Copyright 1903 by G. Barrie & Sons

DUPONT'S DISCOMFITURE

As she spoke, Georgette found a way to let the skirt fall at her feet. She jumped over it, ran to where her shawl and bonnet were hanging, and left the room before Dupont, who still held the striped skirt in his hand, had recovered from his astonishment.

NOVELS
BY
Paul de Kock
VOLUME VI
FRÉDÉRIQUE
VOL. II
THE GIRL WITH THREE
PETTICOATS

THE JEFFERSON PRESS
BOSTON NEW YORK

Copyrighted, 1903-1904, by G. B. & Sons.

XXXIII
ROSETTE THE BRUNETTE

I was conscious of a secret feeling of satisfaction, which I attributed to my reconciliation with Frédérique. I was pleased to have her for a friend; there was something unique, something that appealed strongly to me, in that friendship between a man of thirty and a woman of twenty-seven; and I promised myself that I would not again so conduct myself as to break off the connection.

But I had not forgotten Saint-Bergame's words, as he passed our carriage: "So it's that fellow now! each in his turn!"—It was evident that he believed me to be Madame Dauberny's lover. I was not surprised that he should have that idea. People will never believe in the possibility of an innocent intimacy between a man and woman of our age. But Frédérique had been deeply wounded by Saint-Bergame's remark; indeed, by what right did the fellow presume to proclaim that from the housetops? Was it spite? was it jealousy? Whatever his motive, the man was an impertinent knave; and if I had not feared to compromise Madame Dauberny even more, I would have gone to him and demanded an explanation of his words. But, perhaps an opportunity would present itself; if so, I would not let it slip.

Several days had passed since my drive in the Bois, when, as I was strolling along the boulevards one morning, I halted, according to my custom, in front of one of those pillars upon which posters are displayed by permission. Being very fond of the theatre, I have always enjoyed reading the various theatrical announcements. I did not carry it so far as to read the printer's name; but, had I done so—that is a very harmless diversion!

But observe how harmless diversions may give birth to diversions that are not harmless. A young woman stopped close beside me, also to read the announcements; and I was not so absorbed by the titles of dramas and vaudevilles that the sight of a pretty face did not distract my thoughts from them.

I think that I have told you that certain faces, certain figures, possess an indefinable charm and fascination for me at first sight. The young girl who stood beside me—for she certainly was a young girl—wore a simple, modest costume, denoting a shopgirl on an errand: dark-colored dress, shawl,—no, I am mistaken, it was a little alpaca cloak,—and a small gray bonnet, without any ornament, placed on her head with no pretence of coquetry; it had evidently been put on in a hurry.

But, beneath that unassuming headgear, I saw a refined, attractive, piquant face. She was a brunette; her complexion was rather dark, but her fresh, brilliant coloring gave her a look of the Midi. Her brown hair was brushed smoothly over her temples; her eyes were black, or blue—or, more accurately, blue bordering on black. They were large, and said many things. The mouth was very pretty, and well supplied with teeth. I had thus far only caught a glimpse of the latter, but that was enough. The nose was straight and well shaped, slightly turned up at the end, which always gives a saucy look to the face. Add to all this a lovely figure, neither too tall nor too short; a pretty hand—of that I was sure, for she wore no gloves; and, lastly, a modest and graceful carriage; and you will not be surprised that I forgot the names of the plays and performers printed on the posters before me, and devoted my whole attention to that young woman.

For her part, she had glanced several times at me, as if unintentionally. She scrutinized the posters for a long while; and as I was in no hurry, I too remained in front of the pillar. I had assured myself at least twelve times that La Grâce de Dieu was to be given at the Gaîté, and it seemed to me that my neighbor also kept reading the same thing over and over again.

However, she walked away at last along the boulevard. We were then in front of the Gymnase. There was nothing to detain me there, for I was thoroughly posted concerning the programme at the Gaîté. Furthermore, that grisette took my eye. I believed that I could safely classify her as a grisette, with liberty to do her justice later, if I had insulted her. Why should I not try to make her acquaintance? For some time, my behavior had been virtuous to a degree which accorded neither with my tastes nor with my habits. Being obliged to eschew sentiment with my former acquaintances, I was conscious of a void in my heart which I should be very glad to fill.

I walked after the young woman. One is sometimes sadly at a loss to begin a conversation in the street; but for some reason or other, I did not feel the slightest embarrassment with that girl. She walked so slowly that I easily overtook her. She did not precisely look at me; but I was fully persuaded that she saw me. Should I begin with the usual compliments: "You are adorable! With such pretty eyes, you cannot be cruel!" or other remarks of the same sort? No, they were too stupid and worn too threadbare; so I addressed her as if we were already acquainted, and said:

"Do you like the theatre, mademoiselle?"

"Yes, monsieur, very much!"

She answered without the slightest affectation, and with no indication that she was offended by my question. I took that as a good omen, and continued:

"Would you like to go to-night?"

"To-night? Oh, dear, no! But I was looking for the Palais-Royal advertisement; I wanted to know what they were playing there, and I can't ever find it."

"I am sorry I didn't know that sooner, for I would have shown it to you."

"After all, it don't make any difference."

"But if you like the theatre, won't you allow me to give you some tickets?"

"Tickets! Do you have theatre tickets? for what theatre?"

"It doesn't make any difference: I have some for them all. Perhaps you may think that I am lying, that I say this to trap you, when my only purpose is to make your acquaintance. But I assure you, mademoiselle, that I shall be only too happy to be useful to you. Allow me to send you some tickets; that doesn't bind you to anything."

The girl stopped. We were then near Porte Saint-Denis. She hesitated a moment, then replied:

"Well! send me some tickets; I'll accept them; but don't send them to my house; that'll never do, because I live with my aunts. I have a lot of aunts, and I am not free."

She smiled so comically as she said this, that I saw a double row of lovely teeth. I ventured to take her hand; that was going ahead rather fast, but, for some unknown reason, although I had not been talking with her five minutes, I felt as if I knew her well. She let me hold and press her hand, which was plump and soft; it did not seem to vex her in the least.

"Where shall I send the tickets?"

"To my employer's."

"What is your trade?"

"I mend shawls and fringes. I'm a very good hand at it, I promise you!"

"I don't doubt it, mademoiselle."

"Just now I'm doing an errand for my employer; she always sends me on errands, I don't know why; she says that the dealers aren't so strict with me! It's a bore sometimes to go out so often; but sometimes it's good fun, too."

"Will you tell me your name?"

"No."

"Will you come to a restaurant with me and breakfast?"

"No; in the first place, I haven't got time; they're waiting for me, and I must go back. In the second place, I wouldn't go, anyway, like that, with someone I don't know."

"That's the way to become acquainted."

"Suppose anyone should see me go into a restaurant with you—one of my aunts, for instance! I've got seven aunts!"

"Sapristi! that's worse than Abd-el-Kader! No matter! come and have breakfast with me at my rooms, and you will see at once who I am—that I am not a mere nobody, a man without means or position."

"Oh! I didn't say you were, monsieur."

"I live on Rue Bleue, No. 14; that isn't very far away. If you will trust me, I promise you that I won't even kiss the end of your finger."

"Perhaps not, monsieur; but I tell you, I haven't got time; I must go back; I am late already, and I shall be scolded."

"Very well! where shall I send you a ticket, then?"

"At Madame Ratapond's, No. 48, Rue Meslay; just give it to the concierge. Mark it: For Mademoiselle Rosette, at Madame Ratapond's."

"And you are Mademoiselle Rosette?"

"Perhaps. When will you send the ticket?"

"Whenever you choose."

"To-morrow, then."

"To-morrow, very good!"

"How many seats?"

"I will send you a box with four seats."

"Ah! splendid! That will be fun."

"But you will go?"

"To be sure!"

"And I may speak to you?"

"Dame! I don't know about that. If I am with my employer, you must be careful. But I'll go out in the entr'acte."

"Then I will make an opportunity to say a few words to you. And you won't come and breakfast with me? An hour passes so quickly!"

"Oh, no! no! Adieu, monsieur! You won't forget—Mademoiselle Rosette, at Madame Ratapond's, No. 48, Rue Meslay."

"No, mademoiselle, there's no danger of my forgetting."

She walked away, and I did the same. I was enchanted with my new acquaintance. Mademoiselle Rosette was altogether charming, and in her eyes, in her answers, I saw at once that she was no fool. Suppose that I had fallen upon a pearl, a treasure! It was impossible to say. The things we find without looking for them are often more valuable than those we take a vast amount of trouble to obtain.

XXXIV
THE UMBRELLAS.—THE POLKA

Love and poetry—these are what make hours seem like minutes. Be an author, a poet, a novelist, or a lover, and for you time will have wings. I thought of Mademoiselle Rosette all day, I dreamed of her all night, and the next morning I set about fulfilling my promise. There is nothing so easy, in Paris, as to obtain theatre tickets; it is not necessary to know authors or managers; it is enough to have money. With money one can have whatever one desires. I was on the way to a ticket broker's, when I found myself face to face with Dumouton, the literary man, who was of the dinner party at Deffieux's.

Poor Dumouton had not changed; he was still the same in physique and in dress. The yellowish-green or faded apple-green coat; the skin-tight trousers of any color you choose. But I noticed that he had two umbrellas under his arm, although there were no signs of rain. He offered me his hand, as if he were overjoyed to meet me, crying:

"Why, Monsieur Rochebrune! bonjour! how are you? It's a long while since I had the pleasure of meeting you."

"Very well, thanks, Monsieur Dumouton! indeed, I believe we have not met since Dupréval's dinner."

"True. We had a fine time at that dinner; everybody told some little anecdote; it was very amusing."

"Are you still writing plays?"

"Still. But one can't find such a market as one would like. There is so much intriguing at the theatres! The writing of a play isn't the most difficult part, but the getting it acted. Speaking of theatres, you don't happen to need an umbrella, do you?"

"No, thanks, I have one. Are you selling umbrellas now?"

"No—but—it happens that I bought one yesterday; and, meanwhile, my wife had bought one, too. So you see, we have too many; I would be glad of a chance to get rid of one; I would sell it cheap."

"If I hadn't one already, I might make a trade with you; but as I don't need it——"

"Still, it's often convenient to have two or three; for you lose one sometimes, or lend it to somebody who doesn't return it. That has happened to me a hundred times; and then, when you want to go out, it rains; you look for your umbrella, and it isn't there. That is very annoying; so it's more prudent to have two."

"But you apparently don't think so, as you want to sell one of yours."

"Oh! we have five in the house now."

"That makes a difference; but I don't quite understand why you bought another."

Dumouton scratched his nose; I could not help thinking of Rosette's seven aunts, and that Dumouton could shelter them from the rain with his seven umbrellas.

"What do you suppose I would like to have at this moment?" I asked him, as he sadly shifted his umbrellas from his right arm to his left.

"A cane, perhaps? I have one with a crow's beak head that would please you."

"No, no! I never carry a cane. What I would like at this moment is a theatre ticket for this evening."

Dumouton's face fairly beamed.

"For what theatre?" he cried.

"Faith! that makes no difference; but I would like a whole box."

"I have what you want, I have it right in my pocket. See, a box at the Gymnase!"

"The Gymnase it is!"

Dumouton took from his pocket an old notebook, or wallet, or, to speak more accurately, two pieces of leather—just what to call it, I do not know; but it contained a mass of papers, some old and soiled, others clean and new. He produced from it a pink one, which proved to be a ticket for a box at the Gymnase. I took the ticket and read at the foot of it the name of one of our most popular authors.

Dumouton restored his papers to his pocket, put his umbrellas under his left arm once more, and looked at me with an anxious expression, murmuring:

"Don't you want it?"

"Yes, indeed! But I was reading the name on it."

"Oh! that's of no consequence; I asked for it for him, but he can't go. You'll take it, then, will you?"

"Yes, gladly."

"There's only one thing. I have promised a box to some people to whom I am under obligations, and I can't break my word. It's too late to go to the theatre to ask for one, so I must buy one of a ticket broker; and I don't know whether——"

I did not let him finish the sentence.

"I don't propose that you shall be put to any expense on my account. How much will the ticket cost you?"

"Oh! a hundred sous, I suppose."

"Here's the money; and I am your debtor."

Dumouton pocketed the five francs with a radiant air. But he took his umbrellas in his hand again and held them out to me.

"I am sorry that you won't take one of these," he said.

I glanced at them, and replied:

"But neither of them is new."

"Oh! that may be; we bought them at second-hand. But they are good ones, and not dear. I will give you your choice for ten francs."

It was clear to my mind that poor Dumouton was sadly in need of money. Why should I not gratify him by buying an umbrella? That was simply a roundabout way of asking a favor. I took one of the umbrellas at random, and said:

"Well, if it will relieve you,—and I can understand that these two are a luxury, if you have five at home,—give me this one. Here's the ten francs."

Dumouton took the money and slipped one of the umbrellas under my arm so rapidly that I thought that he had run it into me; and fearing perhaps that I would change my mind and go back on my bargain, he left me on the instant, saying:

"I am very glad you needed an umbrella. Bonjour, Monsieur Rochebrune! hope to see you again soon!"

He disappeared, running. I examined the article I had purchased: it was a very good umbrella, with a laurel-wood stick; the head was a trefoil with silver trimmings, and the cover dark green silk. After all, I had not made a bad bargain; but I would have been glad not to have it on my hands just then, for the weather was fine, and it makes a man look very foolish to carry an umbrella under such circumstances.

But I had my ticket. I entered a café and called for paper and ink. I put the ticket in an envelope, with this superscription: For Mademoiselle Rosette, at Madame Ratapond's.

I carried the missive myself, for the name Ratapond did not inspire confidence. Moreover, I was not sorry to ask a few questions and find out a little more about Mademoiselle Rosette.

I arrived at Rue Meslay, and found the designated number. I passed under a porte cochère and was walking toward the concierge's lodge, when an enormous woman, who reminded me of one of the handsome sappers and miners who change their sex during the Carnival, came toward me from the farther end of the courtyard.

"Who do you want to see, monsieur?" she demanded.

"Does Madame Ratapond live in this house, madame?"

"Yes, monsieur; fifth floor above the entresol, the door opposite the stairs."

