never shown them to me! that surprises me very much."
"For heaven's sake, Freluchon, stop your joking a minute, and listen to
me!"
"Speak; I am like a mute of the harem."
Edmond told his friend how he had made Agathe's acquaintance and by what
means he had been able to make himself useful to Madame Dalmont.
Freluchon listened attentively and without interrupting him; when the
lovelorn youth had finished, he said:
"Well, it's all up with you, I understand that. This young lady is
charming, I have no doubt; she possesses all the talents, all the
virtues; I am convinced of that. But what do you expect to do now?"
"I haven't any idea, and that is why I was consumed with anxiety to see
you. In the first place, I felt that I must talk about my love, relieve
my heart; for it was suffocating me. Then I wanted to ask your advice."
"I'll give you some advice that I'll bet you won't follow."
"Why not? Speak."
"As the girl in question is respectable and virtuous, of course you do
not expect to make her your mistress?"
"Oh! perish the thought! it has never once come into my mind."
"In that case, my dear fellow, as it would be rank madness for you to
think of marrying before you have some position in the world, a fortune,
or at the very least some employment which will take the place of a
fortune, you must cease to think of the young lady, and you must never
see her again."
"Not think of her! not see her! Ah! tell me rather to cease to live!"
"You see that I was right when I said that you wouldn't follow my
advice. It was hardly worth while to ask me for it."
"It would be madness, you say, for me to think of marrying.--No, it
would not be madness, if I had a fortune or at least a suitable position
to offer that fascinating girl; for I should be so happy with her! But,
as you have too well said, I have neither! That sixty thousand francs
that my uncle left me, I have spent more than half of now, in amusing
myself; and what I have left isn't enough to justify me in offering
myself as a husband to any woman."
"That depends. Is your young woman rich?"
"No; at least, I think not. The two ladies are going into the country in
order to live economically; and the charming Agathe, who is an orphan,
has no friend or protector but this Madame Dalmont, who is a widow of
very modest means."
"Forget this young woman, my friend; forget her at once; that is the
best thing that you can possibly do."
"No, I cannot, I will not forget her!"
"Sapristi! then don't ask me for advice!"
"My friend, when I have given those ladies time to get settled in their
country house, I shall go to Chelles, and I shall call on them; they
have invited me to do so."
"Do what you please."
"You will come with me."
"What for? Do you mean to present me to them? But suppose I should fall
in love with your damsel?"
"No, I shall not present you. I am not intimate enough with them yet to
take the liberty to introduce anyone; but you will wait for me somewhere
in the neighborhood, we will pass a few days there----"
"Ah! what a captivating plan! That is to say, you propose to keep me on
a strict diet, while you utter heart-rending sighs!--No, thanks!"
"If you refuse, I will take Chamoureau. Poor Chamoureau! he will
understand my torments, for he too is in love."
"Really! There seems to be an epidemic of it just now."
"But by the way--I haven't told you.--Gad! it's a most amusing thing!
You would never guess whom he's in love with."
"His concierge?"
"No; but that magnificent conquest he made at the Opéra ball, and
refused to open his mouth about."
"I remember his mysterious air, his reticence, his hints when we talked
about his charmer."
"Well, that charmer is Thélénie, the superb, the brilliant
Sainte-Suzanne!"
"The deuce! your ex-mistress?"
"The same."
"And you say that Chamoureau has made the conquest of that elegant
creature, who adored you, who continued to run after you?"
"And who runs after me still, alas!"
"Then Chamoureau is an idiot. The woman probably wanted to talk with him
because she knew that he knew you, and because she hoped to obtain from
him information concerning your conduct. That is not hard to guess."
"I believe that you are right, especially as she expressly forbade him
to mention her name to us. He seems, however, to have little success in
his amours; he is constantly groaning and complaining. The poor fellow
is really in love with Thélénie, who treats him, he says, with extreme
cruelty."
"I am glad of it; that will teach him to stop lamenting Eléonore! The
beautiful brunette is making a fool of him, there's no doubt about
that; and you say she is still running after you?"
"Mon Dieu! yes; and I avoid her. See, here's a letter that was handed me
just now when I left the house; it's from her, I know, I am familiar
enough with her writing, but I haven't even broken the seal. What's the
use? I'll just throw it into the fire."
And Edmond was on the point of tossing into the flames a letter that he
took from his pocket, when Freluchon caught his arm.
"What! you propose to destroy this missive without finding out what is
inside?"
