Copyright 1903 by G. Barrie & Sons

RAYMOND SURPRISES DORSAN AND NICETTE

I was determined that he should not, at all events, have time to scrutinize the girl; I fumbled hastily in my pocket for my key, but it was entangled in my handkerchief.

NOVELS
BY
Paul de Kock
VOLUME XI
MY NEIGHBOR RAYMOND

THE JEFFERSON PRESS
BOSTON NEW YORK

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

CONTENTS

[I, ] [II, ] [III, ] [IV, ] [V, ] [VI, ] [VII, ] [VIII, ] [IX, ] [X, ] [XI, ] [XII, ] [XIII, ] [XIV, ] [XV, ] [XVI, ] [XVII, ] [XVIII, ] [XIX, ] [XX, ] [XXI, ] [XXII, ] [XXIII, ] [XXIV, ] [XXV, ] [XXVI, ] [XXVII, ] [XXVIII, ] [XXIX, ] [XXX, ] [XXXI, ] [XXXII, ] [XXXIII, ] [XXXIV, ] [XXXV, ] [XXXVI.]

MY NEIGHBOR RAYMOND

I
THE GRISETTE

I was strolling along the boulevards one Saturday evening. I was alone, and in a meditative mood; contrary to my usual custom, I was indulging in some rather serious reflections on the world and its people, on the past and the present, on the mind and the body, on the soul, on thought, chance, fate, and destiny. I believe, indeed, that I was on the point of turning my attention to the moon, which was just appearing, and in which I already saw mountains, lakes, and forests,—for with a little determination one may see in the moon whatever one pleases,—when, as I was gazing at the sky, I suddenly collided with a person going in the opposite direction, whom I had not previously noticed.

“Look where you’re going, monsieur; you’re very awkward!” at once remarked a soft, sweet voice, which not even anger deprived of its charm. I have always had a weakness for pleasant voices; so I instantly descended from the regions to which I had mounted only for lack of something better to do, and looked at the person who had addressed me.

It was a girl of sixteen to eighteen years, with a little cap tied under her chin, a calico dress, and a modest apron of black mohair. She had every appearance of a young workgirl who had just finished her day’s work and was on her way home. I made haste to look at her face: a charming face, on my word! Bright, mischievous eyes, a tiny nose, fine teeth, black hair, and a most attractive ensemble; an expressive face, too, and a certain charming grace in her bearing. I was forced to confess that I saw no such pretty things in the moon.

The girl had under her arm a pasteboard box, which I had unwittingly jostled; she refastened the string with which it was tied, and seemed to apprehend that the contents had suffered from my awkwardness. I lost no time in apologizing.

“Really, mademoiselle, I am terribly distressed—it was very awkward of me.”

“It is certain, monsieur, that if you had looked in front of you this wouldn’t have happened.”

“I trust that I have not hurt you?”

“Me? oh, no! But I’m afraid that my flowers are crumpled; however, I will fix them all right at home.”

“Ah!” said I to myself; “she’s a flowermaker; as a general rule, the young ladies who follow that trade are not Lucretias; let us see if I cannot scrape acquaintance with her.”

She replaced her box under her arm, and went her way. I walked by her side, saying nothing at first. I have always been rather stupid about beginning gallant interviews; luckily, when one has once made a start, the thing goes of itself. However, from time to time I ventured a word or two:

“Mademoiselle walks very fast. Won’t you take my arm? I should be delighted to escort you. May I not be permitted to see you again? Do you go to the theatre often? I could send you tickets, if you chose. Pray be careful; you will surely slip!” and other polite phrases of that sort, the conventional thing in nocturnal meetings.

To all this I obtained no reply save:

“Yes, monsieur;” “no, monsieur;” “leave me, I beg you!” “you are wasting your time;” “don’t follow me.”

Sometimes she made no reply at all, but tossed her head impatiently, and crossed to the other side of the boulevard. But I crossed in her wake; and after a few moments of silence, I risked another remark, giving to my voice the most tender and sentimental inflection conceivable.

But I began to realize that my chance acquaintance was shyer than I had at first supposed, and that I might very well have nothing to show for my long walk, my little speeches, and my sidelong glances. However, her resistance augmented my desires; I remembered how foolish I felt one evening when, thinking that I had fallen in with an innocent maid, my charmer, when we arrived at her door, invited me to go up to her room; and I beg my readers to believe that I knew too much to accept. But appearances are so deceptive in Paris! the shrewdest connoisseurs allow themselves to be cozened; now, I ought to be a connoisseur, for I have seen a good deal of the world; and yet, I frequently allow myself to be taken in.

I made these reflections as I followed my pretty flower girl. She led me a devilish long way; we walked the whole length of Boulevards Montmartre, Poissonnière, Bonne-Nouvelle; we passed all the small theatres. “She lives in the Marais,” I thought; “that is plain.” We went through Rue Chariot, Rue de Bretagne, Vieille Rue du Temple. We went on and on; luckily, the weather was fine, and I knew that she must stop sooner or later. Yes, and she would probably shut the door in my face; but what did I care? After all, I was simply killing time; I had not known what to do with myself, and I had suddenly found an objective point for my stroll. To be sure, such an objective point is within the reach of everyone in Paris; and it is easy to provide one’s self with occupation by following the first saucy face one chances to meet. Indeed, I know many men who do nothing else, and who neglect their business to do it. Above all, I notice a large number of government clerks, who, instead of attending to their duties, are constantly hunting grisettes, on the pretext of going out to buy lunch; to be sure, they go out without their hats, and run about the city as if they were simply making neighborly calls; which is very comforting for the departments, as they are always sure that their clerks are not lost.

But it is not my business to censure the conduct of other people; indeed, that would be a most inopportune thing to do, inasmuch as I am in the very act of setting a bad example; for, a moment ago, I was meditating upon the instability of human affairs, and now I am giving chase to a petticoat that covers the most fragile, the weakest, the most deceitful, but also the most seductive, most alluring, most enchanting creature that Nature has created! I was losing my head, my imagination was hard at work, and yet I saw only a foot—a dainty one, ’tis true—and the beginning of a leg clothed in a modest black woollen stocking. Ah! if I might only have seen the garter! Faith! all things considered, it is much better to follow a girl, at the risk of having a door shut in your face, than to try to read the moon, and to weary one’s brain with metaphysics, astronomy, physiology, and metoposcopy; the deeper one delves into the vague and the abstract, the less clearly one discovers the goal and the proof; but, turn your attention to a saucy face, and you know at once what you wish to accomplish; and in the company of a pretty woman it is easy to discover the system of nature.

For several minutes I had said nothing to my young working girl; I was piqued by her persistent silence; I had even slackened my pace, so that she might think that I had ceased to follow her. But, although I was some twenty yards distant, I did not lose sight of her. She stopped, and so did I. She was speaking to someone; I walked toward them. The someone was a young man. I bit my lips in vexation; but I tried to distinguish what they were saying, and I overheard the following dialogue:

“Good-evening, Mademoiselle Caroline!”

“Good-evening, Monsieur Jules!”

“You are going home very late.”

“We have lots of work, especially on Saturday; and then I had a box to carry to Rue Richelieu; that is what makes me so late.”

“What have you got in this box?”

“A pretty bunch of roses to wear in my cap to-morrow. I made it myself; it’s very stylish, as you’ll see. A clumsy fellow ran into me on the boulevard, and nearly made me drop it.”

At that, I slunk into the passageway in front of which I had stopped.

“There are some people who never pay any attention to anything when they’re walking.”

“I fancy this man was a student; he was looking at the sky.”

“Did he ask your pardon?”

“Oh, yes!—But I must leave you; my aunt’s waiting for me, and she’ll give me a scolding.”

“I should be very sorry to be the cause of anything unpleasant happening to you. We shall see each other to-morrow, shan’t we?”

“Yes, yes; unless my aunt isn’t willing that I should dance any more. She’s so cross! Have you got tickets for Tivoli?”

“Yes, mademoiselle, for four; I will call for you.”

“Early, Monsieur Jules.”

“Oh, never fear! But don’t you forget we’re to dance the first contradance together.”

“I never forget such things!”

“Adieu, Mademoiselle Caroline!”

“Adieu, Monsieur Jules!”

Monsieur Jules drew nearer to her, and the girl offered her cheek. I heard a kiss. Parbleu! it was well worth while going all the way to Rue des Rosiers to see that!

The young man walked away, singing; the girl went a few steps farther, then entered a passageway, of which she closed the door behind her, and I was left standing in the gutter.

That Jules was evidently her lover; yes, he had every appearance of a lover, albeit an honorable one, for I was certain that he kissed nothing but her cheek; moreover, his conversation did not suggest a seducer. To-morrow, Sunday, they were going to Tivoli, with the aunt, no doubt, as he had tickets for four. Well, it was evident that I should have nothing to show for my walk. It was not the first time, but it was a pity; for she was pretty, very pretty! I examined the house with care. One can never tell—chance may serve one at some time. The street was dark, the moon being behind a cloud, and I could not make out the number. But that was of no importance, for I could recognize the passageway, the sharp corner, and the awning.

“What the devil! Pray be careful what you’re doing! You just missed throwing that on me!”

An inmate of my charmer’s house had opened his window and emptied a vessel into the street, just as I was trying to distinguish the color of the wall. Luckily, I escaped with a few splashes; but the incident abated my curiosity, and I left Rue des Rosiers, wiping my coat tails with my handkerchief.

II
THE PETITE-MAÎTRESSE

It was not late when I returned to the boulevard; the performances at the small theatres were not yet at an end. A dozen ticket speculators ran to meet me, offering to sell me checks.

“There’s one more act, monsieur,” they shouted in my ears; “it’s the best of all; you’ll see the duel with a sword and an axe, the fire, and the ballet. It’s a play that draws all Paris. You can go to any part of the theatre.”

Unable to resist such urgent solicitations, I bought a check which entitled me to admission to any part of the theatre; but they would only allow me to go into the pit, or to walk around the corridor. I chose the latter alternative; as there was but one act to be played, I could see well enough; and then, the things that happen in the auditorium are often more amusing than those that happen on the stage. I am rather fond of examining faces, and there are generally some comical ones in attendance upon melodramas; the theatres at which that class of play is given are, as a general rule, frequented by the common people and the middle class, who do not know what it is to conceal their feelings, and who consequently abandon themselves unreservedly to all the emotion aroused by a scene of love or of remorse.

“Ah! the cur! ah! the blackguard!” exclaimed my nearest neighbor whenever the tyrant appeared; “he’ll get his finish before long.”

I glanced at the speaker; I judged from his hands and his general aspect that he was a tanner; his eyes were brighter than those of the actor who played the traitor and against whom he vociferated loudly at every instant. In front of me, as I stood behind the seats, I noticed a laundress who sobbed bitterly as she listened to the story of the princess’s misfortunes, and a small boy who crouched under the bench to avoid seeing the duel.

“How these good people are enjoying themselves!” I thought; “they are not surfeited with the theatre; they are absorbed by what is taking place on the stage; they don’t lose a single word, and for the next week they will think of nothing but what they have seen to-night. I will go up to the first tier of boxes; there is more style there, but less enjoyment.”

Through a glass door I caught sight of a most attractive face; I gave the box opener the requisite amount of money, and entered the box, determined to do my utmost to make up for the time I had wasted with Mademoiselle Caroline.

The lady, who had seemed a charming creature seen through the glass, was less charming at close range. However, she was not unattractive; she had style, brilliancy, and dash. She was still young; I saw at once that she was inclined to flirt, and that the appearance of a young man in her box would divert her for a moment.

You will understand, reader, that I was a young man; I believe that I have not yet told you so. Later, I will tell you who I am, and what talents, what attractive and estimable qualities, I possess; it will not take long.

A gentleman was seated beside the lady in question; he had a commonplace face, but was fashionably dressed and had distinguished manners. Was he her husband? I was inclined to think so, for they hardly spoke to each other.

I regretted that I had only about half an act to see; with more time, I might have been able to enter into conversation, to make myself agreeable, to begin an acquaintance. It seemed to me that I made a favorable impression; she bestowed divers very soft glances on me; she was seated so that she could look at me without being seen by her companion. The ladies are so accustomed to that sort of thing, and so expert at it!

“Ah!” I thought; “if ever I marry, I will always sit behind my wife; for then—— Even so; but if somebody else sits beside her, can I prevent the feet and knees from doing as they will? It is most embarrassing.”

“This play isn’t so bad,” said the lady at last, to her neighbor; “the acting here is not at all amiss.”

“Yes, yes;” nothing but yes. Ah! he was surely her husband. I listened intently, for she was evidently speaking for my benefit.

“I was horribly bored last night at the Français; Mars didn’t act. Aren’t we going to the Opéra to-morrow? There’s to be an extra performance.”

“As you please.”

“After all, it’s too hot for enjoyment at the theatre. If there wasn’t always such a medley in the public gardens on Sunday, I would rather go there than shut myself up in a theatre. What’s your idea?”

“It makes no difference to me.”

The lady made an impatient gesture. The gentleman did not notice it, but moved nearer the front of the box. I rose to look at the scenery, and my hand happened to come in contact with the lady’s arm, but she did not move.

“These theatres are wretchedly ventilated; there’s a very unpleasant odor here,” she said, after a moment.

I thought of my coat tails, which, in truth, smelt anything but sweet. I could not help smiling, but I instantly offered her a smelling bottle. She accepted it, and when she returned it did not seem offended because I pressed the hand with which she presented it to me.

At that moment the curtain fell.

“The devil!” I muttered to myself; “what a shame! I came too late. Mademoiselle Caroline is responsible for it. But what am I saying? If it had not been for her, I should still be on Boulevard Montmartre, gazing at the stars; it was because I followed her that I came in here to see the last act; and by running after a grisette I have fallen in with a petite-maîtresse who perhaps is inferior to the grisette! How one thing leads to another! It was because something was thrown on my coat that this lady complained of the unpleasant odor, and that I offered her my smelling bottle and squeezed her hand. After this, who will tell me that there is no such thing as fate? If I should make this gentleman a cuckold, it would certainly be the fault of Mademoiselle Caroline, who refused to listen to me.”