"I beg your pardon, madame; but what is that lady's business?"

As I asked the question, I felt in my pocket and took out a two-franc piece, which I slipped into the hand of the colossus, who instantly assumed a coquettish, mincing air and seemed to diminish in size until she reached my level.

"Oh! monsieur," she replied, "Madame Ratapond's a very respectable woman; she sends shawls into the departments and on the railroads."

"Has she many workgirls?"

"Six, and sometimes more."

"Do you know one of them named Mademoiselle Rosette—a pretty brunette, with a shapely, slender figure?"

"Oh! yes, monsieur. Mamzelle Rosette! To be sure, I know her; she goes up and down twenty times a day. She often does errands. Does monsieur happen to have brought her a ticket to the theatre? She told me this morning she expected one to-day, but she didn't count much on it."

"That is just what I have brought for her."

"Oh! won't she be glad, though! I tell you, monsieur, you can flatter yourself you've given her a lot of pleasure. She'll dance for joy when I tell her!"

"She doesn't live in the house, does she?"

"No, monsieur; she comes about eight o'clock or half-past."

"At what time does she go away?"

"Why, when the others do. Usually about eight, unless they're working late; then it's as late as ten, sometimes."

"Here is the letter, madame, with the ticket; will you be kind enough to hand it to mademoiselle in person?"

"Yes, monsieur, I understand. You see, I'm sure it won't be long before she comes in or goes out, and she always speaks to me when she passes."

"I rely upon you, then, madame."

The colossus cut several capers by way of courtesies; I left her standing on one leg, and went my way. I had found that the girl had not deceived me in what she told me; that was something. I did not suppose that I was dealing with a Jeanne d'Arc, but I did not care to fall into the other extreme. I determined to go to the Gymnase, and to have a little note in my pocket, appointing a meeting, which I would slip into Mademoiselle Rosette's hand if I was unable to talk freely with her.

I was on my way home, when I heard my name called. I turned and recognized Monsieur Rouffignard, the stout, chubby-faced party, who also was one of the dinner party at Deffieux's.

"Parbleu!" I said, as we shook hands; "this is my day for meetings!"

"Bonjour, Monsieur Rochebrune! have you seen our friend Dupréval lately?"

"Not for a long while! I have not done right; but I have been told that since Dupréval was married he has entirely renounced pleasure and gives all his attention to business; so that I have been afraid of disturbing him."

"It is true, he has become a regular bear; he thinks of nothing but making money. For my part, I make it, but I spend it too!"

"And I spend it, and don't make any. Such is life: everyone follows his tastes, or the current that carries him along; if we all did the same thing, it would be too monotonous."

"I have just met a man who was at our dinner party at Deffieux's, and who can't be very well content with his lot at present; I don't know whether that will make him less rigid in the matter of morals."

"Whom do you mean?"

"Monsieur Faisandé, the clerk in the Treasury Department, who was shocked when he heard anything a little off color."

"What has happened to him?"

"He has lost his place, that's all."

"Dismissed?"

"Yes, and he certainly hasn't embezzled. I heard all about it from a man who is a clerk in the same bureau. Would you believe, Monsieur Rochebrune, that that individual, who was so virtuous, so pure in his language, sometimes passed a fortnight without showing his face at his desk? If it had been on account of sickness, no one would have said a word; but, no, the man wasn't even at home; he didn't show himself there any more than he did at the bureau; not even at night; and his wife and child expecting him all the time! He passed a fortnight away from home!"

"What a cur!"

"You are right: cur is the word. They began, at the bureau, by warning him that, if he were not more regular, his conduct would be reported. He paid no attention. They cut down his salary; and he kept on in the same way. At last, they gave him his walking ticket. And now he's thrown on his wife's hands, and she has to work day and night to support her family! Poor woman! may heaven soon rid her of the fellow!"

"Cur and hypocrite often go together. I have never had the slightest confidence in people who prate about their own virtue, honesty, or merit."

While I was speaking, Monsieur Rouffignard happened to glance at my umbrella, which he at once began to scrutinize closely.

"You are surprised to see me with an umbrella in my hand, in such beautiful weather as this, aren't you?"

"Oh! I am not surprised at that, but—— Will you allow me to touch it?"

"Certainly."

I handed the umbrella to my stout friend, who examined the handle, opened and closed it, and exclaimed:

"Parbleu! I am sure now that I'm not mistaken."

"Do you happen to recognize my umbrella?"

"Your umbrella? You say it's yours?"

"Why, to be sure! I bought it not two hours ago, and that is why I am carrying it now."

"In that case, I should be very glad to know where you bought it."

"You know Dumouton—the literary man?"

"Dumouton! Indeed I know him; he borrows five francs of me every time he sees me. But go on!"

"Well! I met him this morning. He had two umbrellas under his arm, and he urged me so hard to buy one of them that I finally bought this one."

"Ah! the villain! Upon my word, this is too cool! He actually sold you my umbrella, which he borrowed the day before yesterday and was to return that evening, and which I am still waiting for! Oh! this is the one—a trefoil with silver trimmings. It's my umbrella! Well! Monsieur Rochebrune, what do you say to that performance?"

Poor Dumouton! I was sorry that I had been the means of showing him up; but how could I suspect that he had sold me Rouffignard's umbrella? It was very wrong; but, perhaps, he needed the money to pay his baker. I felt that I must try to arrange the matter.

"You agree with me!" cried the stout man; "you call this a shameful trick, don't you?"

"No, Monsieur Rouffignard. I think that there is some misunderstanding simply, some mistake; that Dumouton is not guilty——"

"Not guilty! and he sold you my umbrella?"

"Allow me. When I met Dumouton this morning, he had two umbrellas under his arm. He offered to sell me one. 'And what about the other?' I asked him.—'The other isn't mine,' he said; 'it was lent to me, and I am going at once to return it.'—He certainly was speaking of yours, then. I made a bargain with him for his umbrella. But we talked some little time, and, when he left me, he must have made a mistake and given me the wrong one; that's the whole of it."

"Do you think so?"

"I am so sure of it that I will give you your umbrella, and go to Dumouton's to get the other."

"Infinitely obliged, Monsieur Rochebrune. But, as Dumouton proposed to bring mine back, I may find the other one at my house; in that case, I will send it to you at once."

"Do so, pray; au revoir, Monsieur Rouffignard!"

"Your servant, Monsieur Rochebrune!"

The stout man went off with his umbrella; I was quite sure that he would find none to send to me. Unfortunate Dumouton! See whither petits verres lead, and idling in cafés, and risky collaborations!

My thoughts recurred to the ticket for the box at the Gymnase. Suppose that should be claimed at the door, like the umbrella! Suppose my ladies should be denied admission, humiliated! That would prove to have been a precious gift of mine! And the name that was written on it! Suppose that that should mislead Mademoiselle Rosette! Faith! that would be amusing. In case of an emergency, as I had given the damsel my address, and had forgotten to tell her my name, I determined to instruct my concierge as to what he must say if anyone should call and ask for the person whose name was on the ticket.

I waited impatiently for the hour at which the play would begin. I was convinced that they would be admitted on the ticket I had sent. Dumouton had undoubtedly asked for the box under some other name than his own, with the intention of selling it; that was very pleasant for the person whose name was written out in full on the ticket!

I could not afford to appear at the very beginning of the play; I should look like an opéra-comique lover. I waited until eight o'clock, before I went to the Gymnase. I had been careful to observe the number of the box, which was the best in the second tier. The play had begun; I walked along the corridor, found the number in question, and satisfied myself by a glance through the glass door that the box was full. That was satisfactory; she had come. My next move was to take up a position on the opposite side; at a distance, it would be easy for me to keep my eyes on the box without attracting attention.

I entered the opposite balcony, where nothing would intercept my view of the person on whose account I had come.

But to no purpose did I fix my opera glass on the box in question; to no purpose did I rub it with my handkerchief so that I could see more distinctly: among all the faces that filled the box I had given my pretty grisette, there was not one that resembled or even suggested hers. I looked again and again. It was impossible; I thought that my eyes deceived me. There were four women in the box, and I examined them one after another. It did not take long. In front, there was a rather attractive person of thirty or thereabouts; but she did not in the least resemble Mademoiselle Rosette: as for the other three, they were all between fifty and seventy, and vied with one another in ugliness.

What had they done with my pretty Rosette? where was she? I wanted her, I must have her! Deuce take it! It was not for that quartette of women that I had bought the box of Monsieur Dumouton, who had seized the opportunity to entangle me in the folds of an umbrella! Who were those people I was examining? Madame Ratapond? some of my inamorata's aunts? I had no idea, but I was horribly annoyed. So she had not come! although the ticket was meant for her; although she knew that I would go there solely in the hope of seeing her and speaking to her! So she did not choose to make my acquaintance, but simply to make sport of me!

I left the balcony and returned to the corridor; I asked the box opener if the ladies in such a number had said that they expected anyone.

"No, monsieur; they didn't say anything about it. Anyway, the box is full; there's four of 'em."

"I know that. By the way, please show me their ticket."

The box opener showed me the coupon: it was the one I had sent. I was completely done! I returned, in an execrable humor, to the balcony, but this time nearer the box. From time to time, I glanced at that assemblage of the fair sex, every member of which, with one exception, was exceedingly ugly. But it seemed to me that they had noticed me. Perhaps they fancied that they had made a conquest of me. In any event, there was but one of them who could reasonably imagine that. Soon I began to think that they whispered and laughed together as they looked at me. Perhaps it was my imagination. But, no matter! I had had enough. She for whom I had come was not there; why should I remain?

I left the theatre. I was weak enough to pace back and forth on the boulevard, in front of the door, hoping that she might come. But the clock struck ten. I decided to go away. I went into a café and read the papers, and about half-past eleven I went home, depressed and shame-faced. Really, that girl was most seductive, and I had fancied that there would be no obstacle to our liaison.

My concierge stopped me.

"A young woman has been here asking for you, monsieur. That is to say, she didn't ask for you, but for that queer name monsieur told me."

My heart expanded; I became as cheerful as I was melancholy a moment before.

"Ah! so the young woman came, did she? A tall, dark girl, with a wide-awake look?"

"Yes, monsieur; that describes her."

"What time did she come?"

"About half-past eight."

"And she asked if Monsieur—the author whose name I gave you—lived here?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"And you answered?"

"I answered yes, as you told me to. I told her that you lived on the second floor, but that you had gone out."

"And then?"

"Then she said she'd come about noon to-morrow, and told me to tell you."

"She will come to-morrow?"

"Yes, monsieur, about noon."

"Very good! very good!"

I was beside myself with joy. I rewarded my concierge, then ran lightly up my two flights. Pomponne opened the door. I went in singing, and said to him:

"To-morrow, Pomponne, about noon, a young grisette will come here."

"Ah! a grisette—a new one?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean one who has not called on monsieur before."

"Why, yes, of course, you idiot! She will ask for——"

"Pardi! she will ask for monsieur."

"Well, no; that is just what she won't do."

"Will she ask for me, then? But I don't expect anybody, monsieur!"

"Oh! how you annoy me with your reflections, Pomponne! She will ask for—— But, no, you would make some infernal blunder; I prefer not to have you here. I will send you on some errand, and let her in myself when she comes."

"What, monsieur! do you distrust me to that extent?"

"Hush! you bore me."

"But if you want her to ask for me, monsieur, I'm willing, I don't refuse."

"Leave me in peace, and go to bed!"

Pomponne went to bed, weeping because I would not allow him to be there on the morrow to admit my young grisette. I fell asleep thinking of Mademoiselle Rosette. Her visit indicated a very earnest wish to make my acquaintance; or was it not due to her having read that name on the ticket? Was it not because she believed me to be a famous author that she had come to my lodgings? All women love renown; grisettes are as susceptible to it as other women. And in that case, when she learned——

"Faith!" said I to myself; "we shall see to-morrow; let's go to sleep."

At noon, I was becomingly dressed; I had sent Pomponne away, with orders not to return before two o'clock, and I impatiently counted the minutes.

I did not count long. The bell rang; I opened the door instantly: it was my grisette, in the same costume as on the day of our first meeting, and with a no less affable expression. She entered without ceremony. I ushered her into my little salon, and invited her to sit on the divan, saying:

"How good of you to come!"

"I came last evening."

"I know it. But why weren't you at the theatre? I was so anxious to meet you there! In fact, it was for you that I sent the box, and not for those others."

"Yes, but I couldn't go; there was work that had to be done, and at such times there's no fun to be had. You saw my employer, Madame Ratapond, and a specimen of my aunts."

"Ah! so those were your aunts; the elderly ladies, I presume?"

"Yes. And my mistress, what did you think of her?"

"She is very good-looking. But it was you that I wanted to see! You are so pretty, and I love you so dearly!"

At this point, I tried to add action to speech; but Mademoiselle Rosette pushed me away and arose, saying:

"In the first place, I want you to let me alone. Stop! stop! you think you can go on like that, right away—— Oh, no! Later, I won't say! We'll see!"

Good! At all events, she gave me ground for hope. I liked her frankness exceedingly.

"In the second place, I must go; yes, I'm in a great hurry. I came here on my way to do an errand; but it wasn't far that I had to go, and my mistress will say: 'There's that Rosette idling again!'"

"Ah! so it seems that you do that sometimes?"

"Yes, sometimes; I don't deny it. I like to stroll along and look in the shop windows."

"Sit down a moment."

She did so, and said, after looking about the room:

"Monsieur—is it really true that it's you?"

"That it's I?—why—— What do you mean?"

"Why, you know, yesterday, when I saw your name on the ticket, I shouted for joy, and I said: 'What! that gentleman who spoke to me is the one who writes the plays I like so much and go to see so often!'—Oh! I tell you, I was pleased then, and that's why I came right here last night: I remembered your address, and I asked if it was really you that lived in this house; and the concierge said yes, and I told him I'd come again to-morrow, at noon. Well! does that make you angry? you don't say anything."

"No; it doesn't make me angry. But I was thinking."

"I say, monsieur, do you know I'm mad over your plays? If I should go mad over you too——"

"There's no danger of that."