"My dear fellow, I know beforehand what is inside: reproaches,
complaints, followed by entreaties and burning words! And all this to
lead up to the statement that she expects me to call because she
absolutely must speak to me."
"She must have a very impassioned style, that woman. Will you let me
read her letter?"
"You are at liberty to do so, if you care to."
"It won't annoy you?"
"How foolish you are! Thélénie is not a married woman, so that one is
obliged to respect her secrets; furthermore, she makes no mystery of her
sentiments toward me."
"Oh, no, indeed! the only mystery she makes is in the matter of her
feeling for Chamoureau. Let's see your Ariadne's epistle."
Freluchon broke the seal of the letter and read:
"Ungrateful Edmond:
"Do you mean to kill me with grief? have you no pity for my
suffering? is there no longer in your heart a single spark of that
fire which you once swore burned there for me?
"I cannot believe it; I love you too dearly to be forgotten thus!
You have ceased to see that flower-maker, Amélia, I know; you could
not love such a woman long. I forgive you that whim, I promise, I
swear to you that I will never mention it. Let the past be nothing
more than a dream.
"Come back, dear Edmond, come back to her who cannot exist apart
from you, and to whom you have made known a sentiment that will end
only with her life.
"This evening, at nine o'clock, I shall drive in a coupé on the
Champs-Elysées. My carriage will stop in front of the Jardin
d'Hiver, on the other side of the road. Open your left hand twice
to my coachman, and he will open the door.
"You will come; I insist--no, but I entreat you.
"THÉLÉNIE."
"Well," said Edmond, "did I not guess right: reproaches, entreaties,
oceans of love, and a rendezvous?"
"To which you will not go?"
"Most assuredly not; for I should be very sorry to renew a liaison which
had lost all charm for me, even before I knew Agathe! All the more so,
now.--What are you thinking about?"
"I am thinking of the unlucky Chamoureau, whom this fair lady is making
a fool of. As you don't mean to go to this rendezvous, we must send him
in your place."
"The deuce! do you mean it?"
"Indeed I do! It bores you to receive passionate notes from this
Thélénie every hour in the day, does it not?"
"Ah, yes! it bores me terribly, and I would give anything in the world
to induce her to leave me in peace."
"Well! this is the best possible way to put an end to the persecutions
of your Hermione. When you have sent Chamoureau to her in your place,
I'll answer for it that she won't make any more assignations with
you.--And then suppose it should result in making the poor fellow happy,
in making him the happy vanquisher of the woman he adores--where would
be the harm? Will you let me go ahead?"
"I have no objection, on the condition that you go to Chelles with me."
"You still hold to that plan, do you? What on earth shall I do there?"
"Eat _matelotes_ at Gournay. They are very famous."
"That argument persuades me. I have never been able to resist a
_matelote_.--I hear the bell; I'll bet it's Chamoureau."
"Bless my soul! I remember now that he forbade me to tell you of his
love for Thélénie."
"He'll be very glad that I know about it, in a little while."
This time it was in fact Chamoureau who entered Freluchon's room.
"So this fellow has come back at last!" he cried.
"_Tandem!--denique!_--Do you know, Freluchon, that your treatment of me
has been rather too unceremonious?"
"Good-morning, Chamoureau; embrace me!"
"To go away without returning my new black coat and trousers! You have
no idea what that cost me!"
"Embrace your friend!"
"Let me alone.--The trousers were new, too."
"Do you suppose that I have worn your clothes, I should like to know? do
you think that I put on your coat and trousers to go to Rouen?"
"Faith! I don't know."
"I should look very nice in them, as I'm five inches shorter than you!
See, there are your clothes, on that chair; I give you my word that they
haven't been to Rouen."
The agent carefully examined his coat and trousers, muttering:
"To think that I have two of each now! it was hardly worth while!"
"What! have you bought another black coat?"
"I had to."
"Have you had occasion to take part in some grand function--a wedding,
or a funeral?"
"I had occasion--I had occasion to be dressed handsomely."
"Chamoureau, you have secrets from your best friend; that is not right.
I've brought you a stick of sugar-candy from Rouen."
"Don't talk to me about candy, Freluchon, I beg you. You remind me of
Mi-Carême night, which I would like to efface from my memory!"
"Why, I was under the impression that you made a magnificent conquest
that night; you told us so, at all events."
"Yes, that's so; I did meet a fascinating woman, and she gave me
permission to call on her; but I've been no more fortunate for that.