We left the box. I assisted my neighbor to climb over the benches, which were stationary for the convenience of the public. But the husband took her arm, and I was obliged to fall behind.

“Shall I follow, or shall I not follow?”—Such was the question I asked myself as I descended the staircase. After what had happened to me so short a time before, I ought to have kept quiet the rest of the evening; but I was twenty-four years old, I loved the fair sex passionately; moreover, my last mistress had just proved unfaithful to me,—indeed, it was that fact which was responsible for my melancholy meditations,—and a young man who has a strong flavor of sentiment in his makeup cannot exist without a passion. Unquestionably I was——

We were no sooner on the boulevard than they crossed the sidewalk to the curbstone.

“Aha!” I said to myself; “they are going to take a carriage; I’ll just listen to what they tell the driver, and in that way I can learn the address without putting myself to any trouble.”

But it was decreed that I should be disappointed again in my plans. They walked to a dainty vis-à-vis and called André; a footman ran to them, opened the door, and assisted monsieur and madame to enter.

My self-esteem received a still sharper prick; a woman who had a carriage of her own! Here was a conquest that merited the expenditure of some little time and trouble. I determined to follow madame’s carriage—not on foot; that would be too fatiguing! it might do if she were in a cab; but with private horses—why, I should have inflammation of the lungs! I spied a cabriolet, which was just what I wanted. The other carriage was driving away, so I lost no time.

“Hi, cocher!”

“Get in, monsieur.”

“I am in.”

“Where are we going, bourgeois?”

“Follow that carriage just ahead of us, and you shall have a good pourboire.”

The rascal did not need it; I saw that he was already tipsy. I wished then that I had taken another, but it was too late to change. He lashed his emaciated horse with all his strength; the infernal beast broke into a gallop of desperation, and sometimes outstripped the private carriage.

“Look out!” I said to my driver; “don’t whip it so hard; let’s not have an accident.”

“Don’t you be afraid, bourgeois, I know my business; you see, I haven’t been driving a cab twenty years without finding out what driving means. You’re with some friends in the green fiacre yonder; very good! I propose to have you get there ahead of ’em.”

“But I did not tell you that I was with anybody; I want you to follow that carriage; if you pass it, how can you follow it?”

“I tell you, bourgeois, that they’re a-following us; I’ll show ’em that my horse is worth two of theirs. When Belotte’s waked up, there’s no stopping her.”

“Morbleu! you go too fast! We have passed the carriage; where is it now?”

“Ah! they’re trying to catch up with us; but the coachman’s mad. I’m driving you all right, bourgeois.”

“But stop—stop, I tell you!”

“Have we got there?”

“Yes, yes! we’ve got there.”

“Damme! you see, Belotte’s got her second wind, and she’s a good one to go, I tell you. Ho! ho! here you are, master. Where shall I knock?”

“Nowhere.”

“Ha! ha! not a sign of a fiacre anywhere! Didn’t I tell you that you’d arrive ahead of the others? You see, it’s a whim of mine to pass everything on the road.”

I alighted from the cabriolet and looked all about; no sign of a carriage; we had lost it. I was frantic; and I had to listen to the appeals of my drunken driver, who wanted his pourboire. I was tempted to break his whip over his back; but I restrained myself and adopted the quickest method, which was to pay him and dismiss him.

“When you want a good driver and a good horse, bourgeois, I’m your man, you see; you’ll always find me on Place Taitbout, near Torchoni’s—in the swell quarter. Ask for François; I’m as well known as the clown.”

“All right; I’ll remember.”

The villain drove away at last, and I was left alone in a street which was entirely unfamiliar to me. It was getting late, and, as I had no desire to pass the night walking the streets, I tried to discover my whereabouts! After walking some distance I found myself at a spot which I recognized; I was on Rue des Martyrs, near the Montmartre barrier. Luckily, I lived on Rue Saint-Florentin, and to get there I had simply to walk down the hill. So I started, reflecting as I walked. It was a fitting occasion for reflection, and I had plenty of time. But my reverie was again interrupted by outcries. As the Quartier des Porcherons is not frequented by the most select society, and as I was nowise inclined to seek a third adventure at the Grand Salon, I quickened my pace, in order to avoid unpleasant encounters.

But the noise continued; I heard cries and oaths and blows. Women were calling for the police, the magistrate, and all the constituted authorities of the quarter; men were pushing and striking one another and throwing one another into the gutter. Windows were thrown open, and heads appeared enveloped in nightcaps; they listened and laughed and conversed from window to window, asking what the trouble was; but they refrained from going down into the street, because it is not prudent to meddle in a quarrel after dark.

The open windows and the faces surmounted by nightcaps reminded me of my little mishap on Rue des Rosiers. I no longer walked, but flew! fancying that I was pursued by fatality. But I heard someone running behind me; I turned into a street to the right; the footsteps followed me. At last I stopped to recover my breath, and in a moment my pursuer overtook me and grasped my arm.

III
THE FLOWER GIRL

“O monsieur! save me! take me with you! protect me from that horrible Beauvisage, who swore he’d take me away from anyone. Just hear how he’s beating Cadet Finemouche, who’s a good fighter himself! My sister was no fool; she skipped as soon as the fists began to play, and left me to carry the whole thing on my back; and perhaps she’ll go and tell my mother bad stories about me! I haven’t anybody but you to help me, monsieur; if you won’t, I’m a lost girl.”

While my waylayer recited her story, pausing only to wipe away the tears with the back of her hand, I looked at my new acquaintance and tried to distinguish her features by the dim light of a street lamp.

Her language and her dress speedily informed me what manner of person I had to deal with: a loose red gown, caught in at the waist with a black velvet scarf; a round cap with a broad lace border; a colored neckerchief, tied in front, with a large cross à la Jeannette resting upon it. Mistake in this instance was impossible: it was perfectly evident that I had before me a marchande à éventaire,[A] or one of those hucksters whose booths surround the cemetery of the Innocents.

[A] That is to say, a huckster, or peddler, who goes from place to place with her wares displayed on a tray hung from her shoulders.

My first thought was to see if she was pretty; I found that she was very good-looking indeed. Her eyes, although filled with tears, had a sincere, innocent expression which made her interesting at first sight; her little pout, her grieved air, were softened now and then by a smile addressed to me; and that smile, which the most accomplished coquette could not have made more attractive, disclosed two rows of the whitest teeth, unspoiled by enamel, coral, and all the powders of the perfumer.

However, despite my new acquaintance’s beauty, I was very reluctant to retain her arm, which she had passed through mine. Surely, with such charming features, she could not deal in fish or meat. I was morally certain that she sold flowers; but I did not choose to take a flower girl for my mistress; at the most, I might, if a favorable opportunity offered, indulge in a whim, a fancy. But I was not in luck that evening, and I did not propose to try any more experiments. I determined to rid myself of the girl.

As gently as possible, I detached the arm that was passed through mine; then I assumed a cold expression and said:

“I am very sorry that I am unable to do what you wish; but I do not know you; the dispute between Monsieur Beauvisage and Cadet Finemouche doesn’t concern me. Your sister ran away, and you had better do the same. Your mother may think what she pleases, it is all one to me. It is after twelve o’clock; I have been walking about the streets long enough, and I am going home to bed.”

“What, monsieur! you refuse! you are going to leave me! Think of refusing to go a little out of your way to help a poor girl who is in trouble because of an accident that might happen to anybody. I tell you again that my mother is quite capable of not letting me in if I go home without somebody to answer for me who can swear that I am innocent.”

“And you expect me to swear to that, do you?”

“Pardine! would that skin your tongue? Besides, you’re a fine gentleman, a swell; she won’t dare to fly into a temper before you, and she’ll listen to me. But if I go home alone—what a row! Oh! mon Dieu! how unlucky I am! I didn’t want to go to the Grand Salon at all; I was afraid of something like this.”

And thereupon the tears and sobs began afresh, and she stamped with her little feet. Perhaps her mother would tear out her hair; that would be too bad, for it formed a most becoming frame for that frank, artless countenance. My heart is not made of stone; I was touched by the girl’s distress, and I said to myself: “If, instead of this jacket, she were dressed in silk or even in merino, if she wore a dainty bonnet instead of this round cap, and a pretty locket instead of a cross à la Jeannette, I would long ago have offered my services with great zeal; I would play the gallant and make myself as agreeable as possible; I would cut myself in two to obtain a hearing, and I would regard it as a favor if she would allow me to offer her my arm. And shall this modest costume make me cruel, unfeeling? Shall I refuse to do a trivial favor, which she implores with tears in her eyes? Ah! that would be bad, very bad!”—I had been following a grisette and a grande dame, who perhaps were not worth so much notice as this poor child; I had passed the evening making a fool of myself, and I could certainly devote an hour to a worthy action. I determined to escort my flower girl to her home.

You see, reader, that I sometimes have good impulses; to be sure, the girl pleased me much. “All women seem to please you,” perhaps you will say. True, reader; all the pretty ones; and I venture to say that you are like me.

I drew nearer to my pretty fugitive. She was sitting on a stone, holding a corner of her apron to her eyes, and sobbing.

“Mademoiselle.”

“Mon—monsieur.”

“What is your name?”

“Ni-Ni-i-cette, monsieur.”

“Well, my little Nicette, have courage; stop crying, and take my arm. I will take you home to your mother.”

“Real—Really?”

She jumped for joy; indeed, I believe that she was on the point of embracing me; but she contented herself with taking my arm, which she pressed very close in hers, saying:

“Ah! I was sure that you wouldn’t leave me in such a pickle. I’m a good girl, monsieur; the whole quarter will tell you that Nicette’s reputation’s as clear as spring water. But my mother is so ugly! and then my sister’s jealous because she says I make soft eyes at Finemouche.”

“You can tell me all about it on the way. Where are we going?”

“Oh, dear! it’s quite a little distance. I have a stand at the Croix-Rouge, and I live on Rue Sainte-Marguerite, where my mother keeps a fruit shop.”

From Faubourg Montmartre to the Croix-Rouge! that was enough to kill a man! If only I could find a fiacre! I believe that I would even have taken François’s cabriolet, at the risk of having Belotte take the bit in her teeth; but no carriage of any sort passed us. I had no choice but to make the best of it; so I took Nicette by the arm and forced her to quicken her pace.

“You are a peddler, Nicette,” I said; “what do you sell?”

“Bouquets, monsieur; and they’re always fresh, I flatter myself.”

She was a flower girl; I was sure of it. The certainty restored my courage to some extent, and made the journey seem less long. I should not have been flattered to act as escort to a fishwoman; and yet, when it is a matter of rendering a service, should one be influenced by such petty considerations? But what can you do? that infernal self-esteem is forever putting itself forward. Moreover, I am no better than other men; perhaps I am not so good; you may judge for yourselves.

“Ah! you sell bouquets, do you?”

“Yes, monsieur; and when you want a nice one, come and see me; I will always have some ready for you, day or night.”

“Thanks.—But how does it happen that, living in Faubourg Saint-Germain, you go to a dance near the Montmartre barrier? I should suppose that you could find balls enough in your own neighborhood.”

“I’ll tell you how that happens. My sister Fanchon has a lover, Finemouche, a brewer, a fine-looking, dark fellow, that all the girls in the quarter are mad over. My mother says that he’s a ne’er-do-well, and don’t want Fanchon to listen to him; but Fanchon’s crazy over him, and she tries all sorts of ways to be with him, on condition that he won’t make love to her except with honest motives. This morning she agreed to come to Montmartre at dusk, sentimentally, to have a drink of milk. But she had to make up her mind to take me; mother wouldn’t have let her go alone. We said we were going to see an aunt of ours, who sells oranges on the boulevard; that was a trick of Fanchon’s. I went with her against my will, especially as Finemouche sometimes gives me a look, that I don’t pay any attention to—on the word of an honest girl!—When we got to Montmartre we found the brewer, who treated us both to a donkey ride. After riding round for two hours, I said it was time to turn our toes toward home; but Finemouche says: ‘Let’s rest a few minutes at the Grand Salon—long enough to eat a salad and have a waltz.’—I didn’t want to accept; but my sister likes waltzing and salad, and I had to let her have her way. So we went to the Grand Salon. Fanchon danced with Finemouche; so far, everything went well enough. But, as luck would have it, in comes Beauvisage, a fellow who works in a pork shop on our street. He’s another fellow who makes love to all the girls, and who’s taken it into his head to have a passion for me.”

“You don’t seem to lack adorers, Nicette.”

“I have one or two, but it ain’t my fault. God knows, I always receive ’em with my fists closed. But these men! the crueler you are, the more they hang on! I have shown Monsieur Beauvisage that I don’t like his attentions; I always throw his presents in his face; but it don’t make any difference: just as sure as I leave my stand for a minute, when I come back I find a sausage among my roses, or a pig’s foot on my footwarmer. Why, the other day, my birthday, he actually came to wish me many happy returns, with a white pudding, and truffled at that! But all that don’t touch my heart; I told him that I wouldn’t have him, before all the old gossips of the quarter; and I threw his pudding in his face. He went away in a rage, swearing that he’d kidnap me. So you can imagine that I shivered with fright when I saw him come into the Grand Salon, especially as I know what a hot-headed fellow he is.—Would you believe, monsieur, he had the cheek to ask me to dance, just as if nothing had happened! I refused him flat, because I ain’t two-faced. He tried to force me to dance; Finemouche came running up and ordered him to let me alone instantly, at which he held me all the tighter. Cadet handled him so rough that they went out to fight. My sister Fanchon blamed me, because it made her mad to have her lover fight for me. But the worst of it all is that Finemouche, who had drunk a good deal with his salad, was beaten by Beauvisage. Fanchon ran off as soon as she saw her lover on the ground; I tried to do the same, but my tormentor ran after me. At last I caught sight of you, monsieur, and that gave me courage; I was sure you’d protect me; I grabbed your arm, and that’s all.”