"What's that? there's no danger? What makes you say: 'There's no danger'? Perhaps you don't know that I take fire very quickly, I do!"

That young woman was decidedly original. She said whatever came into her head, without beating about the bush. I liked that frankness, in which there was something like artlessness. Mademoiselle Rosette was neither stupid, nor pretentious, nor prudish. She was a perfect little phœnix, was that grisette. I began by kissing her; she defended herself feebly, or, rather, she allowed herself to be kissed without too much fuss; but when I attempted to go further, she defended herself very stoutly, crying:

"I said: 'Not to-day!'—So, no nonsense; it's a waste of time!"

"Well, when, then?"

"Oh! we'll see; we've got time enough. Do you like me?"

"What a question! Many other men must like you, for you know well enough that you're as pretty as a peach."

"Oh, yes! I know that; people tell me so every day."

"Lovers?"

"Lovers and flatterers and chance acquaintances—what do I know? I can't go out without being followed, and it's sickening!"

"Come, Mademoiselle Rosette, tell me frankly: have you had many—lovers?"

"Lovers! I should think not! No, I've never had but one."

"That's very modest! And you loved him dearly, I suppose?"

"Why, yes."

"Why did you separate?"

She looked down at the floor, heaved a profound sigh, and murmured:

"Alas! he died, my poor Léon!"

"Oh! forgive me for reminding you of so sad a loss."

"Yes; he died—a little more than a year ago."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty. They've wanted to marry me off seventeen times already; but I won't have it; I haven't any taste for marriage. I am right, ain't I?"

"If you have no inclination for marriage, you will certainly do quite as well to remain free."

"Free, that's it! What fun it is to do just what one wants to do! In the first place, I should make a husband very unhappy! And in the second place, how can I marry, now? I don't choose to deceive anyone, and I certainly wouldn't hold myself out for something that I'm not any more."

"You are right, mademoiselle; you shouldn't have any secrets from the man you bind yourself to; but all young ladies aren't like you."

"They're wrong, then. I must go now; I shall get a scolding."

"Just another minute. Tell me; if you hadn't seen that name on the theatre ticket, wouldn't you have come to see me?"

"Oh, no!"

"Then it was on account of the name alone that you came, not on my account?"

"But it was on your account, as the name's yours."

"But suppose it were not mine? suppose it were a mere accident that that name was on the ticket?"

The girl gazed earnestly at me, then exclaimed impatiently:

"Come, go on! what do you mean? I don't like to have anyone hold my nose under water."

"I mean, mademoiselle, that, like yourself, I do not choose to deceive anyone, or to hold myself out for what I am not. The author of whose works you are so fond—I am not he. My name is Charles Rochebrune; and I haven't the least little bit of renown to serve as a halo to my name. If my concierge lied to you yesterday, it was because I thought that you would not come here for poor me; and, as I ardently desired to see you again, I ventured upon that little fraud, to obtain the pleasure of receiving you here. But I never intended to carry it any further.—That is what I wanted to tell you."

Mademoiselle Rosette was silent for a few moments; I heard her mutter in a disappointed tone: "It's a pity!" But the next minute she smiled and held out her hand, saying:

"I don't care—it was good of you to tell me the truth!"

"Then you are no longer angry with me?"

"What good would that do?"

"And you will love me a little?"

"We shall see. Ah! a piano! Who plays the piano? I love music!"

I sat down at the piano, and played quadrilles, waltzes, and polkas. When I reached the last-named dance, she began to polk about the salon with fascinating grace.

"Do you like the polka?"

"I adore it! Do you polk?"

"A little."

"Let's try it."

She took my arm, and in a moment we were polking all over the salon to a tune which I was obliged to sing while we danced. It was very fatiguing; but Mademoiselle Rosette did not weary; she was an intrepid dancer. We were making our fifteenth circuit, at least, when the door was suddenly thrown open and Frédérique appeared. She stood, speechless with amazement, in the doorway; she had not eyes enough to look at us. I attempted to stop and go to her; but Mademoiselle Rosette dragged me on and compelled me to continue:

"Come on, come on!" she cried. "Do you think of stopping now? My word! Why, I can polk two hours without stopping!"

XXXV
A HIGH LIVER

Mademoiselle Rosette danced on with undiminished ardor, but I felt that mine was rapidly giving out; my voice was dying away, and there were moments when I did not make a sound. After watching us for some time, Frédérique took her place at the piano and began to play a polka for us.

Then there was no longer any reason why we should stop; I did not need to sing, it is true, but I did need the leg of a Hercules to keep pace with my partner, who exclaimed when she heard the music:

"Oh! that's fine! How much better we go with the piano!—Not quite so fast, madame, please! The polka isn't like the waltz."

But I could do no more; I stopped and threw myself into a chair. Mademoiselle Rosette thereupon concluded to sit down; and as she took out her handkerchief to wipe her face, she dropped a thimble, two skeins of cotton, a piece of cake, two sous, a spool of thread, a card, a lump of sugar, a skein of silk, and three plums.

She got down on all fours to pick them up, then glanced at the clock and cried:

"Mon Dieu! half-past one! To think that I've been here an hour and a half, and I didn't mean to stay five minutes! Oh! what a trouncing I shall get! luckily, I don't care a hang! Adieu, Monsieur What's-your-name! I'm going."

She had already left the salon; I hurried after her and overtook her in the reception room, and, seizing her around the waist, said:

"When shall I see you again?"

"Dame! I don't know; whenever you say."

"Will you dine with me to-morrow?"

"Dine with you? Yes, I'd like to."

"Will you be on Passage Vendôme at five o'clock?"

"No, no! not on Passage Vendôme; that's too near my employer's; someone might see me. Better go where we met first, on Boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle, in front of the Gymnase."

"Very good; at five o'clock?"

"That's too early; half-past five."

"Half-past five it is. Until to-morrow, then!"

"Yes; adieu!"

I kissed her, and she ran down the stairs four at a time. I returned to the salon. Frédérique's face wore a singular expression. She pretended to laugh, but her merriment seemed forced to me.

"Will you forgive me for leaving you alone a moment while I said a word to that young woman?" I said, as I sat down beside her.

"Why, of course! Do friends stand on ceremony with one another?"

"You see, I have taken advantage of the permission you gave me."

"You have done well.—Ha! ha! ha!"

"Why do you laugh?"

"Because you looked so comical, polking with that grisette just now. I had so little expectation of finding a ball in progress here!—Ha! ha! ha! I was speechless."

"By the way, how did you come in?"

"Through the door, naturally; I rang, and your servant admitted me. But you were so hard at work with your dancing that you didn't hear me—apparently.—Ha! ha! ha!"

"Oho! my servant admitted you, did he? I sent him on an errand and forbade him to return before two o'clock. The rascal! he couldn't restrain his curiosity, and he came back before the time."

"I disturbed you—I am very sorry. But it seemed to me that you had had enough; you were on your last legs. Fichtre! what a dancer that damsel is! You and I dance very well together—they took us for artists from the Opéra, you know; but if you had polked with your friend at Monsieur Bocal's ball, they would have carried you both in triumph, like Musard.—Ha! ha! ha!"

"You are in a satirical mood, Frédérique."

"Satirical with you? Bless my soul! it seems to me that that would be very unbecoming of me. You amuse yourself, you enjoy life, you know how to make the most of your best days—and you are quite right! I may envy your happiness, but certainly not laugh at it, I who can no longer do anything but bore myself and other people too."

She said these last words in a most melancholy tone, and her eyes were wet with tears.

"What's that you say about boring other people, Frédérique?" I said, taking her hand. "You didn't make that wicked remark for my benefit, I trust; if you did, it is absolutely false."

She hastily withdrew her hand.

"No, no!" she cried; "I don't know what I am saying, or what I am thinking about! Come, let us talk, my dear friend; who is this girl that I found with you?"

"She—why, she's a grisette; and a very pretty one, too, is she not?"

"Yes, that may be. She lisps when she talks."

"Oh! really now! Once in a while, there's something that makes her voice tremble, it is true, but it isn't at all disagreeable; quite the contrary."

"That's a matter of taste. Some men like women who lisp, just as some like red hair. I have known some who even went so far as to adore women with a limp."

"Oh! how caustic you are to-day, Frédérique!"

"And this beauty, with the quivering voice—how long have you known her?"

"Since day before yesterday."

"Peste! she's quite new! And the acquaintance is already—complete; you have nothing else to wish for?"

"Oh! I beg your pardon. We don't go so fast."

"But I should say that you go at quite a good pace. If the young lady should prove cruel, I should be much surprised."

"I trust that she won't be to-morrow."

"Ah! you are to see her again to-morrow?"

"Yes, we dine together; we have made the appointment, it's all arranged."

Frédérique abruptly sprang to her feet and walked to the window. She remained there some time. When she came back to me, I was surprised at her pallor.

"Do you feel ill?" I asked, hastening to meet her.

"No; I—I—was looking at the weather. Well! so you really have ceased entirely to think of Armantine?"

"What has induced you to mention that lady to me? What idea have you in your head?"

"A perfectly natural one. I am still surprised to find that you have forgotten her. Do you know that she has left Passy?"

"How should I know that? Do you suppose that I have been to Passy?"

"Oh, no! that is true. Well, Armantine has left the neighborhood of the Bois. She hasn't told me where she has gone; apparently, she isn't anxious to see me again. That's as she pleases: one should never force one's self upon anybody. But I see that you are not listening to me! I forgive you: you are so engrossed by your new conquest and your blissful meeting to-morrow!—But I am forgetting that I have some business to attend to."

As she spoke, she put on her bonnet, which she had tossed on a table when she took her seat at the piano.

"What! you are going to leave me already?"

"Yes—I, too—somebody's waiting for me—I too have an appointment. Did you think that that was impossible?"

"In what a tone you say that! I thought simply that, in that case, you would have taken me into your confidence."

"Perhaps so. I can't tell all my sentiments so easily as you can."

"Then you have less confidence in me than I have in you."

"That is possible."

"But that is very unkind!"

"Tell me, how long will this new love of yours last?"

"My relations with Mademoiselle Rosette?—for you mustn't call it love."

"What is it, then?"

"It is a little liaison of no consequence—for amusement."

"Give it whatever name you choose. Well, how long will this little liaison of no consequence, for amusement, be likely to last?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I want to know."

"It's rather hard for me to answer. How is it possible to say? You see, I know nothing of the girl's temperament. Such liaisons sometimes end in a week; sometimes they last three months."

"All right. Then I will come again three months hence."

"What does this mean? Why do you leave me so?"

"Because it seems to me that I always arrive most inopportunely and disturb you in the midst of your pleasures; and I shall do well not to intrude again, so long as you are—infatuated with this grisette."

"Really, Frédérique, I can't understand you! What connection can there possibly be between my follies, my amourettes, my momentary pleasures, and our delightful friendship?"

"Oh! you are quite right! Of course, there is not the slightest connection between me and your pleasures. Ah, me! I certainly do not know what I am saying to-day; my wits are all topsy-turvy. But, adieu! I repeat, I have an appointment; I must leave you. Adieu!"

"But I shall see you again soon?"

"Yes, soon."

She left the room. There were days when I was utterly at a loss to understand that woman's changing moods.

"Ah! here's Monsieur Pomponne! Just come this way, O faithful and, above all, obedient servitor!"

Pomponne hung his head and stood in front of me, like a Cossack awaiting the knout.

"What did I tell you when I sent you out this morning?"

"You told me, monsieur, that it would take me till two o'clock at least. But I hurried and got back earlier. Monsieur tells me sometimes that I am slow, and I wanted to prove that I could be quick."

"You have proved that you are a prying rascal—that's what you have proved! Another time, if you don't carry out my orders to the letter, I will discharge you."

"You didn't give me any letter, monsieur."

"Enough; off with you, or I may give you something else!"

The next day, at half-past five, I was at the place Mademoiselle Rosette had appointed; in a few moments, I saw my new conquest approaching; she did not keep me waiting, that was another excellent quality.

For this occasion Mademoiselle Rosette had made a toilet; she wore a green merino dress, a pretty shawl, a black velvet bonnet, with a tulle veil. It was all very becoming to her; moreover, her costume was suitable, without being pretentious; that fact denoted good taste.

I offered her my arm, and she smilingly accepted it. We walked toward the cab stand. I put her into a little citadine, and as we drove away I began the conversation with a kiss; that leads at once to intimacy. My companion accepted the situation with the best grace imaginable. We were very good friends in short order.

"Where are you taking me?" inquired Rosette.

"To a restaurant."

"Is it very far?"

"Near the Jardin des Plantes, opposite the Orléans station—the Arc-en-Ciel. It seems to me that if we get away from the crowd, we shall be more at liberty, more at home. You're in no hurry, are you?"

"Oh, no! that is to say, provided I'm at home at eleven o'clock."

"Then we have plenty of time before us. By the way, where do you live?"

"Suppose I don't choose to tell you?"

"It shall be exactly as you choose."

"I was joking. I live on Faubourg Saint-Denis, corner of Rue Chabrol."

"The deuce! that's well up in the faubourg! And you go back there alone, at night, when you leave your work?"

"To be sure!"

"And you're not afraid?"

"What should I be afraid of? Besides, I always have body-guards, men who follow me and protect me. But, speaking of that, monsieur, who was that lady who came to see you while we were polking? and who stayed there after I went, and looked at me as if she meant to count my eyelashes?"

"That lady is a friend of mine."

"I understand: she's your mistress!"

"I assure you that she is not. If she were, I should have no reason to conceal the fact."

"Oh! I don't know. There are some ladies who don't want to be given away—when they're married, for instance."

"Once more, I assure you that she is a friend, and nothing more."

"Oh! a friend! I know what that means! So she's an old one, eh?"

"Neither old nor new. Do you suppose that, if that lady were my mistress, she would be obliging enough, when she found me dancing with you, to sit down at the piano and be our orchestra?"

"Oh! but she played the polka fast enough to spoil our wind in a second. It was no use for me to call out: 'A little slower, please, madame!' she didn't listen to me, but banged and banged away! It was a sly trick to wind us both. Oh! I'm not so stupid as you think!"

"But I have never thought that you were stupid; far from it!"

"Really! tell me, do you think I am bright?"