Four times now within five days I have been to see her, in the hope of
finding her less cruel; but I am always told that she isn't in. I begin
to think that she doesn't propose to receive me again."
"The trouble is that you didn't go about it right, my poor fellow. You
were probably too prudent, too timid. There are women who prefer to have
the appearance of yielding only to violence."
"You see, my trousers split; that embarrassed me the first time I called
on her."
"You ought to have worn an apron; then it wouldn't have made any
difference about your trousers."
"Freluchon, your constant jesting with a man so miserable as I am is
barbarous; for my love for that woman gives me neither truce nor rest."
"The deuce! and the memory of the adored Eléonore? have we left that
under the shed?"
Chamoureau took his coat and trousers and was about to depart without a
word; but Freluchon stopped him.
"Where are you going?"
"I am going away."
"You run off because I speak of Eléonore! _Quantum mutatus ab
illo!_--Come, stay; I won't mention her again; and if, instead of that,
I should make you the fortunate vanquisher of the superb
Sainte-Suzanne----"
"What! Sainte-Suzanne? You know--he knows--Monsieur Edmond, did you tell
him?"
"No, no! Edmond hasn't told me anything; I learned of your intrigue at
Rouen; news of that sort is despatched at once by the railroads."
"I don't understand."
"That makes no difference; it's enough for you to know that your friend
is at work for you, and that, knowing that you sighed for a cruel
beauty, he said to himself:
"'Chamoureau must be made happy!'
"And I have manoeuvred so well and pulled the wires so skilfully with
the fair Thélénie, that I have changed her views completely with respect
to you! The result is that she gives you an assignation for nine o'clock
this evening, on the Champs-Elysées. She will be in a coupé opposite the
Jardin d'Hiver."
"It can't be possible! No, I know you, Freluchon--you're playing a joke
on me!"
"I give you my word of honor--and you know that I don't give it
lightly--that the charming person with whom you are in love will be in
a coupé, opposite the Jardin d'Hiver, at nine o'clock this evening; and
that the coachman will open the carriage door, if you open your left
hand twice in front of him.--Do you believe me, now?"
"Dear Freluchon! embrace me!"
"I knew it would be so: he is the one who wants to embrace me now. Oh!
these men! Someone has said: 'Woman changes oft, and foolish is the
man,' et cetera; one might as fitly say: 'Man changes oft, and an ass is
the man who trusts him!'--I am rewriting François I; but there have been
those who have ventured to rewrite Racine; and frankly I think that he
was a greater poet than François."
"In heaven's name, Freluchon, repeat what you just told me! This
evening, at nine o'clock, I shall find Thélénie in a coupé on the
Champs-Elysées?"
"Yes, in front of the Jardin d'Hiver, on the other side of the avenue."
"And, to induce the coachman to open the door, I am to shake my fist at
him?"
"Sapristi! if that's the way you hear! you are to open your left hand
twice, before his face."
"Ah! very good! I will open my left hand twice. But, what the
devil!----"
"Well, what difficulty is there about that?"
"When I have opened my left hand once, how am I to open it again?"
"Why, you idiot, you must close it again, of course!"
"Ah, yes! to be sure; I won't open it again till I have closed it. It is
love that unsettles my mind. And I shall find Thélénie, she will be
waiting for me, and she will not spurn my homage!"
"Damnation! my dear fellow, when a lady gives you an assignation at
night, in a carriage, that doesn't indicate an intention to be very
severe; and if you don't come out of the affair the victor, it will be
your own fault."
"You are right. This time I will be a Don Juan, a Richelieu! I will hurl
myself into the coupé like a bomb! The rest will take care of itself."
"Bravo! I recognize you now."
"My dearest wish is gratified."
"You must tell us to-morrow how it goes off. That is all I ask for my
reward."
"I'll tell you everything; I will conceal nothing from my friends
henceforth. Dear Freluchon! dear Edmond!--But what's the matter with
Monsieur Edmond? he doesn't say anything."
"Don't you know that he is in love, like you?"
"Oho! with whom, pray?"
"A young person--who lives with a lady who bought a country house at
Chelles."
"The deuce! Mademoiselle Agathe!"
Edmond emerged from his reverie, crying:
"Agathe! who mentioned her name?--Have you seen those ladies again,
Chamoureau? have you been to their house?"
"I? not once. What would you have me go there for, now? Madame Dalmont
insisted on paying me my fee on the spot, and the transaction is
concluded."