Nicette’s story interested me; and the thing that pleased me most was that she seemed to be virtuous and had no lover.—“What difference did that make to you?” you will say; “as you were a young man in society, of course you would not make love to a flower girl.” True; I had no such purpose; and yet, I became conscious that for some moments I had been pressing the girl’s arm more tenderly than before. But it was because I was distraught.

“Do you think my mother will beat me, monsieur?”

“I don’t see why she should be angry; you have done nothing wrong.”

“Oh! in the first place, we shouldn’t have gone to the Grand Salon.”

“That was your sister’s fault.”

“Yes, but she’ll say it was mine. And then, I’ll tell you something. My mother’s inclined to favor Beauvisage, who shuts her eyes with galantine and never comes to the house without a chitterling eight inches long. Mother’s crazy over chitterlings, and she’d like to have me marry the pork man, so that she could always have a pig’s pudding on hand. But I have always refused to hear with that ear, and since then they all look crosswise at me at home. So they’ll lay the quarrel and the whole row on my shoulders. Oh! mon Dieu! I shall be beaten, I am sure!”

“Poor Nicette! I promise you that I will speak to your mother in your behalf.”

“Oh! I beg you to! You see, she’s quite capable of not letting me in, and making me spend the night in the street! That miserable Beauvisage! he’s the cause of it all! I’d rather jump into the river than be his wife!”

“Can you say as much about Finemouche?”

“Yes, monsieur; I want a husband to my taste, and I don’t like any of those jokers.”

“Then you have no lover?”

“No, monsieur.”

“But, at your age, one ought to love.”

“Oh! I’m in no hurry. But we’re almost there, monsieur, we’re almost there. Ah! how my heart thumps!”

I felt that she was really trembling, and, to encourage her, I took one of her hands and pressed it. She made no resistance, she was thinking of nothing but her mother.

At last we reached Rue Sainte-Marguerite; Nicette dared not go any farther.

“There’s the place, monsieur,” she said; “that house next to the porte cochère.”

“Well, let us go there.”

“Oh! wait just a minute, till I can breathe!”

“Why are you so frightened? Am I not here?”

“Pardine! perhaps mother won’t even let you in!”

“We will make her listen to reason.”

“That will be hard.”

“Your sister is more to blame than you.”

“Yes, but she’s fond of my sister, and she don’t like me.”

“Well, we haven’t come all this distance not to try our luck.”

“That is true, monsieur. Come on, let’s go to the house.”

We arrived in front of Madame Jérôme’s shop; I had learned from Nicette that that was her mother’s name. Everything was tightly closed and perfectly still; no light could be seen inside the house.

“Does your mother sleep in the shop?”

“Yes, monsieur; at the back.”

“We must knock.”

“Oh! if only my sister hasn’t got home!”

“Let’s knock, in any event.”

I knocked, for Nicette had not the requisite courage; there was no reply.

“She sleeps very soundly,” I said to the girl.

“Oh, no, monsieur! that means that she don’t intend to let me in.”

“Parbleu! she’ll have to answer.”

I knocked again; we heard a movement inside, then someone approached the door, and a hoarse voice demanded:

“Who’s that knocking at this time of night?”

“It’s me, mother.”

“Ah! it’s you, is it, you shameless hussy! and you think I’ll let you in after midnight, when you’ve been setting men to fighting and turning a whole quarter upside down! Off with you this minute, and don’t ever let me see you again!”

“Mother! please let me in; my sister has deceived you.”

“No, no; I know the whole story. You’re a cursed little pig-headed fool! Ah! you don’t choose to be a pork man’s wife, don’t you? All right! go and walk the streets; we’ll see if you have pig’s pudding to eat every day!”

Nicette wept. I thought that it was time for me to intervene in the quarrel.

“Madame,” I called through the door, in a voice which I tried to make imposing, “your daughter has done no wrong; you are scolding her most unjustly; and if you leave her in the street, you will expose her to the risk of doing what you will regret.”

I waited for a reply; none was forthcoming, but I heard someone removing the iron bars, as if to open the shop. I went up to Nicette.

“You see,” said I, “my voice and my remonstrance have produced some effect. I was certain that I could pacify your mother. Come, dry your tears; she is coming, and I promise you that I will make her listen to reason, and that she won’t leave you to sleep in the street.”

Nicette listened, but she still doubted my ability to obtain her pardon. Meanwhile, the noise continued, and the door did, in fact, open. Madame Jérôme appeared on the threshold, wearing a dressing jacket and a nightcap. I stepped forward to intercede for the girl, who dared not stir; I was about to begin a sentence which I thought well adapted to touch a mother’s heart, but Madame Jérôme did not give me time.

“So you’re the man,” she cried, “who brings this boldface home, and undertakes to preach to me and to teach me how to manage my daughters! Take that to pay you for your trouble!”

As she spoke, the fruit seller dealt me a buffet that sent me reeling toward the other side of the street; then she drew back into her shop and slammed the door in our faces.

IV
MY NEIGHBOR RAYMOND

For five minutes I did not say a word to Nicette. Madame Jérôme’s blow had cooled my zeal in the girl’s cause very materially. I could not forbear reflecting upon the various events of the evening, and I seemed to detect therein a fatality which made me pay dearly for all my attempts at seduction.

For following a working girl, the tip of whose finger I had not been allowed to squeeze, I had been spattered with filth on Rue des Rosiers; for playing the gallant and making myself agreeable to a petite-maîtresse who bestowed divers exceedingly soft glances upon me, I had fallen in with an infernal cab driver, who had driven me to a strange quarter of the city, a long way from my own home; and lastly, for consenting to act as the protector of a young flower girl, whom I undertook to reconcile with her mother, I had received a well-aimed blow on the head. This last catastrophe seemed to me rank injustice on the part of Providence; for to take Nicette home to Madame Jérôme was a very kind action. What nonsense it is to talk about a benefaction never being wasted! But my cheek began to burn less hotly, and my ill humor became less pronounced. It was not Nicette’s fault that I had received that blow. I determined to make the best of my predicament and to console the poor child, whose distress was much augmented by this last accident.

“You are right, Nicette; your mother is very unkind.”

“Oh, yes, monsieur! What did I tell you? I am awful sorry for what happened to you; but if you hadn’t been there, I should have been beaten much worse than that.”

“In that case, it is clear that all is for the best.”

“My mother’s very quick!”

“That is true.”

“She has a light hand.”

“I found it rather heavy!”

“She cuffs me for a yes or a no; but it’s worse than ever, since I refused Beauvisage. Ah! I am very unhappy! It wouldn’t take much to make me jump into the Canal de l’Ourcq.”

“Come, come, be calm; the most urgent thing now is to find out where you can go to pass the night, as your mother really refuses to admit you. Have you any relations in this quarter?”

“Mon Dieu! no, not a soul; I have an aunt in Faubourg Saint-Denis; but she wouldn’t take me in—she’d be too much afraid of having a row with my mother.”

“Madame Jérôme is a general terror, I see.”

“Alas! yes.”

“Where will you sleep, then?”

“At your house, monsieur, with your permission; or else in the street.”

There was in Nicette’s suggestion such childlike innocence, or such shameless effrontery, that I could not restrain a start of surprise. It is difficult to believe in the innocence and naïveté of a flower girl. And yet, in her language there was something so sincere, so persuasive; and on the other hand, her eyes, whose expression was so soft and tender when they were not bathed in tears, her little retroussé nose, the way in which she had seized my arm, and, lastly, this barefaced proposal to pass the night in a young man’s apartment—all these things threw my mind into a state of uncertainty to which I tried in vain to put an end.

However, I was obliged to make up my mind. Nicette was gazing at me, awaiting my answer; her eyes implored me. My heart was weak.

“Come with me,” I said at last.

“Ah! monsieur, how good you are! how I thank you!”

Again she took possession of my arm, and we started for Rue Saint-Florentin. This time we made the journey in silence. I was musing upon the singularity of the adventure that had happened to me. The idea of my taking a street corner huckster home with me, to sleep in my rooms! And remember, reader, that I lived on Rue Saint-Florentin, near the Tuileries; you will divine, from that detail, that I was something of a swell, but a swell who followed grisettes. Oh! it was simply as a pastime. I was not in the least conceited, I beg you to believe; and if an impulse which I could not control drew me constantly toward the fair sex, and led me to overlook rank and social station, I may say with Boileau:

“’Twas destiny’s fault!”

But I was not one of those persons, either, who defy all the proprieties; I did not wish to be looked upon, in the house in which I lived, as a man who consorted with the first woman he chanced to meet; and in that house, as everywhere, there were malicious tongues! I had, in particular, a certain neighbor. Ah!——

It was necessary, therefore, to keep Nicette out of sight. I hoped that that would be an easy matter, so far as going in was concerned. It was at least one o’clock in the morning, and my concierge would be in bed; when that was the case, if anyone knocked, she simply inquired, from her bed: “Who’s that?” and then pulled the cord, without disturbing herself further. So that Nicette could go up to my room unseen. But as to her going away the next day! Madame Dupont, my concierge, was inquisitive and talkative; she was like all concierges—I need say no more. The whole household would hear of the adventure; I should be unmercifully laughed at; it would be known in society. It was most embarrassing; but I could not leave Nicette in the street. Poor child! the watch would find her and take her to the police station, as a vagrant! And I honestly believed that she was a respectable girl; I almost believed that she was innocent; however, that would appear in due time.

We crossed the bridges, followed the quays, and at last drew near our destination. Nicette did not walk so rapidly as at first; she was tired out by her evening’s work; and I—well, I leave it to you to guess!

“Here we are!” I said at last.

“I’m glad of it; for I’m awful tired.”

“And I, too, I assure you. I must knock.”

“Oh! what a beautiful street! and what a fine house!”

“You mustn’t make any noise when we go upstairs, Nicette; you mustn’t speak!”

“No, monsieur, never fear; I don’t want to wake anybody up.”

“Sh! The door is open.”

Madame Dupont asked who was there; I replied, and we entered the house; the hall light was out and it was very dark; that was what I wanted.

“Give me your hand,” I whispered to Nicette, “and let me lead you; but, above all things, no noise.”

“All right, monsieur.”

I led her to the staircase, which we ascended as softly as possible. I wished with all my heart that we were safely in my rooms. If anyone should open a door, I could not conceal Nicette; I had not even a cloak to throw over her, for it was summer.

I lived on the fourth floor; to obtain a desirable bachelor’s apartment on Rue Saint-Florentin, one had to pay a dear price, even if it were very high. On the same landing with me lived a curious mortal of some thirty-six to forty years, whose face would have been insignificant but for the fact that his absurd airs and pretensions made it comical. He was of medium height, and strove to assume an agile and sprightly gait and bearing, despite an embonpoint which became more pronounced every day. He had four thousand francs a year, which left him free to devote himself to the business of other people. Moreover, he was poet, painter, musician; combining all the talents, as he said and believed, but in reality a butt for the ridicule of both men and women, especially the latter; but he insinuated himself everywhere, none the less, attended every party, every ball, every concert; because in society everybody is popular who arouses laughter, whether it be by his wit or by his absurdities.

We had just arrived at my landing, when Monsieur Raymond suddenly opened his door and appeared before us in his shirt and cotton nightcap, with a candle in one hand, and a key in the other.

I did not know whether to step forward or to turn back. Monsieur Raymond stared with all his eyes, and Nicette laughed aloud.

I was determined that he should not, at all events, have time to scrutinize the girl; I fumbled hastily in my pocket for my key, but it was entangled in my handkerchief; I could not get it out, I could not find the lock; the more I tried to hurry, the less I succeeded; it seemed that the devil was taking a hand!

Monsieur Raymond, observing my embarrassment, walked toward me with a mischievous smile and held his light under my nose, saying:

“Allow me to give you some light, neighbor; you can’t see, you are at one side of the lock.”

I would gladly have given him the blow that Madame Jérôme had given me! but I realized that I must restrain myself; so I thanked him, unlocked my door, and entered, pushing Nicette before me. I closed the door, paying no heed to Monsieur Raymond’s offer to light my candle for me.

But suddenly an idea came into my mind; I took a candle, opened my door again, and ran after Raymond, seizing him by his shirt just as he was entering a certain place. I put my finger to my lips, with a mysterious air.

“What’s the matter?” queried Raymond, extricating his shirt from my hand.

“Don’t mention the fact that you saw Agathe with me to-night.”

“A—Agathe! What do you say? Why, you are joking!”

“We have just come from a masquerade; she disguised herself for it, and——”

“Do you mean to say that there are masquerade balls in July?”

“There are if anyone chooses to give one; this was for somebody’s birthday.”

“But that girl——”

“She is well disguised, isn’t she? I’ll bet that you didn’t recognize her at the first glance. The costume—the rouge—they change one’s whole appearance.”

“Faith! I confess that I didn’t see even the slightest resemblance.”

“I rely on your discretion. To-morrow I will tell you what my motive is; you will laugh with me at the adventure. Au revoir, neighbor; good-night! Allow me to light my candle, now.”

“Much pleasure to you, Monsieur Dorsan!”

I left Raymond and returned to my room. My neighbor was not fully persuaded that it was Agathe whom he had seen; but I had at least, by my stratagem, reserved for myself an answer to his gossip; and if he should talk, I could easily persuade people that he was asleep and had not seen things as they were.

“But,” you will say, “by that falsehood you destroyed another woman’s reputation. Who is this Agathe whom you put forward so inconsiderately?”

This Agathe is my last mistress, with whom I had broken only a short time before; she is a milliner, very lively, very alluring, and very wanton! She had sometimes done me the honor to come to me to ask hospitality for the night; my neighbor had often seen her going in and out of my room, so that once more or less would do her no harm. Her reputation was in no danger, as you see.