"I think you are charming."

"That's no answer; I might be charming, and still be stupid. However, I don't care; as long as I please you, and you love me a little—I mean much; I want to be loved much—that's all I ask."

She said all this with an abandon, a vivacity, which proved, at all events, that she did not stop to pick her words.

We arrived at the restaurant; I need not say that I had taken my conquest to an establishment where there were cosily furnished private dining-rooms. I also think it needless to add that I began by dismissing the waiter, who attempted to insist upon serving us at once, by telling him that I would prepare my order and ring for him when we wanted to dine. I was very glad to have an interview with Mademoiselle Rosette, uninterrupted by the constant going and coming of a waiter.

At last we were left alone. I was able to converse at my ease with my pretty workgirl, to whom our conversation was equally agreeable and who sustained her part excellently. I was enchanted with Mademoiselle Rosette! Long live the women who do not make a thousand and one grimaces before coming to what they have never intended to refuse! Ah! if only one could believe that they did have that intention, and yielded to the power of sentiment, to the ascendency of our passion alone! But it is impossible to believe that. Whenever a woman agrees to go to a private dining-room with a man, it means that she does not propose to be severe.

In due course, we dined; we had the most voracious appetites. We were as gay as larks; embarrassment and reserve had vanished. There is nothing superior to a little tender conversation for putting us in a good humor at once, and putting to flight that indefinable constraint which takes wing only when a woman has ceased to keep us at any distance.

Rosette and I were like people who had known each other for six months. She ate like an ogre and drank like a porter. She was a model grisette! a table companion of the sort that puts you on your mettle and excites you! Don't talk to me of the women who never have any appetite, who barely nibble at their food, and leave untouched all that you put on their plate. They call everything bad, and end by preventing you from eating. What depressing companions! With them, you spend quite as much—yes, more; for you never know what to order to stir them up, and you always dine wretchedly.

But with Rosette how different it was! how we made the oysters disappear, and the soup, and the beef-steak; the fish and game and vegetables and sweetmeats and dessert! She ate the last dish with as much gusto as the first. Oh! fascinating girl, I admired thee! I revered thee! I would have erected a column to thee, had I been Lucullus! But thou wert as well pleased with a charlotte russe! And thou wert right: columns remain, but charlotte russes pass away; and that was what we wanted.

We drank chablis, pomard, madeira, and came at last to champagne. Rosette confessed that she adored that wine; as for the others, I was pleased to see that she had a friendly feeling for them as well. She laughingly emptied her glass, saying:

"I'd have you know that I never get tipsy."

A moment later, she cried:

"Oh! but I say, I am drinking too much; I'm beginning to be dizzy!"

In another instant, she assumed a sentimental expression.

"O my friend!" she said; "if I should be drunk, what would you say to me? You might not love me any more! That would make me very unhappy!"

But I kissed her and drank with her, and her fears were succeeded by bursts of merriment.

The more one drinks, the more one talks, unless one happens to be melancholy in one's cups, and my grisette was not so constituted.

While we dined, she told me her whole history; I knew her family as well as if I were her cousin. She was an orphan, but her seven aunts took care of her. It seemed to me that their watchfulness resembled that of the Seven Sleepers. That is one of the inconveniences of having too many aunts: each of them probably relied on the others to keep an eye on Rosette.

Now her aunts wanted her to marry, and each one had a match in view for her; the result being that there were seven aspirants for the hand of my friend, who reminded me of the Seven Children of Lara. Thus Mademoiselle Rosette had only too many to choose from, to say nothing of the fact that she had several young men who were paying court to her, for the good motive, without the knowledge of her aunts.

"Perhaps you don't believe me! But I'll show you; I always have letters from some of my suitors in my pocket. I want you to read them; they'll make you laugh."

And Rosette set about emptying her pockets, which led us to the disclosure of a multitude of things, such as scissors, skeins of cotton, crusts of bread, visiting cards, copper coins, barley sugar, ribbons, braid, chalk, specimens of dry goods, orange peel, etc., etc. I told her that she should empty her pockets on the boulevard and shout:

"Here's what's left from the sale! Come, messieurs and mesdames, take your choice; this is what's left from the sale!"

Rosette insisted that I should read her letters from her adorers. I found in them the following sentiments:

"Ah! mademoiselle, what a sudden spasm I felt throughout my being when I saw your shadow on the curtain!"

Or this: "Fatality collects and heaps up like a block of granite on my breast the circumstances that compel me to idolize you."

I soon had enough of that; I refused to read any more and returned the scrawls to Rosette, saying:

"I'll wager that your lovers have long, flying hair, uncombed beards, and artist's hats?"

"That is true! How did you guess that?"

"My dear love, when a man writes in that style, he doesn't dress like other people."

The hour arrived when we must think of returning. The time had passed very quickly; that is the greatest praise one can give a tête-à-tête.

I put Mademoiselle Rosette in a cab again—she was slightly exhilarated—and said:

"I will escort you to Faubourg Saint-Denis."

She seemed to consider.

"Aren't you going home?" I continued.

"How stupid you are! Where do you suppose I'm going? But, you see, I have quite a choice; I can go and sleep at another one of my aunts', if I choose—it doesn't matter which, I have a bed with each of them; I might sleep in the Marais, for I have an aunt on Rue Pont-aux-Choux."

"Pardieu! that's convenient, isn't it? So, when you want to pass the night with your lover, you tell one aunt that you've been with another one, and so on. Oh! fortunate niece! I have known lots of nieces, but very few in so pleasant a position as you occupy."

"Oh! come, don't laugh at me! Let me tell you, monsieur, that my aunts see each other very often; and so, if I should lie and say I had passed the night with one of them when I hadn't, they'd soon find it out, and I shouldn't have a very nice time."

"Forgive me, dear love! I didn't mean to offend you!"

"Kiss me. When shall I see you again?"

"When you are willing."

"I'll come to see you Thursday, about two. Will you wait for me?"

"Most certainly."

"And you'll take care that your friend don't come and disturb us; if she does, I'll make a scene with her. I'm very jealous, let me tell you. You love me, don't you? Ah! you've made me tipsy, you see, and I don't know what I'm saying."

I reassured Rosette and left her on Faubourg Saint-Denis, where she had finally decided to go. She was a very attractive girl, her conversation was amusing, and her person most alluring. But I was sorry that she had a tent pitched in every quarter of Paris; one could never be sure where she had gone into camp.

XXXVI
A SCENE

I had known Rosette a month, and thus far had had no reason to repent. I had observed, to be sure, that the young woman did not always tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; but, after all, a lover should not act toward his mistress in the capacity of a juryman. Moreover, Rosette herself had told me, in a moment of effusiveness, that she lied a great deal and lied very well. It seemed to me that, after that, I was not justified in losing my temper when she told me a falsehood; for she might reply:

"I gave you fair warning!"

I often took Rosette to dine in a private dining-room. Knowing as I did what justice she could do to a hearty meal, it would really have been a pity not to give her an opportunity for practice; and as I myself am endowed with a lusty appetite, our little parties always afforded us pleasure: when love went to sleep, the stomach woke, and vice versa.

Rosette came to my rooms once or twice a week, and sometimes unheralded. When I was absent, she went into my chamber; I had told Pomponne that she was to be admitted at any time. When she had come and failed to find me, I always discovered it instantly, for she turned everything in the apartment topsy-turvy. She tossed about papers, books, combs, brushes, and soap; looked through all the drawers, and left nothing in its place; even the chairs I always found in the middle of the room.

"Couldn't you have put my room to rights a little?" I would say to Pomponne.

And Monsieur Pomponne would reply, with his sly smile:

"It was Mademoiselle Rosette who arranged monsieur's bedroom like that; I shouldn't venture to touch anything."

I had not seen Frédérique since the day she played for us to dance. She had not called upon me again. I had been several times to see her, but had not found her. Could it be that her friendship was really jealous of my love for a grisette? That would be absurd. Friendship should be indulgent to our weaknesses, and, after all, I had not promised Frédérique to be virtuous.

I could not understand her conduct in the least, but I was deeply grieved by it. I missed her; my follies with Rosette were simply transitory gleams of pleasure, while my delightful interviews with Frédérique filled my heart with a joy which had a morrow.

I was sitting one day, absorbed in serious reflections, when Frédérique entered my room. I cannot describe my sensation of pleasure. I ran to meet her, took her hands, and cried:

"Ah! here you are at last! I am very glad! I thought that you had forgotten me altogether."

She looked at me and smiled, as she rejoined:

"So you are glad to see me?"

"Unkind Frédérique! can you ask such a question? Why, I have been to see you several times!"

"I know it; my people told me."

"But you are never at home! What sort of life are you leading, pray, madame?"

"I go out a good deal, it is true."

"Have you been ill? it seems to me that you are a little pale."

"I am never very red. The women you see are so fresh and rosy, that you are struck by the difference."

"Ah! madame, I see no woman whom it gives me so much pleasure to look at as you."

"Really?"

She uttered that word with an accent that came from her heart. I made her sit down beside me. She looked all about the room, murmuring:

"Are you alone?"

"To be sure!"

"And I do not intrude?"

"Once more, I tell you that you never intrude."

"Oh! never is too strong. What if she were with you?"

"Who, pray?"

"Mon Dieu! you know well enough: your dancing damsel—your Rosette."

"Oh! my Rosette!"

"Dame! I think that I may fairly say your Rosette, for she must surely have become yours since the day—— To be sure, she may be others' also, and in that case the possessive pronoun would be of doubtful propriety."

"Call her what you will, Frédérique; I attach little importance to that. But I am surprised to find that my liaison with that girl displeases you. Why is it so? I can't understand. You are too intelligent to believe that such amourettes can impair the pure friendship I have sworn to you."

Frédérique put her hand over her eyes and turned her face away.

"But you are mistaken!" she exclaimed. "It is not true! Your liaison with this grisette doesn't displease me at all. Upon my word! why should it, pray?—But I would have liked you to know five or six at the same time; that would be more amusing; I should enjoy that immensely."

At that moment I heard voices outside, and recognized Pomponne's.

"Monsieur is having a consultation with someone," he said.

"I don't care a hang for his consultation; I can go in any time, I can!" was the reply.

And an instant later, Mademoiselle Rosette opened the door and appeared before us. Frédérique turned pale, but she did not stir. I was annoyed that Rosette should have come just then. However, I had no reason for letting her see it; so I went to meet her, smiling as usual. But my grisette had assumed a furious expression, and she drew back from me, crying:

"Don't put yourself out, monsieur, I beg; you were so comfortable with madame! You weren't polking, to be sure, but you were engaged in something more interesting; anybody could see that."

I saw that Rosette was on the point of saying things most unseemly, and perhaps worse than that, to Madame Dauberny, and I felt my blood begin to boil. Frédérique, on the contrary, remained quite calm.

"Mademoiselle," I said, "I cannot believe that it is your intention to insult those persons whom you may chance to meet on my premises; I tell you at once that that does not meet my views at all, and that I will not endure it."

"Really? Perhaps I'll have to put on mittens when I speak to the princesses I find in monsieur's room! I guess not much! Humbug!"

"O Rosette! Rosette!"

"Let me alone; I propose to shriek all I want to, and get mad too! I don't believe in these friendships between ladies and young men. Bah! friendship that crawls under your bedclothes!"

"Be careful, mademoiselle!"

"I won't be careful! I'm your mistress, I am, worse luck!—If madame don't know it, I'm very glad to tell her of it, so that she'll know it now. Yes, I'm your mistress; but I don't propose to have you have others at the same time—old ones or new ones;—if you do, I'll raise a deuce of a row! Ah! you'll see!"

Frédérique, who seemed rather pleased than angry as she listened to Rosette, rose and said to her in a most affable tone:

"I was quite well aware that you were monsieur's mistress, mademoiselle; I beg you to believe that I did not doubt it for a moment, when I saw you in his room. I assure you that you are wrong, altogether wrong, to be jealous of me, who am not and never have been Monsieur Rochebrune's mistress. So that I do not deserve your anger—and to prove it, I am going to take my leave at once and surrender my place to you—which I would not do, I beg you to believe, if monsieur were my lover. Come! make your peace; be reconciled! I am distressed to have been the cause of this scene.—Adieu, Rochebrune; au revoir, my friend! Be sure that I am not at all offended with you for what has happened."

Frédérique left the room, smiling sweetly at me. I did not try to detain her, because I did not choose to expose her to fresh abuse from Rosette.

As for my grisette, she threw herself on the divan, crying:

"I don't care! I must admit that she's a good creature, after all. Ah! I wouldn't have been the one to go! You might have called up a dozen gendarmes, and I'd just have said: Zut!"

I paced the floor without a word; I was vexed and angry. After five minutes, Rosette exclaimed:

"I say, monsieur, when are you going to stop stalking around your room, like the Bear of Berne? Why, you ought to have begged my pardon ten times for the tricks you play on me! For it's a perfect outrage, the way you treat me!"

"If anyone ought to ask pardon, mademoiselle, you are the one; for, without any motive or reason, you have insulted a most estimable lady, a person who should be out of reach of your suspicions and your attacks. I had told you before that there was nothing in my relations with her to arouse your jealousy; and because you find her in my room, where she has not been since the day of the polka, you make a scene, and say things to her that are worse than unbecoming. It is all wrong, and I am very angry with you."

"Hoity-toity! You're angry with me, are you? Ah! you're a nice man, you are! You are annoyed because I caught you in—vicious conversation, as the bewigged men say! After all, what did I say that was so mortifying to your fine lady? Nothing at all! Ah! if I had pulled her hair out or torn her dress, then you might say something!"

"That would have been the last straw! Do you suppose I would have allowed that?"

"If I'd taken a fancy to do it, you wouldn't have had time to stop me—my good friend. I wouldn't have asked your leave."

"Mademoiselle Rosette, you are very wrong-headed."

"That may be; but you can take me or leave me."

I said nothing, but continued to pace the floor. After a considerable time, Mademoiselle Rosette sprang to her feet.

"Well! so that's the way it is, eh?—Bonsoir!"

She rushed from the room, and I heard her slam one door after another till she was in the hall.

