is this, concierge? don't you
recognize me--Chamoureau?"
The concierge was stupefied; he could not believe his eyes and his ears;
he could not conceive that that sedate and orderly tenant, who always
wept when his wife was mentioned, could come home at ten o'clock in the
morning, dressed as a Spaniard.
But Chamoureau left him to digest his amazement and hurried upstairs.
The servant, who had not recognized her master, had just left the
window, saying:
"It's a masker coming home from the ball! The deuce! he has made a night
of it and no mistake! this is none too early to come home!"
"Do you mean to say that balls last till the next forenoon?" asked the
countryman.
"No, monsieur, they end at daybreak, but after that the maskers go to
supper and raise the deuce at wine-shops; three-quarters of 'em get
tight and don't go home till they haven't got another sou to spend, like
this fellow who's just come into the house, I suppose. I'd like to know
who he is. He must be a regular loose fish, to come home from the ball
after ten o'clock in the morning. I'll ask the concierge who he is."
The bell rang and the woman ran to open the door.
"This time it's monsieur, sure!" she said.
But seeing before her a man in fancy costume, she was about to prevent
his entrance, as the concierge had done. But Chamoureau pushed her aside
with some force.
"Are you going to make a fool of yourself like the concierge?" he cried,
"Sapristi! here I am at home at last! thank God for that!"
He fell into a chair, snatched off his cap, unbuckled his cloak, and
shook his feet to rid himself of his top-boots, and as they were far too
large, he sent one in the face of the countryman who had been waiting so
long for him, and whom, in his hurried home-coming, he had not noticed.
The little thickset man, who was staring at Chamoureau with wide-open
eyes, like a fisherman who thinks that he sees something at the end of
his line, seemed far from pleased at receiving the Louis XIII boot in
his face, and cried out:
"Well, look here, you--Carnival--do you take my face for a boot-jack?
What sort of an animal is this, anyway?"
Thereupon the business agent, perceiving that there was a man seated in
one corner of the room, made him a low bow.
"I beg pardon, monsieur, a thousand pardons; I didn't see you.--Madame
Monin, my slippers, at once. What does monsieur wish?"
"What I wish is to speak to the master of the house, the business
man--because I have business--and it ain't a small matter either--to put
in his hands."
"I, monsieur, am the master of the house, Chamoureau,--at your service.
We will step into my office, when I have my slippers and dressing
gown.--Come, Madame Monin."
"I'm looking for 'em, monsieur, but I don't know where you've hid 'em; I
can't put my hand on 'em."
"What's that! is that the truth? you're the business agent?" said the
countryman, scrutinizing Chamoureau from head to foot.
"To be sure, monsieur, I am the man."
"Are you always dressed like this--with spangles all over you, and such
a funny-looking cravat?"
"No, monsieur, this is a disguise which I assumed, contrary to my
custom; it must not be regarded as establishing a precedent."
"Ah! so you spent the night at the masquerade, and then you went round
drinking at wine-shops--raising the devil, as your servant said just
now!"
"You are mistaken, monsieur; a man may go to the ball by chance--there's
no law against it--but that is no reason why he should visit wine-shops
and raise the devil afterward."
"Well then, as your fandangoes end at daylight, what have you been doing
since then that makes you come home so late, if you haven't been the
rounds of the wine-shops?"
"It seems to me that these are rather unusual questions, monsieur."
"Damnation! monsieur, let me tell you that what I've seen sets one to
thinking. Do you suppose I'm going to put my business in your hands, and
give a power of attorney to collect a plump little sum of money to a man
what dresses like this and shows himself in the streets in such a dress
at this time of day--goes on sprees in short, at an age when he ought to
behave himself! _Nenni_, nenni! this sort of thing don't give me
confidence in you. I'll go and look for a business agent who ain't up to
such tricks!"
And the countryman rose and prepared to leave the room.
Chamoureau, who was very uncomfortable because he had taken off his
boots and had not received his slippers, none the less ran after the
client who was about to escape him, and seized his arm, saying:
"For heaven's sake, monsieur, don't judge by appearances; I am not a
frequenter of balls. Besides, here in Paris a man may amuse himself a
little and still attend to his business; indeed, it often happens that
you meet at a ball or at the theatre the very persons you want to
see.--Madame Monin! sapristi! my slippers!"