Now that I have told you about Mademoiselle Agathe, with whom Monsieur Raymond did not know that I had fallen out, not being in my confidence, I return to Nicette, who is in my apartment, waiting for me. It was half-past one in the morning; but there is time for a great deal between that hour and daybreak! My heart beat fast! Faith! I had no idea what the night would bring to pass.

V
WHAT THE NIGHT BROUGHT TO PASS

“What a funny man that is!” said Nicette, as I entered the room with a light. “When I saw that figure, in his shirt, that neckerchief tied with a lover’s knot, that big nose, and those surprised eyes, I couldn’t keep from laughing.”

“I must confess, Mademoiselle Nicette, that you cause me a lot of trouble!”

“Do I, monsieur? Oh! I am so sorry!”

“But here we are in my rooms at last, God be praised! I don’t quite know, though, how you are to go out!”

“Pardine! through the door, as I came.”

“That’s easy for you to say! However, we will see, when to-morrow comes.”

Nicette looked about her. She examined my apartment, my furniture; she followed me into each room; I had only three, by the way: a small reception room, a bedroom, and a study where I worked, or read, or played the piano, or did whatever else I chose.

“Sit down and rest,” I said.

“Oh! in a moment, monsieur; you see——”

She glanced at my couch and my easy-chairs; she seemed to be afraid to go near them. I could not help smiling at her embarrassment.

“Doesn’t the apartment please you?” I inquired.

“Oh! yes, indeed, monsieur! but it’s all so fine and so shiny! I’m afraid of spoiling something.”

“You need not be afraid.”

I led her to the couch, and almost forced her to sit down by my side.

“I am alone, you see, Nicette; you have come to a bachelor’s quarters.”

“Oh! I don’t care about that, monsieur; at any rate, I didn’t have any choice.”

“Then you’re not afraid to pass the night with me?”

“No, monsieur; I see that you’re an honorable man, and that I needn’t be afraid of anything in your rooms.”

“Oho! she sees that I am an honorable man!” said I to myself; “in that case, I must have a very captivating countenance. However, I am not ill-looking; some women say that I am rather handsome; and this girl isn’t afraid to pass the night with a good-looking bachelor! Perhaps she thinks me ugly.”

These reflections annoyed me; while making them, I looked at Nicette more closely than I had hitherto been able to do. She was really very good-looking; a face at once piquant and sweet, and with some character—absolutely unlike what we ordinarily find in a flower girl: she had the freshness and charm of her flowers, and she was the daughter of a fruit peddler, of Mother Jérôme! There are such odd contrasts in nature; however, I could but acknowledge that chance had been very favorable to me this time. I began to be quite reconciled to my evening’s entertainment; I forgot the grisette and the petite-maîtresse, to think solely of the charming face at my side.

As I gazed at the girl, I had moved nearer to her; I softly passed my arm about her waist; and the more favorable the examination, the more tightly I pressed the red gown.

Nicette did not speak, but she seemed agitated; her bosom rose and fell more frequently, her respiration became shorter; she kept her eyes on the floor. Suddenly she extricated herself from my embrace, rose, and asked me, in a trembling voice, where she was to pass the night.

That question embarrassed me; I admit that I had not yet thought of that. I glanced at Nicette; her lovely eyes were still fastened on the floor. Was she afraid to meet mine? Did she love me already? and—— Nonsense! that infernal self-esteem of mine was off at a gallop!

“We have time enough to think about that, Nicette. Do you feel sleepy?”

“Oh, no! it ain’t that, monsieur.”

“Ah! so there’s another reason, is there?”

“I don’t want to be in your way; you told me you was tired, too.”

“That has all passed away; I have forgotten it.”

“Never mind, monsieur; show me where I can pass the night. I’ll go into one of the other rooms. I shall be very comfortable on a chair, and——”

“Pass the night on a chair! Nonsense! you mustn’t think of such a thing!”

“Oh, yes! I ain’t hard to suit, monsieur.”

“No matter; I shan’t consent to that. But sit down, Nicette, there’s no hurry now. Come and sit down. Are you afraid to sit beside me?”

“No, monsieur.”

But she took her seat at the other end of the couch. Her blushing face and her confusion betrayed a part of her sensations. I myself was embarrassed—think of it! with a flower girl! Indeed, it was just because she was a flower girl that I didn’t know where to begin. I give you my word, reader, that I should have made much more rapid progress with a grande dame or a grisette.

“Do you know, Nicette, that you are charming?”

“I have been told so, monsieur.”

“You must have many men making love to you?”

“Oh! there’s some that try to fool me when they come to buy flowers of me; but I don’t listen to ’em.”

“Why do you think that they are trying to fool you?”

“Oh! because they’re swells—like you.”

“So, if I should mention the word love to you, you would think——”

“That you was making fun of me. Pardi! that’s plain enough!”

That beginning was not of good augury. No matter, I continued the attack, moving gradually nearer the girl.

“I swear to you, Nicette, that I never make fun of anyone!”

“All men say that!”

“Besides, you are quite pretty enough to arouse a genuine passion.”

“Yes, a passion of a fortnight! Oh! I ain’t to be caught in that trap.”

“On my honor, you are too pretty for a flower girl.”

“Bah! you are joking.”

“If you chose, Nicette, you could find something better to do than that.”

“No, monsieur, no; I don’t want to sell anything but bouquets. Oh! I ain’t vain. I refused Beauvisage, who’s got money, and who’d have given me calico dresses, caps à la glaneuse, and gilt chains; but all those things didn’t tempt me. When I don’t like a person, nothing can make me change my mind.”

She was not covetous; so that it was necessary to win her regard in order to obtain anything from her. I determined to win her regard. But I have this disadvantage when I try to make myself agreeable: I never know what I am saying; that was why I sat for ten minutes without speaking a word to Nicette, contenting myself with frequent profound sighs and an occasional cough, to revive the conversation. But Nicette was very innocent, or perhaps she meant to laugh at me when she said with great sang-froid:

“Have you got a bad cold, monsieur?”

I blushed at my idiocy; the idea of being so doltish and timid with a flower seller! Really, I hardly recognized myself.

And the better to recognize myself, I put my arms about Nicette and tried to draw her into my lap.

“Let go of me, monsieur; let go, I beg you!”

“Why, what harm are we doing, Nicette?”

“I don’t want you to squeeze me so tight.”

“One kiss, and I’ll let you go.”

“Just one, all right.”

Her consent was necessary, for she was very well able to defend herself; she was strong and could make a skilful use of her hands and knees; and as I was not accustomed to contests of that sort, in which our society ladies give us little practice, I began to think that I should find it difficult to triumph over the girl.

She gave me permission to kiss her, and I made the most of it; trusting in my promise, she allowed me to take that coveted kiss, and offered me her fresh, rosy cheek, still graced with the down of youth and innocence.

But I desired a still greater privilege; I longed to steal from a lovely pair of lips a far sweeter kiss. Nicette tried, but too late, to prevent me. I took one, I took a thousand. Ah! how sweet were those kisses that I imprinted on Nicette’s lips! Saint-Preux found Julie’s bitter; but I have never detected a trace of bitterness in a pretty woman’s kisses; to be sure, I am no Saint-Preux, thank heaven!

A consuming flame coursed through my veins. Nicette shared my emotion; I could tell by the expression of her eyes, by the quivering of her whole frame. I sought to take advantage of her confusion to venture still further; but she repulsed me, she tore herself from my arms, rushed to the door, and was already on the landing, when I overtook her and caught her by her skirt.

“Where in heaven’s name are you going, Nicette?”

“I am going away, monsieur.”

“What’s that?”

“Yes, monsieur, I am going away; I see now that I mustn’t pass the night here in your rooms; I wouldn’t have believed that you’d take advantage of my trouble to—— But since I made a mistake, I’m going away.”

“Stop, for heaven’s sake! Where would you go?”

“Oh! I don’t know about that; but it don’t make any difference! I see that I’d be safer in the street than alone here with you.”

I felt that I deserved that reproach. The girl was virtuous; she had placed herself under my protection without distrust; she had asked me for hospitality, and I was about to take advantage of her helpless plight, to seduce her! That was contemptible behavior. But I may say, in my own justification, that I did not know Nicette, and that, for all the artless simplicity of her language, a young girl who suggests to a man that she pass the night under his roof certainly lays herself open to suspicion, especially in Paris, where innocent young maids are so rare.

She still held the door ajar, and I did not relax my grasp of her skirt. I looked in her face, and saw great tears rolling down her cheeks. Poor child! it was I who caused them to fall! She seemed prettier to me than ever; I was tempted to throw myself at her feet and beg her to forgive me. But what! I, on my knees before a street peddler! Do not be alarmed: I did not offend the proprieties to that extent.

“I beg you to remain, Nicette,” I said, at last.

“No, monsieur; I made a mistake about you; I must go.”

“Listen to me; in the first place, you can’t go away from the house alone; at this time of night the concierge opens the door only to those who give their names.”

“Oh! but I remember your name; it’s Dorsan.”

“It isn’t enough to give my name; she would know that it wasn’t my voice.”

“All right; then I’ll stay in the courtyard till morning.”

“Excellent; everybody will see you; and think of the remarks and tittle-tattle of all the cooks of the quarter! It’s bad enough that that infernal Raymond should have seen you. Come back to my rooms, Nicette; I promise, yes, I swear, to behave myself and not to torment you.”

She hesitated; she looked into my face, and doubtless my eyes told her all that was taking place in my mind; for she closed the door of the landing, and smiled at me, saying:

“I believe you, and I’ll stay.”

In my joy I was going to kiss her again; but I checked myself, and I did well: oaths amount to so little!

“But, monsieur,” she said, “we can’t pass the night sitting in your big easy-chair.”

She was quite right; that would have been too dangerous.

“You will sleep in my bed,” I replied, “and I will pass the night on the sofa in my study. No objections, mademoiselle; I insist upon it. You will be at liberty to double-lock my study door; you can go to sleep without the slightest fear. Does that suit you?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

We went back into my bedroom; I lighted another candle, and carried the couch into my study, with Nicette’s assistance. I confess that that operation was a painful one to me. However, it was done at last.

“Now you may go to bed and sleep in peace. Good-night, Nicette!”

“Good-night, monsieur!”

I took my candle and retired to my study, closing the door behind me. There we were, in our respective quarters. I blew out the candle and threw myself on the couch. If only I could sleep; time passes so quickly then! And yet, we sleep about a third part of our lives! and we are always glad to plunge into that oblivion, albeit we stand in fear of death, which is simply a never-ending sleep, during which it is certain that one is not disturbed by bad dreams!

Sleep, indeed! In vain did I stretch myself out, and twist and turn in every direction. I could not sleep; it was impossible. I concluded to resign myself to the inevitable, and I began to recall the incidents of my extraordinary evening; I thought of Caroline, of the charming woman at the theatre, of that infernal cabman. I tried to put Nicette out of my thoughts; but she constantly returned; I strove in vain to banish her. The idea that she was close at hand, within a few feet of me, that only a thin partition separated me from her—that idea haunted me! When I thought that I might be beside her, that I might hold her in my arms and give her her first lessons in love and pleasure—then I lost my head, my blood boiled. Only Nicette’s consent was needed to make us happy, and she would not give it! To be sure, that same happiness might have results most embarrassing to her.

I had the fidgets in my legs. I rose and paced the floor, but very softly; perhaps she was asleep, and I would not wake her. Poor child! she had had trouble enough during the evening, and I was afraid that still greater trouble was in store for her; for if her mother persisted in her refusal to take her in, what would she do? Until that moment, I had not given a thought to her future.

But I had not heard the key turn in the lock; therefore, she had not locked herself in. That was strange; evidently she relied on my oath. What imprudence, to believe in a young man’s promises!

Was she asleep or not? that was what tormented me. For half an hour I stood close against the door, turning first one ear, then the other, and listening intently; but I could hear nothing. I looked through the keyhole; there was a light in the room; was it from caution, or forgetfulness?

But she had not locked the door. Ah! perhaps she had locked it without my hearing it. It was very easy to satisfy myself on that point. I turned the knob very gently, and the door opened. I stopped, fearing that I had made a noise. But I heard nothing. If I could see her for a moment asleep, see her in bed—for there, and only there can one judge a woman’s beauty fairly. I leaned forward; the candle stood on the commode, at some little distance from the bed. I stepped into the room, holding my breath, and stood by her side. She was not undressed; I might have guessed as much. I turned to walk away. Ah! those miserable shoes! they squeaked, and Nicette awoke. I determined to change my shoemaker.

“Do you want anything, monsieur?” she asked.

“No; that is to say, yes, I—I was looking for a book; but I have found it.”

I returned quickly to my study, feeling that I must have cut a sorry figure. The door was closed, and I was not tempted to open it again. Ah! how long that night seemed to me! The day came at last!

VI
MADEMOISELLE AGATHE

It was long after daybreak. People were already going and coming in the house, and I had not yet ventured to wake Nicette. She was sleeping so soundly! and the preceding day had been a day of tempest, after which rest was essential. But I heard a movement at last; she rose, opened the door, and came toward me, smiling.

“Monsieur, will you allow me to kiss you?”

I understood: that was my reward for my continence during the night, and it was well worth it. She kissed me with evident pleasure, and I began to feel the enjoyment that one is likely to feel when one has no occasion for self-reproach.

“Now, Nicette, let us talk seriously; but, no, let us breakfast first of all; we can talk quite as well at table. You must feel the need of something to eat, do you not?”

“Yes, monsieur, I should like some breakfast right well.”

“I always keep something on hand for unexpected guests.”

“Tell me where everything is, monsieur, and I’ll set the table.”

“On the sideboard yonder, and in the drawers.”

“All right, all right!”