She had gone, and gone in a rage. No matter! I could not allow her to insult my visitors without the slightest cause. If I should allow it, with her temperament Mademoiselle Rosette would soon pass from words to deeds. I said to myself that she would calm down and come back to me. I did not believe that she was vixenish at heart. Those people who fly into a rage so quickly do not let the sun go down on their wrath.

XXXVII
ROSETTE'S SEVEN AUNTS

Several days passed and I heard nothing of my grisette. But I went to see Frédérique, whom I found at home, and who greeted me with evident pleasure.

I did not mention Rosette; but I saw in her eyes that she was burning to know the situation of my amour with her. At last, she could contain herself no longer.

"Well, my friend," she said, "you say nothing of your love affairs. I trust, however, that I am still your confidante; and you surely must have been content with my conduct the last time I came to see you."

"I did not speak of that, to avoid recalling unpleasant things; you were most kind, a thousand times too kind; but that did not surprise me, and I ask your pardon again for that girl, who didn't know what she was saying."

"I assure you that she didn't offend me in the least; far from it! her observations were so amusing, and her expressions so classic! But you are reconciled, I hope? My departure should have restored peace at once."

"No; that is where you are mistaken. We did not make peace. Rosette went away in a rage, and I haven't seen her since."

"Really? You surprise me. And haven't you made any attempt to see that fascinating grisette again?"

"No, not any."

Frédérique looked at me out of the corner of her eye. To change the subject, I asked her if her husband had returned.

"Not yet. You seem greatly interested in my husband's movements. I confess that that puzzles me a good deal."

"I beg you to believe that my interest in him has no connection with you."

"Oh! I am sure of that."

"Do you know that your husband's friend, he who called himself Saint-Germain, has lost his place?"

"I did not know it; but that explains why he comes here almost every day to inquire if Monsieur Dauberny has returned; indeed, he asked to see me once."

"Do not receive that man, madame; I take the liberty of giving you that advice."

"I will follow your advice, monsieur, which, by the by, is in perfect accord with my previous intentions. If I dared to give you advice, in my turn, I would say——"

"Well?"

"Oh, no! no! I won't say it! I prefer that you should follow the impulses of your heart; and then, too——"

Frédérique began to laugh, and I was somewhat annoyed; but she refused to say anything more. I took my leave, almost offended with her; but I pressed her hand affectionately.

Several more days passed, and still no news of Rosette. I was hurt by her desertion; she was very pretty, and she loved me, or, at all events, she pretended to, which often amounts to the same thing. If she was jealous, was not that a proof of affection? After all, I had let her go without saying a word, without trying to detain her.

"Come, come!" I said to myself; "no false shame! It is my place to make advances."

Rosette had said to me:

"If you should happen to have anything important to say to me, go to my aunt's—whichever one I am staying with—and ask for me. There's no danger; they won't see anything but smoke."

So I determined to hunt up Rosette, at her various aunts' abodes, praying that I should have less difficulty than Jason had in his quest of the Golden Fleece. Rosette, by the way, had not a golden fleece, and was to be congratulated therefor.

I hired a cab by the hour, and went first to Faubourg Saint-Denis, corner of Rue Chabrol; that was where Rosette had her legal domicile. I knew the house, having taken her there quite often. I went in and asked an old tailor, presumably the concierge, if Mademoiselle Rosette was with her aunt, Madame Falourdin. I had remembered that aunt's name; as for the others, I had heard them named; but that conglomeration of more or less queer and unusual names had escaped my memory.

"Mamzelle Rosette?" replied the tailor, eying the seat of an old pair of trousers as a cook eyes eggs that are to be served in the shell; "Mamzelle Rosette? No, monsieur, I don't think she be to her aunt's, or I'd have seen her going out and coming in more'n once this morning. You see, monsieur, that girl's just like a worm as has been cut in two—always wriggling.—Bigre! that place is pretty nigh worn out!"

I saw that Rosette was recognized everywhere as being constantly in motion.

"So you think she isn't at Madame Falourdin's?" I said.

"I'd put my thimble in the fire on it. Ha! ha! To be sure, it wouldn't burn, being as it's wrought iron.—Oho! how thin this place is!"

The old fellow was inclined to jest. However, I must find out where to go in search of Rosette.

"Can you tell me, monsieur, where I shall find Mademoiselle Rosette?"

I added to my question the obligatory accompaniment of a piece of silver; but to my amazement the old tailor pushed my hand away, saying:

"That would be robbery, for I don't know where she is.—They want me to make a child's jacket out of this thing, and I couldn't make one gaiter!"

"But I must speak to that young woman."

"Well, then, go up to the third, Mame Falourdin; she'd ought to know where her niece is."

He was right; that was my only resource. Rosette had said to me:

"When you ask for me at one of my aunts', you must always say that you come from Madame Berlingot's finishing shop on Rue Pinon."—I bore that in mind.

There was but one door on the third floor, so that it was impossible to make a mistake. I rang. A tall, thin woman opened the door.

"Madame Falourdin?"

"That's me, monsieur. What can I do for you?"

"Is Mademoiselle Rosette with you, madame?"

"No, monsieur; what do you want of her?"

"I have come from Madame Berlingot's finishing——"

"I know, monsieur, I know! About a cashmere shawl, I suppose, that needs mending and must be mended right away?"

"I think that that's what it is, madame."

"Then, monsieur, you must be kind enough to go to her Aunt Riflot's, Rue du Pont-aux-Choux, No. 17. That's where Rosette is just now."

"Exceedingly obliged, madame; I will go there at once."

"Your servant, monsieur!"

I was not sorry to know that the finisher was supposed to send for Rosette to mend shawls; that would give me more self-assurance in my embassy.

I was driven to Rue du Pont-aux-Choux. There I did not stop to parley with the concierge; I asked for Madame Riflot, and went up at once to the fourth floor. I found a very active and wide-awake little old woman, who did not keep still an instant, but was constantly on the move from the stove to the kitchen table and cupboard while she talked with me.

"I would like to say a word to Mademoiselle Rosette, if possible, madame."

"Rosette? my niece Rosette?—Ah! mon Dieu! I believe it's burning! yes, I believe it's burning!"

And the old woman ran and turned over the tripe that was frying on the stove.

"She is here, is she not, madame?"

"Rosette? my niece Rosette?—Have I got any parsley? have I got any parsley? It would be just like me not to have any parsley!"

"Will you kindly tell me if I may speak to her? Will you call her?"

"Who? Rosette? my niece Rosette?—A body don't have a minute to herself! It must be after twelve. Is it after twelve?"

I began to lose patience, and, being convinced that Rosette was not far away, I shouted at the top of my voice:

"Mademoiselle Rosette, you're wanted!"

At that, the infernal old hag stopped, looked at me, and began to laugh. When she had laughed her fill, she said:

"It's no use for you to call and yell, as she ain't here; you might just as well sing!"

"She is not here? You should have told me that at once, madame."

"You didn't give me time.—And my fire, my fire——"

"In that case, madame, will you be kind enough to tell me where I can find mademoiselle your niece? I wanted to see her about mending a shawl—at Madame Berlingot's."

"Rosette told me, the last time I saw her: 'I'm going to work at Aunt Piquette's, Rue aux Ours, No. 35.'—Well, have I got any embers, I wonder? Let's look and see!"

"Exceedingly obliged, madame."

That old woman set my nerves on edge! Thank God! I was clear of her at last! I made all haste to Aunt Piquette's, Rue aux Ours.

I found no concierge at the number indicated; but a neighbor told me that Madame Piquette lived on the fifth floor. Fichtre! the flights increased in number! If I should have to visit all Rosette's aunts, how high should I have to ascend, at that rate? But I hoped that I should find that intangible niece this time.

I rang at Madame Piquette's door. A woman appeared who was fully sixty years of age, but who wore a cap overladen with flowers and pink ribbons. Where will not coquetry build its nest?

"Madame Piquette?"

"That's me, monsieur; take the trouble to come in."

And she made a formal reverence, as she stood aside to let me pass.

"It is useless for me to disturb you, madame; I have come to——"

"I certainly shall not receive you on the landing, monsieur; please walk in."

"But, madame, I have come for Mademoiselle Rosette, your niece, to——"

"You will offend me by staying out here, monsieur."

I had to give way. I went in, hoping to remain in the first room; but Madame Piquette pushed me toward a door at the farther end, making another reverence. I concluded to enter the second room, which with the first seemed to form the whole suite. And no Rosette! Could it be that I had made another fruitless journey?

"I come, madame, from——"

"Pray be good enough to sit down, monsieur."

"It is not worth while, madame. I wanted to see Mademoiselle Rosette, your niece——"

"You will mortify me by standing, monsieur."

I had no desire to mortify Madame Piquette, but I was inclined to regret little Aunt Riflot at that moment. At last we were both seated. Madame Piquette put a small rug under my feet. Did she think that I had come to pass the day with her? She glanced in the mirror, and rearranged her cap strings on her breast. That pantomime alarmed me; I looked about in dismay; but for some unknown reason, I did not let my eyes rest on Madame Piquette, who had partly unfastened her neckerchief. Mon Dieu! what was the woman thinking of? At last, she finished her manœuvring, and I hastened to say, without stopping for breath:

"I have come from Madame Berlingot's finishing shop on Rue Pinon, to ask Mademoiselle Rosette to mend a cashmere shawl."

Madame Piquette courtesied again; I glanced in the mirror and thought that she was preparing to remove her neckerchief. Great heaven! what was I about to see?

But, no; I had taken fright without cause; she rearranged her pink ribbons about her neck, and replied:

"It is with the deepest regret, monsieur, that I find myself compelled to inform you that Rosette is not here. I believe that she is at her Aunt Dumarteau's at this moment."

"Will you kindly give me Madame Dumarteau's address?"

"It's a long way, monsieur, a long way from here!"

"I have a cab, madame."

"In that case, monsieur, take the trouble to go to Rue Verte, Faubourg Saint-Honoré, No. 12."

"Exceedingly obliged, madame!"

"But if you would be pleased to rest a moment longer, monsieur, I should be charmed to——"

I listened to no more; I rose, left the room, and went down the stairs by leaps and bounds; I fancied that I could still see Madame Piquette baring her neck before me.

"Rue Verte, No. 12," I said to my cabman.—Oh! Rosette, what a dance you were leading me! But, no matter! As I had begun, I would persevere to the end.

"Madame Dumarteau?" I said to the concierge.

"Sixth floor, door at the left."

Sixth floor! I would have bet on it! And this was only the fourth aunt! What fate was in store for me?

I knocked at Madame Dumarteau's door, as she had no bell. A woman of some fifty years, with a morose face, half opened the door, and asked in a hoarse voice:

"What do you want?"

"Madame Dumarteau."

"That's me! Well?"

"I have come to see Mademoiselle Rosette, from——"

"Mamzelle Rosette ain't here."

"Where is she, then?"

"At her Aunt Lumignon's, Rue du Petit-Muse, Quartier Saint-Antoine."

"Very good! What number, please?"

But the lady had already closed her door in my face. Should I knock again, to find out the number? No; Rue du Petit-Muse was short, I knew, and I could inquire. My conversation with Madame Dumarteau was not long; she had not an amiable look, but I preferred her ill humor to Madame Piquette's coquetries. At all events, I lost no time there.

I started for Rue du Petit-Muse. If I had not known my Paris, Mademoiselle Rosette could have undertaken to instruct me. I told the cabman to stop at the corner of Rue Saint-Antoine, and went into one of the first houses, where I said to the concierge:

"Madame Lumignon?"

"This is the place, monsieur."

Faith! I was in luck. The next step was to inquire which floor; I was afraid that I could guess beforehand: I should surely be directed to the seventh.

"Which floor, concierge?"

"At the rear of the courtyard, to the left, ground floor."

Ah! I breathed again! The aunts were coming down in the world.

Madame Lumignon was a little hunchback with a bright eye and a shrill voice, like most hunchbacks. As soon as I mentioned her niece's name, she smiled.

"Ah! you want Rosette," she said; "for Madame Berlingot, I suppose? Yes, yes, I'm used to that; it's always the same song! If I was evil-minded, I might suspect something! But I wash my hands of her. In the first place, Rosette don't pay any attention to us; she's such a wilful creature! So much the worse for her! I've warned her!"

"But, madame, she is wanted to mend a cashmere shawl."

"I know! I know! A fine thing, that cashmere shawl is!"

"Well, madame, is mademoiselle your niece with you?"

"With me! oh, yes! of course! When she comes here, she don't stay long enough to mould."

"Where can I find her, then?"

"At her Aunt Chamouillet's, perhaps; but I won't swear to it."

"Madame Chamouillet's address, if you please?"

"Rue Madame, No. 4, near the Luxembourg."

I took leave of the hunchbacked aunt, who looked after me with a cunning leer. I returned to my cab, and said to the driver:

"Rue Madame, near the Luxembourg."

"I say, monsieur, if you've got many more trips like this to make, my horse will leave us on the road."

"No; whatever happens, this is the last but one."

We reached Rue Madame with difficulty; the horse was at his last gasp. I unearthed Aunt Chamouillet. I was told to go up to the second floor, where I found a woman washing on the landing; and just as I was climbing the last stairs, that woman, who, I presume, had not heard me coming, turned and emptied a large pail of soapsuds on the staircase. I was drenched to the waist.

I swore like a pirate, whereupon the woman calmly observed:

"Why are the gutters all stopped up? It don't do any good to complain, they don't clean 'em out; and I must empty my water somewhere."

"But you might at least look before you empty it."

"Did you get any of it?"

"Parbleu! I am drenched!"

"That'll dry, and it don't spot."

"Madame Chamouillet, if you please?"

"That's me. Have you got something you want washed?"

"No, madame; I am sufficiently washed now! I would like to speak with Mademoiselle Rosette, your niece."

Madame Chamouillet had returned to her washing; she paid much more attention to her linen than to what I said to her.

"I come, madame, on the part of Madame Berlingot, on Rue——"

"All right, monsieur, all right!—How can anyone soil linen like that! Look, monsieur, I leave it to you!"