"Tell me, then, where you hid them, monsieur."
"Look under my bed.--Entrust your business to me, monsieur, and rest
assured that I will look after it with all the zeal that I always
display in behalf of my clients, who, I venture to say, have never had
occasion thus far to do anything but congratulate themselves on having
placed their interests in my hands."
"_Ouiche!_ that's all very fine talk! but I believe what I see.--They
told me that Monsieur Chamoureau was a widower, but that he still cried
for his wife."
"That's the truth, monsieur, the exact truth.--O Eléonore! why are you
not here to defend your husband!"
"They ain't under the bed, I just looked there."
"Look in my somno.--Yes, monsieur, I mourn for my wife! If she were
alive, she'd have found my slippers before this!"
"When a man mourns for his dead wife, he don't go masquerading round the
streets in broad daylight! No, no! I don't trust you!"
At that moment they heard loud talking on the stairs. The door, which
was not locked, was thrown open with violence, and the professor of
bookkeeping rushed into the room, shouting at the top of his voice:
"What have I learned? Great God! He has worn a disguise, attended public
balls, and carried disregard of propriety so far as to appear in broad
daylight and in his own neighborhood, dressed in a costume to which it
is impossible to give a name.--Yes! it is not a falsehood, a fable, a
false rumor; here he is, still in that absurd costume! and he, a man who
keeps a business office, abandons himself to such libertinage--and
without his shoes!--What a shocking disguise!"
"Ah! good-morning, Monsieur Beaubichon, I am at your service in one
moment.--Come, Madame Monin, will you give me my slippers or not?"
"They ain't in your somno either, monsieur."
"You are at my service, monsieur!" rejoined the professor, puffing like
an ox; "but I, monsieur, I am not at your service! I no longer propose
that you shall dispose of my destiny and my future.--Upon my word!--I
have come to tell you, monsieur, that I withdraw my confidence from you
and that you shall find no wife for me--for me, Aimé-Désiré-Jules
Beaubichon; the idea of my taking a wife on the guaranty of a pseudo
Spaniard! of a man who so far forgets his manhood as to deck himself in
tinsel that gives him the aspect of a mountebank!"
"I do the same, monsieur," said the countryman; "I withdraw my
confidence from him; to be sure, I hadn't given it to him, but I
withdraw it all the same. I was going to give him my power of attorney.
But nay, nay, Lisette! he won't have a chance to throw my money away at
balls!"
"He was employed to find me a spouse, monsieur; but where would he go to
find one? to _Valentino_, or the _Salle-Barthélemy?_ For me, who desire
good morals and virginity before all things! He would arrange a marriage
for me with one of those little women whom all Paris knows, a _girl of
marble_, monsieur; when I say _marble_, I use a theatrical form of
expression--do you understand?"
"Faith, no!"
"I am not surprised."
While these two gentlemen indulged in their recriminations and
reflections, far from flattering to the business agent, the latter,
finding that his slippers did not come, and being averse to standing on
the floor in his stockings, decided to get down on his hands so that he
might more easily look under the furniture and find that indispensable
portion of his costume. His position, as he crawled around his room on
all fours, was ill adapted to restore the confidence of the persons whom
the sight of his disguise had so exasperated. Monsieur Beaubichon
therefore wrathfully jammed his hat over his eyes, crying:
"Observe, monsieur, observe the results of dissipation! A man who should
be as serious as the law itself, is obliged to crawl around his room on
all fours, in search of objects which should be at his hand!--I go, and
never in my life will I set foot inside this office! Keep your
marriageable women, monsieur, or marry them to your clients--this
professor of bookkeeping will not endorse them. Good-day!"
"I follow your lead, monsieur; I'll keep my power of attorney and try to
find a business agent who won't fling yellow boots in my face.
Good-day!"
"Go to the devil! and leave me in peace! for I'm sick of you both!"
retorted Chamoureau; and, weary of his unsuccessful search, he sat on
the floor in the middle of the room. But at that moment the servant
returned with a victorious air, holding the slippers in her hand.