She ran to fetch what we required. In two minutes the table was set. I admired Nicette’s grace and activity; a little maid-servant like that, I thought, would suit me infinitely better than my concierge, Madame Dupont, who took care of my rooms. But, apropos of Madame Dupont, suppose she should appear? We had time enough, however; for it was only seven o’clock, and the concierge, knowing that I was a little inclined to be lazy, never came up before eight. So that we could breakfast at our ease.

“Let us talk a little, Nicette. I am interested in your future; you cannot doubt that.”

“You have proved it, monsieur.”

“What are you going to do when you leave me?”

“Go back to my mother.”

“That is quite right; but suppose she still refuses to let you in?”

“I will try to find work; I will go out to service, if I must; perhaps I shall be able to get in somewhere.”

“Undoubtedly; but who can say what sort of people you will encounter, and what hands you will fall into? Young and pretty as you are, you will find it harder than others might to get a suitable place, if, as I assume, you mean to remain virtuous.”

“Oh! indeed I do mean to remain virtuous, monsieur.”

“I know what men are; they are almost all libertines; marriage puts no curb on their passions. Wherever you take service, your masters will make you some unequivocal proposals, and will maltreat you if you reject them.”

“Then I will leave the house; I’ll hire myself out to a single lady.”

“Old maids are exacting, and keep their young servants in close confinement, for fear that they may walk the streets and make acquaintances. Young women receive much company, and will set you a dangerous example.”

“How good you talk this morning!”

“Don’t wonder at that; a drunkard is a connoisseur in wine, a welcher in horses, a painter in pictures, a libertine in methods of seduction. For the very reason that I am not virtuous, I am better able than another to warn you of the risks you are about to run. Experience teaches. You did not yield to me, and I desire to preserve you for the future. Don’t be grateful to me for it; very likely, it is simply a matter of self-esteem on my part, for I feel that it would be distressing to me to see the profanation of a flower that I have failed to pluck. You understand me, don’t you, Nicette?”

“Yes, yes, monsieur! I’m no prude, and I know what you mean! But don’t be afraid! How could I give another what I refused you?”

She said this with evident feeling and sincerity. Clearly she liked me; I could not doubt it; she was all the more praiseworthy for having resisted me.

“After all, my dear girl, I don’t see why you shouldn’t continue to sell flowers; it is better suited to you than domestic service.”

“That is true, monsieur, but——”

“I understand you. Here, Nicette, take this purse; you may accept it without a blush, for it is not the price of your dishonor. I am simply doing you a favor, lending you a little money, if you like that better.”

“Oh! monsieur, money—from a young man! What will people think of that?”

“You must not say from whom you got it.”

“When a girl suddenly has money in her possession, people think, they imagine that——”

“Let the gossips chatter, and force them to hold their tongues by the way you behave.”

“My mother——”

“A mother who refuses to support her child has no right to demand an account of her actions.”

“But this purse—you are giving me too much, monsieur.”

“The purse contains only three hundred francs; I won it two days ago at écarté. Really, Nicette, if you knew how easily money is lost at cards, you would be less grateful to me for this trifle.”

“A trifle! three hundred francs! enough to set me up in business! Why, monsieur, it’s a treasure!”

“Yes, to you who know the full value of money, and use it judiciously. But things are valuable only so long as they are in their proper place.”

“All this means, I suppose, that you are very rich?”

“It means that, having been brought up in affluence, accustomed to gratify all my whims, I am not familiar enough with the value of money. This three hundred francs that I offer you, I should probably lose at cards without a pang; so take the money, Nicette; you can give it back to me, if the day ever comes when I need it.”

“Oh, yes! whenever you want it, monsieur; everything I have will always be at your service.”

“I don’t doubt it, my dear friend; so that business is settled.”

“Yes, monsieur; if my mother sends me away, I’ll hire a small room, I’ll buy flowers; I’ll be saving and orderly, and perhaps some day I’ll get where I can have a nice little shop of my own.”

“Then you will marry according to your taste, and you’ll be happy.”

“Perhaps so! but let’s not talk about that, monsieur.”

“Well! time flies; it’s nearly eight o’clock, and you must go, Nicette.”

“Yes, monsieur, that is true; whenever you say the word. But I—is——”

“What do you want to say?”

“Shan’t I see you again?”

“Yes, indeed; I hope to see you often. If you move to another quarter, you must leave your new address with my concierge.”

“Very well, monsieur; I won’t fail.”

The child was in evident distress; she turned her face away to conceal her tears. Could it be that she was sorry to leave me? What nonsense! We had known each other only since the night before! And yet, I too was unhappy at parting from her.

She was certain to meet one or more servants on the stairs; but what was she to do? there was no other way out. She promised to go down very rapidly, and to hurry under the porte cochère.

I kissed her affectionately—too affectionately for a man who had given her three hundred francs; it was too much like taking compensation for the gift.

I opened the door leading to the landing, and stood aside to let Nicette go out first, when a roar of laughter made me look up. That fiendish Raymond’s door was open, and he stood inside with a young woman; that young woman was Agathe!

It was a contemptible trick. I recognized Raymond’s prying curiosity and Agathe’s spirit of mischief. They were on the watch for me, no doubt; possibly they had been on sentry-go since daybreak. But how did it happen that Agathe was there? She had never spoken to Raymond. I swore that he should pay me for his perfidy.

Nicette looked at me, trying to read in my eyes whether she should go forward or back. It was useless to pretend any longer; perhaps, indeed, if there were any further delay, Monsieur Raymond would succeed in collecting a large part of the household on my landing. So I pushed Nicette toward the stairs.

“Adieu, Monsieur Dorsan!” she said sadly.

“Adieu, adieu, my child! I hope that your mother—— I will see—you shall hear—perhaps we may—adieu!”

I had no idea what I was saying; anger and vexation impeded my utterance. But Nicette, who was moved by but one sentiment,—regret at leaving me,—wiped the tears from her eyes with a corner of her apron.

“Ha! ha! this is really sentimental!” laughed Mademoiselle Agathe, as she watched the girl go downstairs; “what! tears and sighs! Ha! ha! it’s enough to make one die of laughing! But I should be much obliged to you, monsieur, if you would tell me how it happened that I was at a ball with you last night, and disguised, without knowing anything about it. Well! why don’t you speak? don’t you hear me?”

My attention was engrossed by another object. My eyes were fastened on my neighbor, and my steadfast gaze evidently embarrassed him; for, in a moment, I saw that he turned as red as fire; he began to shift about in his confusion, tried to smile, and at last returned to his own room, taking care to lock the door.

“Ah! Monsieur Raymond, I owe you one for this! we shall meet again!” I said, walking toward his door. Then I turned to answer Mademoiselle Agathe, but she had entered my apartment; and as she was perfectly familiar with the locality, I found her in my little study, nonchalantly reclining on the sofa.

“Do tell me, Eugène, what all this means? Mon Dieu! how things are changed about! the couch in the study; the bed partly tumbled; the remains of a breakfast. What happened here last night?”

“Nothing, I assure you.”

“Oh! nothing out of the ordinary course, I understand that. But this couch puzzles me. Tell me about it, Eugène, my little Eugène. Because you are no longer my lover is no reason why we shouldn’t be friends.”

You are aware, reader, that Mademoiselle Agathe is the milliner with whom I had fallen out because I discovered that she was unfaithful to me. In fact, it was my vexation on her account that had led me to indulge in those melancholy reflections during my stroll along the boulevard on the preceding evening. But since then my susceptible heart had experienced so many new sensations, that the memory of Agathe’s treachery had vanished altogether; I had ceased to regret her, consequently I was no longer angry with her. I realized that she was justified in joking me about my serious air, which was not at all consistent with our former liaison, and which might have led one to think that I expected to find a Penelope in a young milliner. So I assumed a more cheerful demeanor, and questioned her in my turn.

“How did you happen to be there on my landing, talking with Raymond, whom you could never endure?”

“But this couch—this couch here in the study?”

“You shall know all about it, but answer me first.”

“Oh! I’ve no objection; I went into the country yesterday with Gerville—you know, the young government clerk who lives on the floor below.”

“Yes, my successor, in fact.”

“Your successor, call him so. We returned late; I was very tired, and——”

“You passed the night with him; that’s a matter of course, and perfectly natural, in my opinion. Well?”

“Why, I had to go away this morning. At half-past six, I crept softly downstairs and was just passing through the porte cochère, when I saw Raymond standing guard at the corner. He scrutinized me, and smiled slyly.—‘On my word,’ he said, ‘I didn’t believe it was you; you were perfectly disguised; the fishwoman’s costume is very becoming to you, and yet it changes you amazingly. I’d have sworn that Monsieur Dorsan was lying to me.’—I listened, without understanding a word; but your name and what he said aroused my curiosity. I suspected some mistake, so I forced Raymond to tell me all he knew; I haven’t stopped laughing at it yet. Raymond was delighted when he found out that it wasn’t I who was with you. I asked him if he was certain that your new victim was still in the house. He said he was; for he had passed most of the night on the landing, and had gone on duty at the porte cochère at daybreak. So I came up with him, to make the tableau more interesting; and we waited at least an hour, until it was your good pleasure to open your door. We would have stayed there till night, I assure you, rather than not satisfy our mutual curiosity.”

“Gad! what a fellow that Raymond is! An old woman couldn’t have done better.”

“Well, I’ve told my story; now it’s your turn.”

“What do you want me to tell you? You saw a girl leave my rooms, eh?”

“Yes, she was very pretty; a face that takes your eye; rather a large mouth. But that costume! What, Monsieur Eugène! you, a dandy of dandies, caught by a round cap! Why, I no longer recognize you!”

“For what I propose to do, mademoiselle, the question of cap or hat is of no consequence at all.”

“Of course, you don’t propose to do anything, because you have done enough.”

“You are mistaken, Agathe. That is an honest, virtuous girl; she is nothing to me, and never will be.”

“What’s that? Oh! it’s as plain as a pikestaff: she came here to sleep, so as not to be afraid of the dark; that’s all!—

“‘Go and see if they’re coming, Jean!’”

“I realize that appearances are against us; and yet nothing can be more true than what I tell you. The explanation as to the couch being in the study is that she slept in my bedroom, and I slept here.”

“For ten minutes, very likely; but after that you joined her.”

“No; I swear that I did not.”

“You’d never have been donkey enough to stay here.”

“I understand that, in your eyes, virtue and innocence are the merest folly.”

“Ah! you are not polite, monsieur. But as I have never known you to be either virtuous or innocent, I may be permitted to express surprise at your virtuous qualities, which are entirely unfamiliar to me.”

“I am not trying to make myself out any better than I am, and I confess to you frankly that I attempted to triumph over this girl; but her resistance was so natural, her tears so genuine, her entreaties so touching, that I was really deeply moved and almost repented of what I had tried to do.”

“That is magnificent; and I presume that the virtuous and innocent orange girl came to your rooms in order that her resistance might be the better appreciated.—Ha! ha! what a fairy tale!”

“You may believe what you choose. It is none the less true that Nicette is virtuous and that she isn’t an orange girl.”

“Oh! pardon me, monsieur, if I have unintentionally slighted your charmer. Mademoiselle Nicette probably sells herring at the Marché des Innocents?”

“No, mademoiselle; she sells nothing but flowers.”

“Flowers! Why, that is superb! Ah! so she’s a flower girl! I am no longer surprised at your consideration for her.”

“She certainly deserves more consideration than many women who wear fashionable bonnets.”

“Or who make them, eh?”

“The argument is even stronger as to them.”

“Monsieur is vexed because I venture to doubt the virtuous morals of a girl who comes, very innocently no doubt, to sleep with a young man, who has himself turned Cato in twenty-four hours! Look you, Eugène, I don’t care what you say, it isn’t possible.”

“I shall say nothing more, because I attach no value to your opinion.”

“Again! No matter, let’s make peace; and I will believe, if it will give you pleasure, that your friend was the Maid of Orleans.”

Mademoiselle Agathe came to me and kissed me; she was almost on my knees; she embraced me very lovingly, and I believe that it rested with me to betray my successor, but I had no desire so to do. My mind was still full of Nicette; I was angry with the woman who refused to believe in her innocence and virtue, and who made sport of my heroic behavior. When one has had to make such a mighty effort to do a good deed, the person who seeks to rob us of our satisfaction therein is always unwelcome. So that I received Mademoiselle Agathe’s caress very coolly.

At that, the young milliner took offence in her turn, although she loved me no more than I loved her; probably she had never loved me; but in many people self-esteem takes the place of love and, of itself alone, gives birth to jealousy. Agathe put on her shawl, which she had laid aside when she came in, tied her bonnet strings, and gave me a courtesy accompanied by a smile in which she tried to cast an expression of irony, but in which anger and vexation were clearly marked.

“Adieu, monsieur! I understand that the events of last night must have fatigued you; you need rest, and a little solitude; I leave you to dream at your leisure of the brilliant conquest which will furnish you with constant enjoyment from this time on! I beg you to be good enough to give my address to Mademoiselle de Nicette; I shall be delighted to have her custom, in case she should think of changing her style of dress; unless, however, you intend to take her under your protection in that modest gown. I can understand that, to a sensitive and loving heart, the round cap of virtue is preferable to the toque of frivolity.”

And Mademoiselle Agathe took her leave, humming:

“‘When one knows how to love and please,
What else need one desire?’”

VII
A WORD ABOUT MYSELF

Agathe had been gone for a long while, and I was still in my study, thinking of the past evening and night. Somebody opened the door of my apartment: it was my concierge, Madame Dupont, coming to put my room to rights, as usual. As she came in, the good soul did not fail to glance at everything within range; and a woman will see more at a glance than we men can see in fifteen minutes.

Fool that I was! I had forgotten to put the couch where it belonged! that wretched Agathe was responsible for that! But when all was said and done, I was master in my own apartment; I could arrange my furniture as I pleased. I was not in the habit of talking with my concierge, and Madame Dupont knew it. Nevertheless, I noticed that she hovered about me and tried to enter into conversation.