And she took from her tub a shirt, which she started to spread out for my inspection. I evaded that demonstration; but, as she put the shirt back in the tub, she threw a wet stocking in my face. I tried to take it calmly; I wiped my face and continued:

"Will you kindly tell me where Mademoiselle Rosette is?"

"Where Rosette is? How do you suppose I know? Oh, yes! on my word! As if anyone ever knows where she is!"

"What, madame! isn't she here?"

"No, monsieur.—It breaks my back to scrub this!"

"But where shall I go to find her?"

"Try at her aunts'."

"I have already seen six of them, counting you, madame. I have called on Mesdames Falourdin, Riflot, Piquette, Dumarteau, Lumignon, and yourself. Who is the one that's left for me to see?"

"Madame Cavalos, Rue de la Lune, No. 19. But I won't answer——"

As she spoke, Madame Chamouillet let a piece of soap slip out of her hands, and my waistcoat had the benefit of it. I had had enough; I fled from the laundress; I seemed to be pursued by soapsuds.

"Rue de la Lune, No. 19," I said to my cabman. Luckily, that took us back into my own neighborhood, and I was sure that this last quest could not be fruitless: Rosette must be there. That was the last of the aunts, and she had told me positively that when she was not with one of them I would find her with another. What a pity that I had not been sent to Rue de la Lune at the outset!

I reached the end of my journeyings. I was directed to Madame Cavalos's lodging on the entresol. I found a very stout, thickset, little old woman, who greeted me with an affable bow and waited for me to speak.

"Madame Cavalos?"

"Bonjour, monsieur! very well, I thank you."

"I wanted to speak to your niece, Mademoiselle Rosette."

"Yes, monsieur, I don't change much; that's what everybody tells me."

"I come from Madame Berlingot."

"You thought I didn't live so low? I used to be higher up, but I've moved down."

What did that mean? Madame Cavalos seemed to be stone deaf. I stepped nearer to her, and shouted at the top of my lungs:

"I want to see Mademoiselle Rosette, your niece!"

"You say you have come about my lease?"

That was most trying. The woman was a fool. I gave up speaking and made a lot of strange gestures, trying to arouse her curiosity at least. Motioning to me to wait, she left the room, and returned with an ear trumpet, which she held to her ear, saying:

"I ain't deaf; but some days I can't hear so well as others."

Poor old woman! she ought never to have laid aside her trumpet. I repeated my question, and that time she replied:

"My niece Rosette? Why, she ain't here, monsieur."

"What, madame! not here? Why, where on earth can I find her, then?"

"Oh! that's easily done, monsieur. She must be with her Aunt Falourdin, Faubourg Saint-Denis, corner of Rue Chabrol."

At that, I gave up all hope of finding my grisette; I had no desire to begin the circuit of the aunts anew; I had had quite enough of them. I bade my cabman take me home. It was five o'clock, and we had been on the road since noon! Ah! Mademoiselle Rosette! Mademoiselle Rosette! you had shown me aunts of all colors! What a day! Jason was certainly more fortunate than I: after many perils, he obtained the Golden Fleece; I had faced seven aunts, and had not obtained Rosette!

XXXVIII
THE DEALER IN SPONGES

As I entered my apartment, Pomponne came to meet me with his expression that denoted news.

"There's someone waiting for you, monsieur, who's been here quite a long while. But I didn't know that monsieur would be away so long; he did not tell me."

"Can it be that Rosette has come while I have been running after her?"

"No, monsieur; it ain't Mamzelle Rosette?"

"Is it Madame Dauberny, then?"

"No, monsieur; it's a person of our sex."

"Oh! how you annoy me, Pomponne! I ought to have gone to see who was there, instead of listening to you."

I went at once into my salon, and found Ballangier sitting in a corner with a book in his hand.

I was agreeably surprised to find that he was neatly dressed. He wore a gray blouse, but it was spotlessly clean; his trousers were well brushed, his shoes polished; he had a clean white collar and a black cravat. It was the costume of a well-behaved mechanic who was a credit to his trade.

He came to meet me, with a timid air, saying:

"I ask your pardon, Charles, for waiting for you; I did wrong, perhaps; but when I came, about two o'clock, your servant said you would soon be back; and so, as I was anxious to see you, I said to myself: 'As long as I'm here, I may as well stay.'"

"You did well, Ballangier, very well; I am very glad to see you, too. Let me look at you. From your dress, and the expression of self-content that I can read in your face, I am sure that you are behaving better now."

"That is true; at all events, I am trying to. I am working for a manufacturer in Faubourg Saint-Antoine—I had a letter of recommendation to him."

"From whom, pray?"

Ballangier twisted his cap about in his hands as he continued:

"From an excellent man I used to work for long ago, and who never despaired of me. They took me on trial, at first. The master had heard very bad accounts of me, but I worked so well that after a while he got to be less strict with me; then he increased my pay, without my asking, and now he says everywhere that he's satisfied with me."

"Ah! that is splendid, my friend. And you were glad to tell me all this, because you knew that it would give me great pleasure, weren't you?"

"Why, yes, I thought it would."

"Thanks, my friend, for thinking of that. Indeed, you cannot conceive how I rejoice to learn of the change that has taken place in you! But you will keep on, Ballangier; now that you have started on the right path, you won't leave it again, will you? Besides, you must surely be a happier man, now that you are earning your living, and can hold your head erect boldly, without fear of being arrested by a creditor, or assailed by a wife or mother whose husband or son you have led astray; without reading on the faces of honest folk the contempt that evil livers always inspire! Instead of that, you will be made welcome, made much of, courted by respectable families; a father will no longer dread to see his daughter, or a brother his sister, on your arm. You will be loved, esteemed, highly considered. Yes, highly considered; for there is no trade, no career, in which an honest man may not acquire that consideration which mere wealth, unaccompanied by probity, cannot acquire. Tell me if all this is not preferable to a life of debauchery, which makes you either a brute or a madman most of the time; to the false friendship of those wretches who know nothing but idleness, and sometimes something much worse, who extol all the vices, who try to cast ridicule on merit and hard work, because other men's merit gnaws at their envy-ridden hearts, and, being unable to attain it, they do their utmost to crush it?"

"Oh, yes! you are right, Charles: I am far happier! I reflect now; I feel that I am an entirely different man. I read a good deal; I am fond of reading, and it used to be impossible for me to read five minutes at a time."

"Read, you cannot do better; but select good books; bad writers are worse than false friends, for we have them under our hand every minute; their treacherous counsels lead feeble or excitable minds astray; there is no more dangerous companion for a tête-à-tête than an evil book."

"You must guide me; you must give me a list of authors whose works will be profitable reading for me."

"I will do better than that. Come with me."

I led Ballangier to my book shelves, from which I took Racine, Molière, Montesquieu, Fénelon, and La Fontaine.

"There, those are for you," I said; "take these books home with you, and read them carefully and with profit. Some will seem to you a little severe and serious; but the others, while they instruct you, will make you laugh. Learn by heart the great, the immortal Molière. He castigated the vices and absurdities of his time; but as vices unluckily belong to all times, as men are no better to-day than they ever were, as we meet in the world every day tartufes, précieuses ridicules, avares, and bourgeois gentilshommes, Molière, like all authors who depict nature, is and will be of all epochs.

"'Rien n'est beau que le vrai; le vrai seul est aimable.'[A]

That maxim is earnestly denied by those poets who have never succeeded in being natural. They put a conventional jargon in the mouths of all their characters, and call that style! In their works, the peasant talks just like the noble; the man of the people uses as fine phrases as the advocate; the maid-servant indulges in metaphors like the grande dame; and they call that style! Posterity will do justice to all such stuff. Bathos sinks and is drowned, while the natural sails smoothly along and always rides out the storm."

"What! are all these fine books for me?"

"Yes; make a bundle of them and take them away."

"Oh! thanks, Charles!"

"When you have read them with profit, I will give you more."

"You are too kind! But I mean to make myself worthy of——. Well, you will see. Meanwhile, I've brought this back to you."

He took from his pocket a small paper-covered package.

"What is there inside?"

"Twenty-nine francs."

"Why do you want to give me that?"

"Because I saw Piaulard and tried to pay him; but he was already paid; a—person had settled with him. You probably know that person, and I would like the twenty-nine francs to be returned."

"Well done, my friend! This act of yours proves the return of worthy sentiments. But you need not worry; the person in question was paid long ago. So, keep the money, and if you need any more to buy anything come to me."

"Oh! I am not short of funds now. I have never been so rich. I don't know how it happens."

"You don't know? Why, it's very easy to understand; you spend vastly less, and earn vastly more; that's the whole secret of living in comfort."

Ballangier tied up his books, we shook hands affectionately, and he went away content, leaving me very happy. What a contrast to our previous interviews!

The next day, I was still resting from my peregrinations of the previous afternoon, and stoically making up my mind to wear mourning for Mademoiselle Rosette, when the pretty brunette suddenly burst into my room, vivacious, sprightly, and gay as always. She came to me and held out her hand.

"Bonjour, monsieur! Are you still angry with me?"

"Angry? Why, it wasn't I who was angry; it was yourself."

"Oh! that's all over; let's not say any more about that; I don't bear any malice, and I don't know how to sulk. I say, did you go and ask for me at Aunt Falourdin's?"

"At Aunt Falourdin's? You put it mildly. If you should say at all seven of your aunts', that would be nearer the truth!"

"Oh! that's impossible! You went to the whole seven? you saw the whole assortment? Ha! ha! ha! Well, you must have had a merry time!"

Rosette was seized with a paroxysm of frantic laughter, during which she could only repeat:

"He saw my seven aunts! Poor, dear boy! he saw my seven aunts!"

"Yes, I saw them all; and all in one day!"

"That was your Waterloo! I am sure that it will remain engraved on your memory! I say, I'll bet that you'd rather go up the Marly hill seven times in succession than go through that day's work again, eh?"

"I believe you. There is one Dame Piquette, in particular, who lives on Rue aux Ours. Sapristi! I didn't feel at all comfortable in my tête-à-tête with her!"

"Did she make eyes at you? I'll bet she made eyes at you! She's an old coquette, who declares that she can't go out without being besieged. Oh! my poor Charles!"

"But all that would have been nothing, mademoiselle, if I had succeeded in finding you. It would seem that you accept hospitality elsewhere than with your aunts?"

Rosette made a little grimace, which I interpreted as meaning that she did not quite know what course to adopt; at last she said:

"I was with one of my friends. My aunts are always at me to get married, and that tires me; I shall end by dropping all of 'em."

"I should say that you were doing that already."

"Come, let's not say any more about that. We're not cross any more, are we? and you'll take me out to dinner, and we'll have a nice little feed—what do you say? Yes, you will, it's all settled; and we'll go into the country—it's a fine day—and roll on the grass."

How can one resist a pretty minx who proposes rolling on the grass? I was on the point of signing the treaty of peace with Mademoiselle Rosette, when the bell rang.

"My dear girl," I said to my grisette, "if it should happen to be the lady who was here the other day, I trust that you won't make another scene?"

"No, no, don't be afraid; I saw that I was wrong; she left me in possession with such a good grace! I don't bear your friend any grudge now."

At that moment, we detected a strong odor of essence of rose, and Rosette exclaimed:

"Dame! that lady uses plenty of perfumery! what a sachet bag!"

But the door opened, and no lady appeared, but Balloquet, in his best clothes and with fresh gloves.

"Oh! I beg pardon, my dear Rochebrune! You are with a lady, and your servant didn't tell me! I will go, and come again another day."

"No, stay, Balloquet, stay; mademoiselle will not object.—Isn't that so, Rosette? you are willing that my friend should stay?"

"To be sure! I'm no savage; company don't scare me."

And Rosette put her mouth to my ear and whispered:

"Is he a perfumer?"

"No; a doctor."

"A doctor! Does he treat his patients with essences? He gives out such an odor—you'd think he was the Grand Turk!"

Balloquet meanwhile said to me in an undertone:

"Good! I don't frighten this one away! She isn't like the little blonde."

"Oh, no! she's not the same sort at all."

Balloquet had been with us but a moment, when the bell rang again, and this time Frédérique appeared.

"The servant told me that there were three of you," she said, dropping carelessly upon a chair; "and that's why I ventured to come in. Did I do wrong, Rochebrune?"

"No, madame; you are always welcome. And mademoiselle here will take advantage of the opportunity to express her regret for the unseemly words she used to you the other day."

"Yes, madame," said Rosette, walking up to Madame Dauberny. "I was wrong; I'm hot-headed; but turn your hand over, and I forget all about it. Are you still angry with me?"

"Not in the least, mademoiselle," replied Frédérique, trying to smile; "I assure you that I had forgotten it entirely. But I trust that I shall not arouse your jealousy again."

"Oh! no, madame! Charles has told me that he never loved you, and that's all I ask."

Frédérique bit her lips. I, for my part, was conscious of a sensation that I cannot describe. I would gladly have horsewhipped Rosette, I believe, if it had been possible. Women have a way of adjusting things that often produces the contrary effect.

"Madame is acquainted with my sentiments, mademoiselle," I stammered, awkwardly enough; "she appreciates them——"

"Enough, my friend!" interposed Frédérique; "sentiments are to be proved, not put in words. But, mon Dieu! how sweet your room smells! There's an odor of—of rose; yes, it's surely rose;—is it not, mademoiselle?"

"Yes, madame," said Rosette; "that smell has been here ever since monsieur le docteur came in.—Do you bathe in essence of rose, monsieur?"

Balloquet, who was walking about the room playing the dandy, passed his hand through his hair as he replied:

"Not exactly, mademoiselle; but, in truth, I am very fond of the odor of rose; I sometimes perfume my linen with an essence that I get from Constantinople."

"Well, frankly, monsieur, you use too much of it; you smell too strong! I wouldn't like to eat a truffled turkey with you."

"Why not, mademoiselle?"

"Because I should smell nothing but rose, instead of the odor of truffles; and a truffled turkey à la rose wouldn't be good, I know."

"I think that I have had the pleasure of meeting madame before," said Balloquet, saluting Frédérique.

"Yes, monsieur; on a certain day, or rather night, when my presence was useful to both of you gentlemen."

"Ah, yes! the two wedding parties, wasn't it, madame?"

"Yes, monsieur; I only looked in at yours, but it seemed to be very lively."