"She's a widow, isn't she, Chamoureau?"
"Yes, she's a widow."
"And she hasn't a large fortune?"
"No; she told me herself that her means were small, and that she was
going into the country to live as a matter of taste and for economy's
sake."
"And Agathe--that lovely girl?"
"Mademoiselle Agathe is an orphan, and has no other friend or protector
than the lady with whom she lives. That's all I know about them.--But,
pardon me, my friends, it's three o'clock already; allow me to take my
leave. I will take my clothes away; I'll wear them to-night; these
trousers, anyhow, are not too tight for me."
"What! you are going to carry that bundle?"
"I shall take a cab. Your hand, Freluchon. Now I am yours, in life and
in death!--Au revoir, messieurs, until to-morrow."
Chamoureau returned home. The day, although far advanced, seemed
mortally long to him. He set about curling his hair, perfuming himself,
in short, trying to make himself most seductive.
He went out at five o'clock, to dine; but joy took away his appetite.
When caused by love, joy sometimes produces that effect.
While he toyed aimlessly with a beefsteak, he said to himself:
"How strange women are in their whims! This one refuses to receive me at
her house, and waits for me at night, in a carriage, on the
Champs-Elysées! Still, she may have reasons for being afraid to receive
me at home. Who knows that she isn't afraid of that Monsieur Beauregard,
who used to be her lover, as he says? perhaps it isn't true; there are
so many men who brag of triumphs they never obtained! It matters little
to me, after all! if she shares my flame, am I not too fortunate?"
Chamoureau left the restaurant and entered a café, called for all the
newspapers, did not read one, looked at his watch every instant, and
finally exclaimed:
"At last, it is dark! Ah! how impatiently I have been waiting for this!"
But it was early in April, and it grew dark rather early. It was only
seven o'clock. However, our widower left the café, saying to himself:
"I'll walk slowly to the Champs-Elysées; that will take up time. It's a
little cold, but it's fine. Besides, I don't propose to be late; a
gallant man should always arrive first at the rendezvous."
Although he walked very slowly from Boulevard Montmartre, it was not yet
eight o'clock when he reached the rond-point on the Champs-Elysées. But
it was absolutely dark. Our lover consulted his watch, heaved a deep
sigh, and paced to and fro in front of the entrance to the Jardin
d'Hiver.
He had been walking there for three-quarters of an hour, passing many
carriages; but not one of them was standing at the place designated. At
last, about a quarter to nine, a cab coming from the Barrière de
l'Etoile stopped in front of the entrance. Chamoureau instantly drew
near and walked around it; the curtains were lowered, which fact
convinced him that his inamorata was inside.
He hastened toward the driver, who had remained on his box, and putting
his left hand close to the lantern, opened it twice.
The man stared at him in amazement, but said finally:
"I am engaged; I have a fare."
"I know that you have a fare; but it's that fare who expects me; don't
you see this sign?"
And he opened his left hand again.
"You offer me ten francs, I can see that plain enough," said the cabman;
"that's all right, and if I wasn't taken, I'd say at once: 'Get in,
bourgeois'; but I can't do it."
"Bless me! how stupid the man is! Can she have forgotten to tell him
what signs I was to make?"
And again Chamoureau opened his left hand for the benefit of the driver,
who shook his head, saying:
"You might offer me twenty francs--I tell you I've got somebody in my
carriage!"
"And I tell you again that I am well aware of it; and I repeat that that
somebody expects me."
"If you're expected, get in; it's all one to me."
Chamoureau asked nothing better; he threw the door open violently,
entered the vehicle, and found himself in the presence of a lady and
gentleman, to whom his advent was evidently most unwelcome, for the
gentleman took him by the shoulders and threw him out of the cab,
giving him no time to put his foot on the step, and crying:
"Who is this insolent villain who dares to enter a carriage that is
occupied? Did anyone ever hear of such audacity! Driver, why did you let
this man enter? Were you asleep?"
"Mon Dieu! he made a lot of signs and told me he was the one you were
waiting for."
"I beg pardon, a thousand pardons, monsieur! I made a mistake, an error,
I see it now; I am waiting for a carriage with a lady, and I
thought----"
"You're an idiot, nothing less; and if I were not with a lady, I would
treat you as you deserve."
Chamoureau bowed to the gentleman and walked hastily away in order not
to hear any more.