“It looks as though ‘twill be a lovely day; that’s very lucky, seeing it’s Sunday; there are so many people who don’t have any other day for an outing!”

“Yes,” I assented, “it is very fortunate.”

“Ah! monsieur has moved his furniture, I see. Does monsieur mean to leave this couch in his study?”

“No; you may put it back where it belongs; I’ll help you.”

“I see; monsieur has been trying an experiment?”

“Yes, it was an experiment.”

“That’s like my daughter, who’s forever moving her son’s cradle from one place to another. Last night, she put it beside the bed; but my son-in-law wouldn’t have it there, because the child’s nearly four years old, and it is embarrassing for a husband and wife, when—— Why, your bed’s hardly tumbled at all, monsieur!”

“I suppose that I didn’t move much.”

“Monsieur has already breakfasted, apparently? Monsieur was hungry earlier to-day than usual.”

I made no reply, but dressed to go out, being impatient to leave the house. Madame Dupont stooped and picked up something, which she brought to me with a mischievous air.

“Here’s a little cross à la Jeannette, monsieur, that I just found beside your bed.”

“Ah! give it to me, Madame Dupont, give it to me; I know what it is, I bought it yesterday. I have got to send it to someone; it’s to go into the country, to our farmer’s daughter.”

“It’s a pretty little cross; but I shouldn’t think it was new.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Madame Dupont.”

And I hastily put the cross in my pocket, to hide it from the glances of that accursed concierge, who, finding that I no longer replied to her, talked on all alone, in order to keep the conversation alive.

“They say the girl was very pretty, and that she was crying! That’s a strange thing.”

“What girl are you talking about?”

“A little thing—a sort of—faith! I don’t know just what she was, for I didn’t see her. To be sure, she passed my lodge, but she went by so quick! brrr! like a bomb!”

“Who told you anything about her?”

“Madame Martin, Madame Bertin’s cook, who saw her when she went downstairs to get her milk.”

“Where did the girl come from?”

“Oh!—I—they—that is—I don’t know anything about it, monsieur.”

The tone in which Madame Dupont told me that she knew nothing satisfied me that she did know a great deal. Raymond had probably tattled to Madame Martin, and she to the concierge. And then the couch, and the gilt cross: I had certainly become the byword of the whole house! Madame Bertin would undoubtedly be the first one to hear about it, and Madame Bertin was the mother of two pretty daughters, whose esteem I was most anxious to retain. And yet it was a generous action, a sublime action when performed by a young man, which was likely to injure me in the opinion of many people. Ah! how untrustworthy are appearances!

I was about to put an end to the chatter of my concierge by leaving my lodgings, when she detained me.

“By the way, monsieur, I beg your pardon—I quite forgot—I have something for you.”

“What is it, pray?”

“I had entirely forgotten it; that girl is on my brain. It’s a letter.”

“A letter! who gave it to you?”

“The postman, monsieur; he brought it last night; you’d gone out, and when you came home it was very late and I was in bed; for I couldn’t even see you, and that’s how it was that——”

“Morbleu! Madame Dupont, give me the letter, and spare me your reflections!”

“Here it is, monsieur.”

I recognized the postmark and the handwriting: it was from my sister, my dear Amélie. But that reminds me that I ought to have told you before this who I am, where I come from, and what my business is. I confess that it never occurred to me; indeed, I should have been quite capable of going on to the end without giving you any further information, and my adventures would have been none the less simple in your eyes; for as I have not to tell of mysteries, murders, abductions, substitution of children,—which always produces an excellent effect,—promenades in the galleries of the West, visits to subterranean caverns, moonlight visions, encounters in murky caves, etc., etc., I shall have nothing to explain or disentangle for my dénouement, and shall be constrained, in all probability, to end as simply as I began.

“But,” you will say, “it is always well to know with whom one is dealing; in fact, it is customary to begin with that.”—That is true; but I care little about doing as others do, and, moreover, it seems to me that these never-ending stories of births and family anecdotes are not adapted to afford you much amusement; for that reason, I shall be very brief.

My name is Eugène Dorsan; I am of a Parisian family; my father was a king’s attorney [procureur]; they say avoué now, a title which lends itself less readily to pleasantry. However, my father was a very honorable man, so I have always been told, and I have never doubted it. He earned a great deal of money, to his credit be it said; but he died young, wherein he made a mistake; especially as his death was the result of overwork. My mother was left a widow with two children: my sister Amélie, my senior by a year, and your humble servant. Madame Dorsan was rich; she was in a position to marry again, but she preferred to retain her freedom; she was wise both on her own account and on ours; for, in my opinion, marriage, while a most excellent thing, should be used in moderation.

My sister and I received a good education. We made the most of it, especially my sister, who is naturally amiable, kindly, and gentle, and whose only aim was to satisfy her teachers, and to demonstrate to her mother her affection and her obedience. For my part, I am no phoenix, but I have no glaring faults. My predominant passion is the love which women arouse in me; but as that passion could not develop in my childhood, it did not impede my progress.

My mother had bought a beautiful country estate near Melun, and we spent the summer there. Our childhood and youth passed away without accident or trouble, without any important occurrences, and, I may say also, without sorrow or tribulation. Indeed, what sources of affliction can one encounter before the age of fifteen, when one is surrounded by wealthy and generous kindred?

How I pity the poor wretches reared in poverty by parents whom misfortune often makes stern and unfeeling! Even in the days of innocence, they know the afflictions of maturity; what a pitiable apprenticeship to life!

At the age of sixteen my sister married a young man of twenty-four, a steady, orderly youth and a tremendous worker, who owned a cotton mill at Melun. Three years after the wedding, our mother died. She had economized in the interest of her children, and she left us ten thousand a year each. Amélie, now Madame Déneterre, and her husband took up their abode in our country house; and I returned to Paris, partly to seek diversion from my grief at my mother’s death, and partly to complete my acquaintance with the world.

Six years had passed since then, and I had become so attached to the seductive capital that I spent only six weeks, in the summer, with my sister. I had not yet been to her that year, and I assumed that that was why she was writing to me. That dear sister of mine, knowing that I was not over-virtuous, was exceedingly anxious that I should marry, in the hope that that would put an end to my follies; and every summer I found at her house a new young woman, very pretty and sweet and well bred, possessed of abundant talents and attractions and a very respectable dowry. She was presented to me without affectation, but I knew what was in the air. But, despite the attentions of her parents, the eloquent sermons from my sister on the joys of wedded life, and the sighs and sidelong glances of the young lady herself, I took my leave at the end of six weeks without making a declaration.

“Patience!” my sister would say to her husband; “next year, I’ll find one who will turn his head, I’ll wager.”

“So be it!” Déneterre would reply tranquilly; “we’ll put it off till next year.”

Now, let us read my sister’s letter:

“MY DEAR EUGÈNE:

“It is the last of July, and you haven’t come to see us yet; can it be that life in Paris has made you entirely forgetful of the relations who love you and think constantly of you and your future?——”

My future! Oh, yes! that means another marriage on the carpet. What a mania it is of Amélie’s! always trying to induce me to marry! It is worse than the conventional guardian of comedy. But let us go on:

“It seems to me that you must be tired of those numerous conquests, of those gallant adventures, of those women who have no other guide than pleasure, and who forget you as quickly as they adore you.——”

Aha! sarcasm! You are mistaken, my dear sister; I am not tired of making conquests; those that I make are not all so simple as you think, said I to myself. But in the provinces people are even more spiteful, more evil-tongued than in Paris; and since my sister has left the capital, she takes it upon herself to lecture me. But at heart she is kindness itself! I cannot be angry with her for constantly thinking of me. But where was I?

“As quickly as they adore you. I often hear of you from people who come here from Paris; I know that you are more heedless than ever, that you think of nothing but your pleasures, that you deceive all your mistresses, that they pay you back in your own coin.——”

How well she divines the truth! it is astonishing!

“We never hear of any sensible action on your part.——”

Ah! my dear sister, if you had known the story of the night I had just passed! And people slander me, and call me a libertine!—But you were very, very pretty, Nicette! and I was really entitled to great credit for my self-restraint.

“I trust, however, that you are not incorrigible. Come to us very soon. We have pretty women here, too; they are modest and virtuous, and I should suppose that that would give them an additional attraction.——”

Oh, of course! very pretty women! stiff, affected, prudish, or simpering! And such costumes! In a word, genuine provincials—I need say no more. As for their virtue, it is possible that—but it is not safe to trust to appearances, as I know better than most; for I would have sworn that Nicette was a little wanton.

“My husband sends a memorandum of a few errands he would like you to do for him. He is organizing grand fishing parties for your visit, and I look forward with delight to the prospect of embracing you.

“AMÉLIE DÉNETERRE.”

I determined to go to Melun—in a few days. There were several business matters that I must first attend to. Moreover, I should be very glad to know what Nicette was going to do; I was deeply interested in that young woman, and I did not propose to lose sight of her.

I left my apartment and was going downstairs; but I could not resist my desire to speak to my neighbor Raymond. I wished to thank him for his discretion. I rang at his door; no one answered, but I heard a noise within. I rang again, and that time the bellrope remained in my hand. He did not open the door. I felt sure that he had bored a hole in his door and had seen that it was I. No matter: he could not always avoid me; meanwhile, that he might know that it was I who had broken his bellrope, I tied it to my own.

I went downstairs at last; and on the first floor I met Madame Bertin and her two daughters, going to mass.

I bowed; they returned my bow, but with a frigid air very different from the amiable greeting they were accustomed to bestow on me. The two young ladies stood aside without raising their eyes, and the mother’s face wore a glacial expression that made me afraid to speak to her.

“This is the result of the infernal chatter of Raymond and Madame Martin and the concierge,” I thought; “these ladies know that Nicette passed the night in my rooms; that is to say, the mamma knows it, and that is why she ordered her daughters to pass me without raising their eyes, without smiling, and, above all, without speaking to me.”

But you will tell me, the milliner also used to pass the night in your rooms. Ah! that was very different. Agathe was dressed like everybody else, and nobody noticed her; moreover, there were several people in the house for whom she made hats; and no one ever knew certainly whom she was going to see. So that I was able to retain Madame Bertin’s good graces, and was admitted to her society, when Mademoiselle Agathe honored me with her favors. And now I was tabooed because Nicette, the pretty flower girl, had passed the night in my rooms. And you know how it all came about. But the world is made that way; it judges by the exterior before it knows what is within. Be whatever you choose, but observe the proprieties; save appearances, and you will be received everywhere.

These reflections made me angry. I left the house, cursing those people who see everything in the same light and refuse to depart from the narrow circle that custom has marked out. I paced the streets angrily, I dined angrily, I drank my coffee angrily, and my frame of mind had not changed when, finding myself at the foot of the Champs-Élysées, I sat down in a chair, the back of which was against a large tree.

VIII
THE MAGIC LANTERN

I had been sitting against the tree for some time; the darkness had dispersed some of the saunterers; and those who remained plunged deeper into the cross paths, seeking, as it seemed, by preference the darkest and least-frequented spots. Doubtless they had their reasons for that. I do not know precisely what I was thinking about, when I heard heavy steps approach and stop behind me. I turned and saw a man carrying what we call a magic lantern. He set his apparatus down against the tree; he had not seen me, or did not notice me. He lighted his lantern to exhibit his pictures, whereupon I at once thought of Florian’s monkey; the reminiscence made me laugh, and I prepared to listen to the owner of the lantern, although I feared that the comparison would be unfavorable to him.

I heard him mutter between his teeth as he arranged his lights:

“Ah! the hussy! the rascal! where has she been these three hours, since she left me on the pretext of going to feed the brat? She’s playing some game on me. If it wasn’t a show day, how quickly I’d drop the whole business!—Never mind, Madame Trousquin, I’ll find a way to solve my doubts; and if I see anything crooked, there’ll be a sharp and effective reckoning!”

The poor man was evidently jealous; he swore and stamped and glared from side to side, but Madame Trousquin did not appear. By way of compensation, the gleam of the magic lantern attracted a girl and a young soldier, the latter of whom took his seat close beside the former, bidding the showman to close the curtain around them. He enveloped them in an old blue or gray sheet,—it was impossible to distinguish the color,—and I could not help thinking that a magic lantern may be at times a very great convenience.

Père Trousquin began his performance, interrupting himself frequently to swear at his wife, who did not return; and I listened attentively, although I could see nothing, not being under the curtain; but I had an idea that the spectators for whom the pictures were being explained were not looking at them.

“First of all, messieurs and mesdames, you see the sun, the moon, the stars, and the little fishes. Farther on, the products of the soil, such as trees, vegetables, animals, caves, waterfalls, rattlesnakes. Pray examine Monsieur Sun, whom you can’t look at because he’s so bright; and Madame Moon, who is full because she’s in her first quarter. See those stars, how fast they travel, as if the devil was carrying ’em off!—Three hours to put Fifi to bed! Ah! the slut! how I’ll make her dance to-night!—See Venus, glistening like a pinchbeck pin! See the shepherd’s star! The shepherd Tircis, I suppose, seeing what his reputation is. And there’s the Three Kings, who are always together. And the Chariot, that travels like those you see in the mountains of Russia. And Mercury and Jupiter. And the Virgin and the Twins. And the Bull and the Goat. Anybody can understand about them. Do you see the Scales? Do you see the Scorpion?—a wicked beast he is! All these, messieurs and mesdames, are planets that determine the nervous infections of the people born under their affluence. The planet Venus is for wanton women, the Shepherd for good-looking youths, the Three Kings for heroes, the Chariot for coachmen, Jupiter for roistering blades, Mercury for apothecaries, the Virgin for little girls, and the Goat for many worthy gentlemen whom you know. Observe, messieurs and mesdames, in the middle of that great black cloud, full of stars, between the Bear and the Ram, you’ll see a big, hairy comet, with a tail longer than a fox’s. That brilliant meteor has in all ages announced the end of the world; with its tail or its head it is capable of overturning our globe, which is held in place only by a thread, and broiling us all like chestnuts.”