"It was, indeed, madame; that was the Bocal wedding; it was very hot there!"

"The Bocal wedding!" cried Rosette. "Why, I know Bocal; he's a distiller on Rue Montmartre, and his daughter married Monsieur Pamphile Girie, dealer in sponges."

"That's the man; do you know him?"

"Oh, yes! that is to say, I know Freluchon; it's through him that I know all that."

"Freluchon!" said I; "it seems to me that I've heard that name."

"Freluchon was Monsieur Bocal's head clerk, and he was courting Mademoiselle Pétronille; and when she married that ass of a Pamphile Girie, she worked so well with her feet and hands, that Freluchon left Monsieur Bocal and went into the sponge trade; he became first clerk to Pétronille—you can guess the sequel! But it seems that Monsieur Pamphile has a mother who sees everything and knows everything, just like the late Solitaire; so Mamma Girie put a flea in her son's ear on the subject of Freluchon. Monsieur Pamphile wanted to discharge the clerk, but Madame Pétronille said he shouldn't. The husband and wife had a row; Monsieur Bocal tried to step in and take his daughter's part; Mère Girie pummelled Monsieur Bocal; they sent for the magistrate, the police, the neighbors, and the concierge; there was such a row that the omnibuses couldn't get through the street. As a result of that row, Pétronille left her husband and went back to her father; Pamphile neglected his shop to go on sprees; and Freluchon finally bought out his sponge business, and would like now to set me up in it with him; for I must tell you that my gentleman has forgotten his Pétronille and fallen in love with me, and buries me in billets-doux and sponges; on my birthday, he sent me one as big as a pumpkin. 'Monsieur,' says I, 'what use do you expect me to make of this immense marine plant?'—'Mademoiselle, I would like to cover you with it.'—And there you are! With the seven suitors favored by my aunts, that makes eight humming-birds who aspire to enter into wedlock with me."

XXXIX
A PARTY OF FOUR

Rosette rattled all this off almost without drawing a breath. We laughed at her story, and she was well pleased with her successful performance.

"But, by the way, Monsieur Charles, all that don't make me forget that you're going to take me into the country to dinner. And while we're on that subject—I've got an idea, and I'll tell you what it is; I tell all my ideas. Suppose we all four go and dine together, as we're in a mood for laughing; we'll have some sport and talk nonsense—what do you say?"

Rosette's proposition seemed to me so extraordinary that I had not as yet thought of any fitting reply, when, to my amazement, Frédérique exclaimed:

"For my part, I agree. I am at liberty, and, on my word, I shall not be sorry to have a little sport, especially as I got out of the way of it long ago."

"Ah! you're fine, you are! I love you with all my heart, now!" said Rosette, slapping Frédérique on the back. "And you, Monsieur Larose, why don't you say something?"

"I?" said Balloquet; "if you mean what you say, I'm game; nothing would suit me better."

"Do I mean it! I hope you don't think we're going to dine on air, do you? Well, my dear friend, don't you think my plan's a good one? you don't seem enchanted with it!"

"I? I beg your pardon; I will do whatever you wish."

"But," said Frédérique, "Rochebrune would have preferred to dine alone with you, mademoiselle."

"Ouiche!" cried Rosette; "as if we hadn't time enough to see each other! Come, is it settled?"

"It is settled, agreed, decided."

"Let's start, then; it's after two o'clock already."

"Go and call a cab, Pomponne, and we'll keep it the rest of the day."

"Ah! what chic! There's only one thing that annoys me now; and that will spoil my enjoyment at dinner."

"What's that?"

"If monsieur le docteur might smell less strong of rose! I should prefer I don't know what to that smell. Try going out in the street and walking in—no matter what!"

"There is a way of satisfying you, Mademoiselle Rosette," I said, walking up to Balloquet.—"Come, Balloquet, we are all friends here; don't be stiff about it, but allow me to offer you another pair of gloves, and take off those you are wearing. I venture to prefer this petition in the name of these ladies' nerves, and in the name of our appetites, which would vanish before this odor of rose."

Balloquet had a noble impulse: he took his gloves off and threw them out of the window. Rosette laughed till she cried.

"Ah! it was the gloves," she cried, "cleansed gloves, of course, of course! But your dealer cheated you; they clean them now so that they don't smell of anything."

Pomponne announced that the cab was waiting. While Mademoiselle Rosette stood before my mirror, busily engaged in putting on her bonnet, I went to Frédérique, and found an opportunity to say in her ear:

"You are not joking—you are really willing to dine with a grisette?"

"Why not? you are going to, yourself."

"But I am a man."

"Well! I am one of your male friends. Don't men sometimes take their friends with them on a pleasure party? But if it will annoy you too much, I will not go."

"Oh! do not think that, madame! But I was afraid—I thought——"

I had no time to say any more; Rosette came toward us, saying:

"The cab's waiting; shall we go?"

"Let us go," Frédérique replied.

I was embarrassed for a moment; I intended to offer my arm to Madame Dauberny, but she had already accepted Balloquet's, and Rosette took possession of mine.

"Come on, monsieur! What on earth's the matter with you to-day? Since you've seen my aunts, you're very absent-minded!"

We entered the cab. Rosette insisted that I should sit opposite her. I obeyed. It seemed strange not to desire that arrangement, but I should have preferred to be facing Frédérique.

The cabman asked us where we were going. We looked at each other and said:

"Ah! that's so; where are we going?"

"Let the ladies decide."

"It makes absolutely no difference to me," said Frédérique.

"In that case," said Rosette, "I propose Saint-Mandé; if we want to go as far as Saint-Maur, I know a delicious little walk; you only have to go up a little way and then down."

"Saint-Mandé it is!"

We started. Rosette was in insanely high spirits. According to her habit, she said whatever came into her head, and sometimes her reflections were very comical. Frédérique also seemed to be in an amiable humor. Balloquet rivalled Rosette in gayety; I thought that I could detect a purpose on his part to play the gallant with Madame Dauberny. I cannot say why I considered that very idiotic of him. Surely she was an exceedingly attractive woman! And why should not he, a devoted admirer of the sex, try to please her? But Madame Dauberny would never listen to Balloquet. While I said that to myself, I was conscious of a feeling of irritation. Had I any right to take it amiss that Balloquet should make love to Frédérique, to whom I was nothing more than a friend?

It followed that I was the only one of the party who was not hilarious. Rosette, noticing it, said to me from time to time:

"I say, my dear man, what's the matter with you, anyway? We are all talking and laughing—you're the only one who don't say anything. Can it be that you are really cracked over one of my aunts?—You must excuse him, madame, for he met my seven aunts yesterday, and that's quite enough to destroy his peace of mind."

I excused myself as best I could; I tried to laugh, but I made rather a failure of it; and the thing that vexed me most of all was that the more serious I became, the more Madame Dauberny laughed and jested. She held her own with Rosette in nonsense and droll remarks. Balloquet seemed enchanted; he became more and more attentive to his vis-à-vis, whose witty sallies completed the fascination begun by her beauty. For my part, I did not enjoy myself at all.

At last we arrived at Saint-Mandé, and left the cab at the gate leading into the wood. We went at once to Grue's, to order our dinner and engage a private room; then we strolled away in the direction of Saint-Maur.

Balloquet took possession once more of Frédérique's arm, which she laughingly accorded to him. It seemed to me that she laughed very freely with him. Rosette took my arm.

"Is it the habit to walk arm in arm in the country?" I asked, in an indifferent tone. "I thought that everyone walked—or ran, on his own account."

"For my part, I am very happy to be madame's escort," said Balloquet, with a smile.

"Do you mean that it's a bore to you to give me your arm?" asked Rosette, pinching me till I was black and blue.

"O mademoiselle! the idea!"

"What's that—mademoiselle? Call me mademoiselle again, and see what happens!"

"Mon Dieu! Rosette, you get angry about nothing!"

"About nothing! I want you to thou me! Let's not walk so fast."

"But the others are away ahead."

"Well! we shall overtake them in time. Don't be afraid of losing your way with me, you ugly monster!"

"When people go out together, it's for the purpose of being together."

"Oh! how mad you make me! I suppose we ought all to tie ourselves together, for fear of losing each other, eh? Besides, how do you know that they are not just as well pleased not to have us on their heels?"

"Why so?"

"Why so is delicious! If you can't see that your friend's making soft eyes at that lady, you must be near-sighted."

"Do you think so? He won't get ahead very fast."

"What do you know about it? Oh! these men! such conceit! Because she wouldn't have you, perhaps, you think she won't have anybody!—Let's not walk so fast!"

"That lady is very willing to laugh and jest; but with her it isn't safe to——"

"Ta! ta! ta! Bless my soul! she's a goddess, perhaps, and we must offer sacrifices to her!—Come, kiss me!"

"O Rosette! can you think of such a thing?"

"Yes, I do think of such a thing; kiss me at once!"

"Suppose the others should turn and see us—what should we look like?"

"We should look like two people kissing. What harm is there in that? Don't they know that you're my lover and I'm your mistress?"

"That's no reason. There is such a thing as propriety."

"Oh! I have no patience with you! Kiss me quick, or I'll shriek!"

I kissed her. Luckily, the others did not turn. I dropped my companion's arm on the pretext of looking for violets, and overtook our friends.

"What makes you walk so fast?" I asked Balloquet; "if you prefer not to stay with us, that's a different matter; but it isn't very sociable."

Frédérique burst out laughing, and Balloquet made signs to me which I considered foolish.

"See how the kindest intentions are sometimes misinterpreted," said Frédérique; "we thought that we were doing you a favor, by arranging a tête-à-tête for you with your pretty brunette."

"Oh! madame, you carry your kindness too far."

"So far as I am concerned," said Balloquet, "you needn't thank me; in remaining with madame, I acted entirely in my own interest."

Then he came close to me and whispered:

"My friend, she is adorable! Wit to the tips of her finger-nails; fine figure, lovely eyes, distinguished face, original disposition! I can't understand why you've never been in love with her. For my part, I'm caught; I'm in for it!"

"You are making a mistake; you'll waste your time."

"Why so? nobody knows! She laughs heartily at what I say."

"Well! what about that bunch of violets?" asked Rosette, as she joined us.

"I didn't find anything but dandelions and coltsfoot."

"Thanks! then you can keep your bouquet; I don't want it."

"Suppose we stroll back in the direction of our dinner?" said Frédérique.

"Yes, madame is right," said Rosette; "especially as walking's very monotonous. I have a lover who's in such low spirits to-day! Imagine, madame, that he's never suggested rolling on the grass with me!"

Frédérique cast a mocking glance in my direction.

"If my companion had made such a proposition to me," murmured Balloquet, puffing himself up, "I should have accepted with thanks; I would have rolled like an ass."

"Oh! but you're a gallant à la rose, you are! Why, I almost had to force monsieur to kiss me!"

"Oh! what things you say, Rosette!"

"What's that? Don't lovers always kiss? Do you suppose madame thinks that we pass our time whispering in each other's ears?"

Madame Dauberny turned her face away to laugh. I wished that I were heaven knows where. I should certainly remember that excursion to the country.

We returned to the restaurant. There I tried to recover my good humor. In the first place, as the table was round, I was naturally seated between Frédérique and Rosette—no more with one than with the other. They served us a delicious dinner, with choice wines.

"Good!" said Rosette; "this was well ordered! These gentlemen have distinguished themselves! I give this pomard my esteem."

"Never fear," said Balloquet; "we shall have some ladies' wines too."

"What do you mean by ladies' wines? sweet ones, I suppose?"

"Exactly."

"I warn you that I can't endure your sweet wines, except champagne; and unless madame cares for them——"

"Not at all," said Frédérique.

"Strike off your sweet wines, then. Bah! they make me sick; I can't drink 'em! But these—just ask Charles how I punish 'em!"

"I should say that it isn't necessary to ask me," I said; "it's self-evident."

"Does that make you cross, my dear boy? Don't you like to have your Rosette hold her own with you to-day? Are you going to be in the sulks at table too? Ah! madame, my aunts have spoiled him, and no mistake; he was much nicer before he went the rounds of them."

Madame Dauberny nudged my knee and whispered:

"Be more agreeable, or she will make a scene with you."

I strove to put myself in harmony with the general merriment. Rosette chattered incessantly; Balloquet sang, with his eyes fixed on Frédérique; she laughed at my grisette's sallies, and from time to time told us some very amusing anecdotes.

"Ah! if I could tell stories like madame," cried Rosette, "I know what I'd do!"

"What would you do?" asked Balloquet.

"I wouldn't do anything else. I'd tell stories all day, and make them up all night.—Kiss me, Charles!"

"Sapristi! Rosette, are we going to begin that again?"

"Do you hear him, madame? He refuses to kiss me, the villain!"

"Mademoiselle," I said, in a serious tone, "I am sorry to be obliged to inform you that there are occasions when such liberties are permissible, and others when we must abstain from them; you should understand that."

Rosette pushed her chair away from the table, muttering:

"It wasn't worth while to bring me with you, just to say such things as that to me."

With that, she put her hand over her eyes and began to weep. The devil! That was the climax! I was in torment.

Frédérique tried to console Rosette, and said to me:

"Come, come, monsieur, don't make mademoiselle unhappy; she is right; you choose a very inopportune time to lecture her. Kiss her at once, and make peace with her."

I obeyed; whereupon Balloquet exclaimed:

"Mon Dieu! I would not wait to be asked twice, if someone would allow me to kiss her."

It was extraordinary what an ass the fellow seemed to me to make of himself!

Luckily, with Rosette laughter always followed tears. She speedily forgot her grievance, and thought of nothing but doing honor to the champagne, which made its appearance just then. Frédérique held her own with her, but did not lose her head. Balloquet, who was deeply impressed by the way in which those two bore themselves at table, tried to surpass them, got very tipsy, and nearly strangled himself pouring down champagne.

"Well done!" said Rosette; "that'll teach you to try to pour down wine like that; it seems to me such a stupid way! What's the use of drinking anything good, if you don't taste it, if you don't get the flavor of it? You throw it down your neck, as if it was a medicine you were afraid of smelling! How sensible that is! You might as well drink cheap claret; it would have the same effect as champagne."