"I made a mistake," he said to himself; "I saw well enough that I had
made a mistake. I can understand that man's indignation; I was entirely
in the wrong. It was my impatience that caused it; for it isn't nine
o'clock yet, and the appointment is for nine. I ought to have known that
I was mistaken: it wasn't even a coupé, but a cab, and an old one at
that! The superb Sainte-Suzanne would not ride in such a miserable
vehicle! I am too effervescent! I must be calm and watch.--Poor man! how
I did disturb him!"
The agent walked some distance toward the barrier; but at last he heard
the clocks strike nine, and he at once retraced his steps. As he drew
near the place appointed, he saw that the cab was no longer in front of
the Jardin d'Hiver; but on the other side of the avenue a coupé had
drawn up.
Chamoureau walked toward the coupé in a state of agitation that caused
him to stumble at every step. When he was within a few feet, he stopped,
in order to examine the carriage closely. It was a very stylish
equipage; the driver was not on his box, but was standing by his horses
and seemed to be scrutinizing the people who passed.
"This time I am on the right track," thought Chamoureau. And he walked
resolutely toward the coachman, and made the signal agreed upon.
The coachman replied by a slight nod and lost no time in opening the
carriage door. Our lover instantly jumped in, head first, and the door
closed behind him.
It was in fact Thélénie, awaiting Edmond at the place she had
designated; but as he had long since ceased to come to the rendezvous
she appointed, now, having heard the clock strike nine without bringing
her unfaithful lover, she had given up all hope of seeing him, when the
door opened and a man rushed in like a bomb.
Thélénie did not doubt for an instant that it was Edmond, for her
coachman had received his orders; he was to open the door only at the
preconcerted signal. The darkness inside the carriage made it impossible
for her to distinguish the man's features. She threw herself into
Chamoureau's arms and kissed him tenderly, exclaiming:
"Here you are at last! You have come! You have listened to my voice! You
are restored to me! Ah! this time it is forever, isn't it? you won't
leave me any more?"
And Chamoureau, transported by the kisses that were lavished upon him,
had the ill luck to answer:
"Why, fascinating creature, I have never intended to leave you, I have
always offered you the most tender love, the most passionate, the
most----"
He had not time to finish his sentence; a cry of rage issued from
Thélénie, she roughly pushed him away, and in an instant had raised the
curtains and opened the door.
"It isn't Edmond!" she shrieked; "oh! the villain!--Who are you,
monsieur? who are you? who gave you permission to enter my carriage?"
Our widower, who had no idea of the meaning of that sudden change in the
lady's mood, faltered:
"I am--but you know perfectly well--Chamoureau--whom you expected--at
least, that is what Freluchon told me.--I am that adorer----"
But Thélénie had already had time to identify the business agent, and
she pointed to the open door, saying in a voice that trembled with
wrath:
"Get out, monsieur, get out at once, and say to those who sent you here
that this jest will cost them dear. As for you, never let me see your
face again."
"But, madame, I don't understand; I swear to you that I really
believed----"
"Go!--or I will call my coachman!"
Thélénie's eyes flashed fire and their expression at that moment was so
menacing that Chamoureau backed out of the carriage in deadly terror. He
was no sooner on the ground than the coachman drove away.
"My hat! my hat! I have left my hat in your carriage!" cried Chamoureau,
running after the coupé.
A window was lowered and the hat thrown out into the avenue. At that
moment a calèche passed at a rapid pace; our widower was obliged to jump
aside in a hurry, and one wheel of the calèche passed over the ill-fated
hat. Chamoureau stooped and picked up the shapeless mass, swearing in
very emphatic fashion. Then he returned to the sidewalk, trying to
restore some shape to his hat, and not noticing two young men,
arm-in-arm, a few steps away, who were nearly convulsed with laughter.
XXII
AN INHERITANCE
That same evening, after he had been home to get another hat, because
the first one was entirely ruined, Chamoureau bent his steps toward
Freluchon's. He was beside himself with rage and could hardly speak.
"I am going to Fre--Fre--Freluchon's," he stuttered to the concierge.
But Freluchon was not at home; he had gone with Edmond to the
Champs-Elysées, at the time appointed by Thélénie, and there the two
young men, concealed in the shadow, had witnessed part of the adventure,
and had divined the rest when they saw Chamoureau tumbling out of the
coupé very soon after he had entered. They laughed like maniacs when
they saw the unlucky agent running after his hat. Then they returned to
the centre of Paris.