At this point, a movement under the curtain led me to surmise that the comet had aroused great curiosity.

“One moment, messieurs and mesdames, and you’ll see what you will see.”

Père Trousquin pulled a cord to change the picture, and, after several very emphatic oaths, resumed his explanation, not changing his voice a quarter of a tone.

“This, messieurs and mesdames, shows you the interior of the palace of the great Kin-Kin-Li-King, Emperor of China and King of all the Pekins. You perceive him seated in his beautiful gilt armchair of state, in full ceremonial costume, surrounded by learned mandarins and national guardsmen. He is giving a public audience and receiving petitions from all the Chinese of the suburbs. Observe, in a corner, that father leaning on his daughter and a bamboo stick; he has come to demand justice upon a seducer who has made that poor innocent creature the mother of five little children, and who feeds them on blows alone. See, messieurs, how the ill-fated father’s features gleam with wrath and indignation; read the sorrow, pain, and repentance in the girl’s eyes. That man just to the left, wrapped in a brown cloak, with only his nose visible, is the seducer, awaiting his condemnation. See how pale and cadaverous his face is, how hollow his eyes, and how tremulous his gait; well he knows that he will not be let off cheap. Farther on, in the background——”

A stout female appeared at this juncture, panting for breath, and interrupted the explanation of the picture. I presumed that it was Madame Trousquin, and the dialogue that ensued between her and the owner of the lantern proved to me that my conjecture was well founded.

MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.

Ah! here you are at last, you cursed street walker!—Farther away, in the background—(To his wife.) You’ll pay me for this, that’s all I’ve got to say to you!—Farther away, in the background, that wretched creature whom the guards are taking away, and who is struggling and writhing as if he had the colic, is a deserter, who has just deserted and was going to the enemy’s camp on treason bent; his business will soon be settled; he’ll be shot and then hung.

MADAME TROUSQUIN. (during her husband’s explanation).

Hoity-toity! what are you making so much noise about? Didn’t I have to put Fifi to bed and make the soup? And I’d like to know if it ain’t a good, long walk from the Champs-Élysées to Rue Jean-Pain-Mollet!

MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.

You lie, I tell you; you went off at five o’clock, and here it is nine. Where in the devil have you been? Pull the cord.

Madame Trousquin placed on a stool a bowl which she had under her apron, then assumed her post on that side of the lantern from which the change of pictures was operated.

MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.

This, messieurs and mesdames, represents a view of Athens, in Greece.—(To his wife.) Put my soup on the charcoal and tell me where you’ve been.

MADAME TROUSQUIN.

Why, I’ve been at home, I tell you, you jealous fool! I met Angélique and talked with her a minute. Have you much of an audience?

MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.

Observe the beauty of the sky and water. Observe the palaces, the columns and temples, built by the Romans; note those magnificent statues, of which but few fragments remain. See that circus, in which they used to hold bull fights, to train the young men to be strong.—(To his wife.) I’m satisfied that you’ve been gallivanting with Grugeon.—See, in the distance, the famous Partiates fighting with their fists like Englishmen, and playing the game of Siam with a large roulette table.—(To his wife.) He asked you to take a glass of beer in a private room.—That handsome young man you see at the right is Alcibiades, with Socrates, his teacher, who is teaching him things he don’t know.

While I listened I saw the curtain move more violently, and I heard the girl say in an undertone:

“Oh! how stupid! Ah! how stupid! I tell you I won’t!”

Père Trousquin motioned to his wife to pull the cord, and resumed his harangue.

“This, messieurs and mesdames, is taken from mythology; it is the magnificent Judgment of Solomon, called the Wise, who is preparing to carve a little child, exactly as if it was a pie. Observe the consternation of the little one as he awaits his fate, with his legs in the air; observe the fiendish glee of that shrewish stepmother, who looks on, dry-eyed, as if someone was going to give her a slice of rabbit; but observe the grief of the real mother, who seeks to turn aside the cleaver which already threatens the innocent child’s navel.”

THE YOUNG WOMAN (under the curtain).

Ah! the villain! ah! the villain! he keeps right on. What a stupid!

MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.

Don’t be alarmed, there won’t be any cutting done; nature is about to speak.—(To his wife.) Give me my soup; I’m hungry.—The mighty Solomon, looking at the two mothers with Argus eyes, says to himself—(To his wife.) In God’s name, why don’t you get through with the onions?—“This child cannot have two mothers; if it was two fathers, that might be, such things have been seen.”—(To his wife.) You know something about that.—“Now, there’s a snake in the grass here; the real mother’s affection manifests itself by a deluge of tears; but this other vixen of a mother, who’s as placid as Baptiste,”—(To his wife.) It smells as if it was burned.—“has no maternal entrails; so the case is decided!”—Pull the cord.—“This, messieurs and mesdames, represents King David doing battle with the giant Goliath, the terror of the Philistines.”—(To his wife.) Why don’t you look and see if it’s right?—See with what force David hurls the stone that lays the giant in the dust.

MADAME TROUSQUIN. (looking over the lantern).

This ain’t the one; you’re showing ’em the Battle of Marengo now.

MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.

As I was saying, messieurs and mesdames, you see the famous Battle of Marengo, won by the French troops.—(To his wife.) You always put in too many carrots.

MADAME TROUSQUIN.

You don’t say! you want to choose your vegetables, do you? You’re getting to be very particular. How much have you made to-day?

MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.

Eighteen sous.—Note the gunners and the cuirassiers; see how the sabres play, while the cannonballs meet in mid air and the shells spread fire and blood on all sides; see the hussars, the dragoons, the trumpets, and the drums! hear the shrieks of the dead and dying, the moans of the wounded and vanquished. See that young soldier on the right, defending his flag with his teeth, because both his arms have been cut off; and at the left, that officer who has three dead horses upon him, and who forgets that he is suffocating while he takes aim at the enemy’s general. See the dust, the flame, the smoke, the carnage, and the corpses that embellish the picture. The action is superb, you see; the battle waxes hotter and more furious——

At this point, the explanation was interrupted by an unforeseen catastrophe: the young woman and the soldier, who were evidently taking the liveliest interest in the battle,—for I kept hearing exclamations from the damsel and energetic monosyllables from her companion,—not content with moving the curtain, threw themselves violently against the magic lantern, at the most critical point of the Battle of Marengo. The shock was so violent that the ambulatory theatre could not sustain it; it fell backward, and the spectators fell upon it, while the manager of the establishment was thrown to the ground with his bowl of soup, and Madame Trousquin was entangled by the cords that she held in each hand.

I was left standing alone in the midst of the devastation, for my great tree preserved me from all peril. What a grotesque picture was presented to my eyes! Solomon and the great Kin-Kin-Li-King were lying in a heap with the gardens of the Luxembourg and of Athens; the sun no longer shone, the moon was covered with oil, the comet shorn of its tail. Père Trousquin was struggling under his broken lantern, still holding in his hand the handle of his bowl; and the young woman had fallen in a posture that disclosed beauty which would have put to shame the most perfect moon that ever graced a magic lantern. The young soldier’s head was in Père Trousquin’s bowl; his face was covered by carrots and onions; he seemed to be caught in such a way that he could not extricate himself from the trap. As for Mère Trousquin, she had fallen gracefully; her cords had held her up, and the curtain of the lantern concealed what might have caused her modesty to blush. However, as those who are least hurt always make the most noise, Madame Trousquin’s shrieks were simply deafening; her husband uttered the most frightful oaths, and the young woman groaned plaintively. The soldier alone made no outcry; I believe that he found the soup and vegetables to his liking. All the idlers in the neighborhood were attracted to the broken lantern by the uproar, the shrieks and oaths; and I was surrounded in an instant by a crowd of people who came from I don’t know where; for a moment before I could not see a soul on the Champs-Élysées. My retreat was cut off; I could not make my way out of the crowd; but I was not sorry to see how it would end. After shouting and swearing to their heart’s content, the unfortunates tried to extricate themselves from the tangle they were in: the soldier succeeded in uncovering his face, the girl rose and arranged her skirts. Mère Trousquin disentangled herself from her cords, the magic lantern was lifted from the ground, and Père Trousquin struggled to his feet. The soldier tried to slink away with his companion; but he could not elude the owner of the lantern, who insisted that he should pay for the damages.

“My glasses are smashed,” said Père Trousquin; “you’ve spoiled my sun and moon, you’ve broken my Judgment of Solomon and my Chinese palace, and ruined my views of Greece; you’ve got to pay me for all that.”

“Go to the devil!” said the soldier, repairing the disorder of his costume as best he could. “I won’t pay you for anything at all. What do I care for your Chinese and your Solomon! your sun and moon look just like the night lights you buy for a sou; and as for your fat, just put it in your lamps.”

“You broke my lantern, and you’ve got to pay me for it.”

“You’re an old drunkard; if your lantern wasn’t firm on its legs, it’s no fault of mine.”

“You tumbled against it during the Battle of Marengo.”

“You threw it over, yourself, trying to imitate cannon.”

“You made me break my bowl.”

“You’re responsible for my tearing my breeches.”

“Besides, my lantern is a moral and respectable show, and I don’t propose to have it used for——”

“I say! stop that, or I’ll cut out your tongue!”

The soldier put his hand to his sword; the crowd instantly made a backward movement, the girl clung to her friend’s arm, and Mère Trousquin pulled her husband out of range, taking the stool for a buckler. The two adversaries measured each other with their eyes for several minutes, without moving. The soldier gave no sign of paying, and Père Trousquin did not seem to be in a mood to let him go away until he had remunerated him for his losses. Thereupon I concluded that there was but one way to adjust the affair without bloodshed. The magic lantern episode had amused me, and had entirely dispelled my ill humor; it was no more than fair that I should act as mediator in the dispute. I alone had remained near the combatants; for the bystanders held themselves respectfully aloof from the sword and the stool. I felt in my pocket and took out two five-franc pieces, which I tossed upon the damaged lantern.

“There,” said I to the proprietor, “is the means to restore your palaces and your planets; but take my advice, and another time don’t fasten your curtain so closely round your audience. Children’s theatres are frequented now by people of all ages; if you don’t believe me, ask Séraphin, who receives petite-maîtresses at his show, because of the darkness in the hall during his arabesque fires.”

Père Trousquin stared with all his eyes; his wife pounced on the two coins, and the soldier was allowed to go his way with his companion; which he did not do without bowing to me most respectfully.

I too walked away, and turned into Rue de Rivoli. I looked at my watch; it was only nine o’clock, and I have never been fond of going to bed early, especially when I am in the mood for amusing myself. As the scene of the magic lantern had put me in that mood, I determined to encourage such a desirable disposition.

How was I to amuse myself? There are thousands of ways in Paris, you will say; but, in the matter of pleasure, you must never promise yourself too much, if you wish to have a little. In a large assembly, for six agreeable people you will find twenty bores; in a small party, your friends may have business affairs that annoy them; the ladies, sick headaches or the vapors; and you often pass a very dull hour where you looked forward to much entertainment. The wisest plan, therefore, is not to count upon anything. But I remembered that there was a grand fête at Tivoli. It was nine o’clock; if I took a cab, I should arrive just at the height of the evening.

IX
TIVOLI

A lovely spot, that Tivoli Garden! When I stepped within its gates, it seemed to me that I entered one of those enchanted sojourns so splendidly described in the Thousand and One Nights. The music, the illuminations, the sports of all sorts, the fireworks—everything combined to dazzle the eyes and excite the imagination. What a pity it seemed when a vulgar face and a fishwoman’s costume marred the beauty of the picture and reminded me that I was in a public garden, where any decently dressed person could enter on payment of three francs twelve sous!

Before I had taken twenty steps in the garden, I had seen many things. What beautiful avenues! How those garlands of fire burst on the sight! Yonder, people gathered in crowds, gazed at one another, scrutinized costumes, and sought acquaintances: it was the Boulevard de Gand of Tivoli. Farther on, the lights became less frequent; an occasional lamp guided your steps without betraying you. The couples were more widely scattered; they no longer went about to exhibit themselves; some, indeed, seemed to try to evade observation, to desire darkness and mystery. Happy thickets! how often have you sheltered love and pleasure! how many kisses have been given and received under cover of your dense foliage! Ah! if you could speak!—But I seemed to hear voices close at hand; I had thoughtlessly turned my steps in the direction of those solitary thickets, where I, being alone, had nothing to hope for. As I circled a clump of shrubs, I saw something white on the grass; a gentleman and a lady were there, discussing some very weighty and secret matter no doubt, for I thought that they were whispering to each other. But my presence disturbed them; the lady, with a little shriek, pushed her companion away; whereupon I walked quickly in another direction. What pleasure can there be in interfering with that of other people?

I determined to go back to the crowd, to leave those thickets, where it almost angered me to be alone. Once more I was in the bright light. I heard the rumbling of cars; I was near the mountains which all the women ascend—the grande dame and the working girl, the milliner and the modest laundress, the kept woman and the little schoolgirl. What delight they all seem to take in the descent! And yet, the resistance of the air disarranges their hair, loosens their hats, and blows their curls all about; but they submit to that sacrifice for the pleasure of going like the wind for twenty seconds. Keen enjoyment is depicted on all the faces in the cars; only an occasional Englishman retains his gravity during the trip.

I was alone, so I did not make the ascent; it seemed to me that to enjoy that pastime you must be seated beside a woman whom you like; then you may put your arm about a slender waist and press a shapely figure; as you fly down the incline, you may venture much; for you are sure of not being repulsed, your companion being so bewildered by the rapidity of the descent that she has not time to be angry.