Balloquet succeeded in ceasing to cough, and a moment later, when we were a little quieter than usual, he said to me:

"By the way, Charles, have you had any news of the man of the ring?"

"No, no, I haven't—found him yet. Why don't you drink, Balloquet?"

I was afraid that the young doctor would be guilty of some indiscretion, and I tried to change the subject. But Rosette chimed in:

"What's that? He said something about a ring. There must be a woman in that story, and I want to hear it."

"Yes, mademoiselle, yes; it is a story about a woman."

"But a very sad one," said I, interrupting Balloquet; "this is not at all a fitting time to tell it."

"Why not? I like sad things too; I like plays that make you cry. Oh! Monsieur Larose, do tell us the story."

"With pleasure, mademoiselle!"

I trembled lest Balloquet should disclose what I had concealed from Frédérique. He did not know that the man of the ring was Monsieur Dauberny; but if he should mention the name Bouqueton, Frédérique would know at once that the man was her husband. I tried to make signs to Balloquet to hold his peace; but he did not look at me, and began his tale.

Frédérique said nothing; but she watched us closely and did not lose a word of what the young doctor said. Stammering and hesitating a little, he told poor Annette's story; but he did not mention the assassin's name.

"What a ghastly story!" exclaimed Frédérique, with a shudder.

"It's horrible!" cried Rosette. "Oh! what an abominable man! But didn't the poor girl tell you his name?"

"Yes, yes," replied Balloquet, "she told us. The devil take the name! Would you believe that I can't remember it?—But you know it, Rochebrune, as you know the man."

"You know that villain, Charles? Oh! but you must have had him arrested, then?"

"No, I could not; we have no evidence."

"But what about that ring that he gave the poor girl?"

"That ring I have at home. I am keeping it carefully; some day, I hope that it will help me—to avenge the poor girl."

"And you won't tell us the man's name?"

"What good would it do? The whole thing is too shocking. The criminal's name had better remain a secret until the victim is avenged."

Frédérique did not say a word, but she kept her eyes fastened upon me all the while. The time for returning to Paris arrived, and I was not sorry. The story of Annette had saddened Rosette and made Frédérique very thoughtful. We returned to our cab. Balloquet continued to do the amiable with Madame Dauberny; I verily believe that he asked her permission to call to pay his respects. What a self-sufficient puppy! I did not hear her reply. Rosette pinched me, probably because I was not listening to what she said.

I wanted to take Frédérique home; Balloquet insisted, on the contrary, that Rosette and I should be set down first. We were on the point of quarrelling. Rosette said nothing, and I thought that she had fallen asleep. Madame Dauberny put an end to our discussion by calling to the cabman to stop on the boulevard. She hastily alighted, bade us adieu, and hurried away. But Balloquet instantly opened the door, crying:

"I won't allow that lady to go away alone; the idea! I am going to escort her!"

I tried to hold him back by seizing his coat tails. I told him that Madame Dauberny did not want his escort, that she preferred to go alone.

He would not listen to me. He leaped out of the cab, tearing off one whole skirt of his coat, and disappeared.

"What's the matter with you to-night, my friend?" said Rosette; "you interfere with everybody; you find fault with whatever we do, and tear people's coats!"

"That doesn't concern you."

"How polite my lover is to-day!"

"To which aunt shall I take you this evening, mademoiselle?"

"Faubourg Saint-Denis, as usual."

"By the way, you haven't told me yet where you were perching yesterday, when I had the kindness—I might well say, the folly—to look for you at all your aunts' lodgings."

"Do you want to make me unhappy?"

"Answer me!"

"I told you that I was with a friend."

"Oh, yes! at the sponge dealer's, perhaps?"

"What an outrage! Instead of saying such things, you would do well to kiss me. It seems that we don't get beyond compliments to-day!"

In truth, she was right; I had rebuked her enough all day; the least I could do was to compensate her at that moment.

XL
A SICK CHILD

I passed a wretched night. I was eager to know if Madame Dauberny had allowed Balloquet to escort her, and if he had made any progress in my friend's good graces. Why was I so eager to know that? I myself could not understand. As I was not that lady's lover, as I had never thought of mentioning the subject of love to her, ought I to take it amiss that others should mention it? I began to believe that one could be jealous in friendship as well as in love. If Frédérique should have a lover, that would lessen the attachment that she seemed to entertain for me; doubtless that was the reason why it pained me to think that she should allow anyone to make love to her. That was selfishness, I admit; but what was I to do?

I arose early. I was strongly inclined to call on Balloquet, but I had forgotten his address. I had an idea that it was Cité Vindé; but what should I ask him. Should I not cut a very absurd figure, going there to question him? No, I would not go. Still, I would have liked to know whether he walked home with Frédérique.

While I was hesitating, uncertain as to what I should do, Pomponne opened my door and announced with emphasis:

"Madame Potrelle, concierge or portress!"

The good woman came in, bowing and apologizing for disturbing me. I asked her what brought her there.

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, I have come again about that poor woman—Madame Landernoy. I wanted to know if monsieur's intentions were still the same."

"What do you mean? what intentions?"

"About the work—about her taking care of monsieur's linen."

"What difference does it make whether my intentions are the same, as that young woman is convinced that I have none but evil ones? as she believes that I am laying a trap for her, in concert with those scoundrels who deceived her? Faith! Madame Potrelle, one gets tired of being constantly suspected. If it is pleasant to do good, it is painful to come in contact with ingrates. In fact, I confess that your tenant had gone wholly out of my mind, and I assure you that you would not have heard from me again."

"Oh! mon Dieu! monsieur, I can understand that. But still, if you knew how miserable that young woman is at this minute! For near a month her child has been sick—suffering all the time; the little creature needs the fresh air; so the mother takes her child out to walk, and meanwhile she don't do any work; but her little Marie's health before everything! She was a sweet little thing. She's fourteen months old already—how time flies! Madame Landernoy goes without everything herself on the child's account; and now she hasn't got any work—or what little she does get is such poor stuff—eight sous a day! Think of taking care of a child with that! So I happened to think of you, monsieur, because you were always so kind to that young woman; and I've always judged you right, I have! And I says to Mignonne: 'I'm going to see Monsieur Rochebrune and ask him for some work.'—And this time she says: 'Yes, go! go!' For she looked at her little girl, who seemed to be in pain; and what wouldn't she do to get the means of helping her!"

"And she will go so far as to accept work from me?"

"Oh! you mustn't blame her, monsieur; misfortune makes people unjust so often! Does monsieur refuse?"

"No, certainly not. Look over my commode and my closets, and take whatever you choose."

The good woman made haste to examine my effects. She made up a large bundle of linen, hastily, as if she were afraid I would change my mind; then she rolled it all up in her apron, saying:

"Will monsieur take an account of what I've got?"

"No, Madame Potrelle, that is quite unnecessary; I know with whom I am dealing, and I am not suspicious myself."

The concierge thanked me, bowed again, and took her leave, saying that the work would be attended to immediately.

Is it conceivable that during all the time that Madame Potrelle was talking about her tenant, I thought of nothing but Frédérique and Balloquet? Ah! how small a thing it takes to give a new turn to our thoughts! We are kind or cruel to others only as it gratifies our caprices. That truth is most discreditable to mankind!

I had not fully determined what course to pursue, but I decided to go out; and at my door I found myself face to face with Balloquet, who was coming to see me.

"Ah! I am delighted to find you, my dear Rochebrune!"

"And I to see you. Shall we go upstairs?"

"It isn't worth while; we can talk as well, walking."

"Very good. What have you to tell me?"

"I was coming to talk to you about Madame Dauberny. Ah! my friend, what a woman! what a physique—to arouse passions!"

"I see that you are in love with her already. Well! did you overtake her yesterday?"

"Yes, I overtook her on the street. She didn't want to accept my arm, but I insisted, and she yielded."

"Ah! she took it, did she? And you escorted her home?"

"Naturally."

"And—and—how does your passion progress?"

"It's all over! oh! it's all over, absolutely!"

I made such a sudden movement that Balloquet cried:

"What struck you then? cramp in the leg? a twist in the tendon, perhaps? That catches you sometimes in walking."

"No, I—I turned my foot. But you said: 'It's all over!'—What is it that's all over? Do you mean that you are already the fortunate vanquisher of that lady?"

"No, no! not at all! just the opposite! I said it was all over, because she gave me my walking ticket, I mean my dismissal. Oh! but she did it in the most amiable, the most courteous way—impossible to take offence. You were quite right when you told me that I should waste my time."

I was conscious of a thrill of satisfaction, of happiness, that I could not describe. Poor Balloquet! I pitied him then. I pressed his arm affectionately, and said:

"Come, tell me the whole story, my friend."

"Oh! it didn't last long. I offered my arm, as I say, and she accepted it at last. On my way, I resumed my rôle of gallant—I believe that I even ventured upon a declaration of love. We drank quite a lot at dinner, you know.—Your Rosette would do well to marry a dealer in sponges!—In short, I was very animated, my words flowed like running water. She made no reply whatever.—'It's because she is moved,' I said to myself. We reached her door, and I asked permission to go upstairs for a moment. That was a little abrupt, I agree; but when one has heated the iron so hot——"

"Well?"

"At that, the lady halted in front of me and said, in a tone at once ironical and imposing: 'Monsieur Balloquet, the day is at an end; all that you have said to me thus far I have listened to as a sort of continuation of the impromptu excursion to the country which made us acquainted. During a day of follies, it is not against the law to say foolish things. To-morrow, it would be unbecoming. You are very agreeable, monsieur, and you are Rochebrune's friend; in that capacity, I shall always be glad to see you when chance brings us together. But let there be no more talk of love between us, monsieur; that is a passion to which I have said adieu. And if I should have a fancy to renew my acquaintance with it, I tell you frankly that I should not apply to you for that purpose. So, au revoir, and no ill feeling!'—With that, she held out her hand, pressed mine warmly, and shut her door in my face. Well, my friend, on my word of honor, I am not in the least offended with her; for she's no coquette; she doesn't lure you on with false hopes, but says to you at once: 'It's like this and like that!'—You know what to expect. I will be true to Satiné. Poor Satiné! But I'll tell her to put less rose on her gloves. Never mind; she's a fine woman, is Madame Dauberny; I can't understand why you've never thought of making love to her."

Did he propose to set up as an echo of Baron von Brunzbrack?

When Balloquet left me, I squeezed his hand so hard that I made him cry out. Really, he was a very good fellow, was Balloquet, and I was very fond of him! How in the devil could I ever have dreamed that Frédérique would listen to him? There was not the slightest bond of sympathy between them.

Now that I was no longer tormented by that business, I remembered Mignonne and Madame Potrelle, and how coldly and absent-mindedly I had listened to what that good woman told me. Mignonne's child was ill, and the poor mother was in need of a thousand things to nurse her properly! Suppose I should go to see her, to encourage her? She would receive me ill, perhaps; but, no matter! I no longer felt in the mood to take offence.

I started for Rue Ménilmontant. Madame Potrelle uttered a cry of surprise when she saw me; then she said:

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, have you come to take back the work that young woman needs so much?"

"No, no, far from it! But this morning I was—preoccupied, and I paid little attention to what you told me."

"That's so; monsieur wasn't like what he usually is; but, dame! everyone has his own troubles."

"I would like to see Mignonne, Madame Potrelle, and see for myself what her child's condition is. Do you think she will receive me?"

"Oh! yes, monsieur. She receives anybody now, if they say they know anything about children's health."

I ran quickly up the five flights. I stopped to take breath before mounting the last narrow, dark staircase. When I reached the top, I heard a sweet, melancholy voice singing:

Mignonne's door was thrown wide open, for it was summer, and in that way she admitted a little air and light to her chamber, which, as we know, had no window but the round hole in the ceiling.

I stepped forward; Mignonne's back was turned toward the door; she was on her knees beside a cradle placed on two chairs. The cradle was covered with a pretty piece of flowered chintz; a flounce of the same material about the base concealed the little straw mattress on which children usually lie. It had almost a luxurious look, in striking contrast with the other contents of that poor chamber; but the most poverty-stricken mother always finds a way to adorn her child's cradle.

At that moment, Mignonne was trying to put the child to sleep by singing to her and rocking her.

I stopped in the doorway; she did not turn. She did not hear me; she had no eyes or ears for anything but her daughter. She was speaking to her:

"Well! don't we propose to go to sleep to-day, Mademoiselle Marie? Don't we propose to shut our lovely eyes? Oh, yes! we have very lovely eyes, but we must sleep, all the same; that will do us good! And then, mamma wants you to. Do you hear, dear child? mamma wants you to. Oh, yes! you hear me; you smile at me. Ah! she holds out her little arms, she wants me to take her! Mon Dieu! but it would do her so much good to sleep! But I must do what you want me to, mustn't I?"

She bent over the cradle and took up the child; then she stood up, and saw me. She cast a sad glance at me, in which I no longer saw any trace of alarm.

"Excuse me, madame," I said, stepping forward; "I ventured to come to see you, because Madame Potrelle told me this morning that your little Marie was ill. I studied medicine a little, long ago; I shall be happy if I can assist you with advice, which you may follow if you think it good!—Ah! she is very pretty, dear child!"

"Isn't she, monsieur?"

And Mignonne smiled when she saw me gazing at her daughter, who was really beautiful and already bore much resemblance to her mother. But her pretty features were drawn and worn, and denoted some internal trouble; her eyes too were sad, and it is with the eyes that children express their feelings before they have learned to talk.

"How old is she, madame?"

"Almost fifteen months, monsieur."

"She seems very big for that age, and I have no doubt that it is her precocious growth that makes her ill."

"Do you think so, monsieur? Yes, that must be one of the causes. She is very large for fifteen months; and yet she isn't stout, she isn't too big, like the children that are abnormal!"

"Allow me to feel her pulse."

I took the child's hand; the skin was dry and burning. Mignonne read in my face that I was not satisfied with that examination.

"She's feverish, isn't she, monsieur?"

"A little; growing fever; that ought not to alarm you."

"Oh! do you think she will get well, monsieur?"

"Certainly I do, madame. Her condition doesn't even seem to me serious enough for you to be worried about her."