All pleasures turn to the advantage of love. What pleasure is not increased twofold by the presence of the loved one? In the dance, on the cars, under the thickets, there must be two to be happy; without a woman, how can one abandon one’s self to the most delicious sensations, the most loving outpourings of the heart? Only through her do we know that we have a heart. But enough of these ideas, to which the garden gave rise! I walked across several squares, attracted by music; it was a singer. Ah! I did not stop there; if I had, Tivoli would have ceased to be a place of enchantment.

Suddenly my eyes fell upon a number of armchairs swinging in the air and travelling round and round, with ladies seated in them; it was a Russian swing. Why did all the men walk in that direction and stand, with their noses in the air and a smile on their faces, watching the chairs turn? Ah! I saw that the wind lifted the ladies’ skirts more or less, so that one could catch a glimpse of a leg and sometimes of a knee. The game seemed to amuse the performers as much as the spectators. The ladies apparently did not realize what it was that absorbed the attention of the gentlemen, and did not hear the wanton jests in which most of the latter indulged; for they continued to fly through the air, laughing like madcaps. But the machine stopped; it was time to alight. I remained, in order to see the ladies at closer quarters. Mon Dieu! messieurs, you surely did not need to give yourselves a crick in the neck to catch a glimpse of an ankle! So far as I could judge, you might have obtained a sight of a great deal more, without much trouble. I quitted the Russian swing for Bobèche’s performance, and found an enormous crowd in front of the stage. I looked about in vain for a chair; I could not find one that was unoccupied. So I was compelled to remain standing. I sidled in among the elect, and I saw something, at all events, even if I did not see Bobèche; I saw the evident enjoyment of all the young men who, like myself, were standing. And yet they could not see anything; but they were with ladies who stood on chairs, and they supported them, to guard against accident; their arms were passed around the ladies’ skirts, and the ladies leaned on their shoulders. I could understand how pleasant that must be. But I saw one lady who seemed on the point of falling. Why did nobody support her? Because she was a matron. But a becurled and befrizzled young woman, who would have been pretty had not her costume been so absurd for a public garden, hurried to the elderly lady’s side.

“Wait, mamma,” she said; “I’ll put my chair behind yours, and then you can lean on me; I’ll hold you up.”

The mother consented to this arrangement, and the young woman remounted her chair, which she placed behind her mamma’s; but I noticed that she had somebody to support her; a tall, light-haired youngster kept his eyes on her all the time; he stationed himself close beside her, looked at her, and made signs to her. The young woman looked at nothing but Bobèche; and as she explained the performance to her mother, she took a little note from her glove and dropped it into the young man’s hand, without the slightest confusion or affectation, and without interrupting her conversation. Really, our young ladies display a fascinating grace in all that they do; the world is progressing toward perfection.

The tall youth crumpled the note in his hand; he longed to read it at once, but he dared not. I was amused by his impatience; I was curious to see what he would do. But an elderly couple arrived, dragging their chairs after them; the woman planted herself directly in front of me, almost resting against my face, while her husband deprived me of what little view I had by standing beside her.

I could endure it no longer; to induce me to remain with my head on a level with the waists of all that multitude, I felt that something deeply interesting was necessary. I was not at all desirous to maintain my juxtaposition to the enormous circumference which obscured my vision. So I extricated myself, not without difficulty, from the chairs and legs and dresses that surrounded me. When I was outside the circle, I stopped to breathe a bit; it is good to inhale the fresh air when one has seen Bobèche, even out of doors.

I followed a noble avenue of lindens which led to the large tract of grass set aside for swings and seesaws and blind-man’s-buff and the Egyptian bird, and a thousand other things, of which the prettiest are those one does not see. I heard ladies’ voices imploring their escorts not to go so fast; while the latter, to display their strength and skill, made all the play they could with their loins and knees, at the risk of making their companions in the swings swoon from fright: that was a new way to make one’s self agreeable, I thought.

I heard the voice of lamentation near by. It was a small boy of twelve or thirteen years, who wanted to seesaw with a tall lout of eighteen at least. No sooner had the latter gone to the ground on his end of the plank which served as a tilt, than the little fellow at the other end received a violent shock that threw him over the little iron bar behind which stood those awaiting their turn. The poor child fell; luckily, it was on the soft turf, and he was not hurt; but he limped away, while the tall zany plumed himself on the shaking-up he had given him. A very pretty game is this seesawing; but I should advise those who indulge in it to have the ground mattressed; for I know by experience that falls are frequent and dangerous.

But what was that report? It brought me involuntarily to a standstill. Was I near a display of fireworks? No; the Egyptian bird had just been set off. How proud the man seemed who had done the trick! To be sure, it was only the eleventh time that he had fired. A stout party seized the wire. I recognized him: it was Raymond. I should have been astonished not to fall in with him, for the fellow was everywhere.

“I’ll bet,” he said in a bantering tone to the man who had just fired, taking pains to raise his voice in order to attract attention, “I’ll bet, my dear fellow [he knows everybody], that I release the spring in three shots.”

“I’ll bet you don’t; it isn’t so easy as you seem to think.”

“Easy! easy! if it was easy, there’d be no merit in it. I have an absolutely accurate eye. Come, I’ll bet you an ice.”

“That you do it in three trials?”

“Yes; in fact, I’m certain that I shan’t have to try three times.”

“I’ll take your bet.”

“All right; now you’ll see.”

I halted, feeling perfectly certain, for my part, that my neighbor would make a fool of himself in some way. The man who managed the machine was reloading the iron box to which the spring was attached.

“Get out of the way!” cried Raymond, impatient to display his skill, and raising the bird as high in the air as his arms allowed.

The box was closed and the man stepped aside; Raymond threw the bird with such accuracy that the piece of iron, after following a zigzag course, struck six inches from the target. My neighbor was not discouraged, but threw the bird again—with no better success.

“It’s all out of equilibrium,” he cried; “the wire’s crooked, it isn’t my fault.”

“This is your last shot.”

“Oh! this one will do the business.”

Raymond took aim for at least three minutes; at last the bird flew through the air. It finished its flight; but there was no report.

“I’ve won! I’ve won!” cried Raymond’s adversary; “you owe me an ice.”

“Oh! I don’t know whether you’ve won or not; that depends. I am sure that the bird’s beak moved the spring, and the reason it didn’t go off must be that the powder’s damp.”

“You’re trying to crawl out of it! you’ve lost, and you owe me an ice!”

“Well! I demand my revenge!”

“Oh! that’s fair enough; I agree. That will make two ices instead of one.”

“We’ll see about that. I say, my man, just go and overhaul the spring; I’m sure there’s something out of order that prevented the thing from going off.”

To please his customer, the man opened the box and examined it. Meanwhile, my neighbor had taken the bird; and, annoyed at having lost his first bet, he scrutinized the iron beak, measured it with his eye, and tried to make sure that the bird was perfectly balanced, lifting it carefully by the two wings.

“I see what the matter is, I see what it is,” he said confidently; “if I had examined it like this before, I shouldn’t have missed a shot. You must hold the bird very lightly, with the tips of your fingers, and throw it without any jerk.”

As he spoke, Monsieur Raymond threw the bird, which struck the head of the unfortunate man who was looking to see if the spring was in perfect order. The poor man was seriously wounded; he fell to the ground with horrible yells, and everybody ran toward him. Monsieur Raymond took advantage of the confusion to escape. He forced a passage through the crowd, pushing everybody aside with his arms and elbows; he leaped over chairs, ran like a madman through the groups seated on the grass, tripped over the legs of a petite-maîtresse who was chatting unconcernedly with a young officer, fell heavily upon her, and with his stomach crushed a bust that luckily was made of tulle. The lady shrieked, in order to make people think that it was her flesh that was flattened out; and the officer sprang to his feet, in a rage at the disappearance of charms which he had believed to be genuine. He seized a chair and pursued Raymond, who was already far away; for fear lent him wings.

I amused myself by following my neighbor, who had lost his hat in the scuffle. I saw him running on and getting into fresh difficulty every minute; he ran into a swing, collided with the wooden horses, overturned two girls who were dancing in a little open space, knocked over all the tubs of shrubs that came in his way, and finally, to elude his pursuers, rushed out into the main avenue, hoping to lose himself in the crowd. But as he passed under a garland of colored lanterns, which was not far enough from the ground and hung down a little at the sides, Monsieur Raymond, trying to outstrip everybody, became entangled in the illuminations; the rope broke, and all the little colored lanterns fell on the promenaders, who, in an instant, were smeared with oil. The ladies uttered heartrending shrieks when they saw their toques, their feathers, and their gowns dripping with lamp oil; nor were the young men less enraged, for their coats and waistcoats and frills were all ruined, and diffused an execrable odor. Once more Raymond found himself the object of general animadversion, and the poor devil, panting for breath, was obliged to continue his flight. He leaped over a hedge, in order to get away from the avenue more quickly; he did not know where to go; and he finally entered the enclosure set apart for the fireworks, despite the shouts of an old pensioner who told him that he could not go there. He rushed through the bombs, mortars, rockets, pinwheels, and Roman candles, while the pensioner shouted for the gendarmes to come to arrest a man who was smashing everything he saw and seemed determined to prevent the pyrotechnic display that was in preparation. The police arrived; Raymond had barely time to hurl himself through a transparency, which he burst with his head; at last he disappeared. Tranquillity was restored; the damage that my neighbor had done was repaired as far as possible; and I returned toward the centre of activity, laughing at Raymond’s mishaps, which had afforded me abundant satisfaction for his petty mischief-making that morning.

“Faith!” I said to myself, as I walked toward the dancing enclosure; “if I had come to Tivoli for no other purpose than to witness Raymond’s prowess, my evening would have been a great success. But I am in a lucky vein; perhaps fate has other meetings in store for me.”

I paused near a juggler’s booth; the crowd was as large as in front of Bobèche’s; but there was somewhat less confusion. Most of the spectators were seated, and I succeeded, although I was in the last row, in seeing a part of what was going on; the man did tricks with cards, stole rings, and changed a glass of wine into a bouquet. All this delighted the audience, who made no attempt to detect his confederates, and pretended not to see the preparations which are essential for tricks performed without preparation.

“He’s a magician!” said a little man, opening his eyes to their fullest extent and looking stupidly about him. “Faith! I can’t understand it, can you, wife?”

“Oh! I want to see for myself,” replied the little man’s better half; and she motioned to the juggler that she wanted to draw a card. He approached, chattering in Italian, German, and English, the result being an utterly incomprehensible jargon which completely enchanted the audience.

The lady drew an eight of spades, which she then replaced in the pack and shuffled the cards; but our magician was certain of guessing the card, because the pack he offered her contained eights of spades and nothing else; and while he bewildered his hearers by his constant jabbering, he slipped his hand behind the little man, who, when another trick was being performed, was suddenly requested to rise, and was stupefied to find under him the card that his wife had drawn.

I walked away from the sleight-of-hand booth; but, happening to put my hand in my pocket, I failed to find my handkerchief. That trick was better than any of the juggler’s; it had been done very adroitly; luckily, I was not wearing my watch seal.

Behold me at last before the enclosure consecrated to the dance. But it was no longer good form to dance in the public gardens; only at village fêtes did our young Parisian exquisites condescend to execute a balance and a ladies’ chain in the open air. Here, none but hucksters, petty bourgeoises, and grisettes dare to abandon themselves to the joys of the dance; they know nothing of conventions, of good form; they want to enjoy themselves, and they are so happy when dancing! their pleasure is depicted on their faces! they hop and skip with such hearty good will! By the faces of the fair damsels who were watching the dancers I could see that good form is sometimes very ill-humored; but they avenged themselves by criticising those who defied convention. They sneered and laughed at the others, and made unkind remarks; good form and propriety never forbid that. They ridiculed everything that they could not do; they spoke slightingly of what in their hearts they loved: it was the fable of the fox and the grapes again.

But the spectators were most numerous around one particular quadrille; the dancers were surrounded by a triple row. I was certain that there must be some unusually pretty face there, or some particularly absurd costume. I approached and succeeded in forcing my way to the front. I looked at one of the dancers: she had an insignificant face and a commonplace dress; she could not be the object of such universal curiosity.

“She is mighty pretty.”

“Oh! you wait till you see how gracefully she dances!”

These remarks were made by two young men who stood near me. Thereupon I glanced over the different performers in the quadrille, and my eyes soon rested on a young woman wearing a little cap with a bunch of roses on it.

I admired the young woman’s piquant face; her eyes were animated by the excitement of dancing; her enjoyment made her bosom rise and fall more rapidly, and the flattering murmur that arose on all sides brought a vivid flush to her cheeks. What woman is insensible to praise? Did you ever meet one who was, reader? If so, I advise you to register her name on your tablets.

But, as I scrutinized the pretty dancer, a sudden reminiscence flashed through my mind: those features, that figure, the bunch of roses, and the plan of coming to Tivoli. Unquestionably it was Mademoiselle Caroline; it was my little flowermaker of the preceding evening. Thoughtless fool that I was! I had forgotten her, and had been strolling about the garden without trying to find her! But since chance had brought me into her presence, I determined to make the most of it, and, good form or not, to try to obtain a dance with her, so that I might speak with her.

But suppose that anybody who knew me should see me dancing at Tivoli! I felt brave enough to defy the criticism and mockery of the young men and the pleasantry of the ladies; and as I contemplated Caroline’s seductive features, I said to myself, with Rousseau: “I must be happy! ’tis man’s first need!”—Now, to be happy, it was necessary first of all that I should dance with Caroline.

X
THE FIREWORKS.—THE FORTUNE TELLER.—THE SILHOUETTE STUDIO

The contradance came to an end, and the men escorted their partners to their seats. I followed my little flowermaker with my eyes, and saw her take her seat beside a plainly dressed old woman, evidently her aunt. Her partner remained by her side; he was the Jules of the preceding evening. In due time, another girl came up with her partner and sat beside Caroline; this completed the party, which, as I remembered, was to consist of four persons.

I walked back and forth in the neighborhood of Mademoiselle Caroline and her friends for a long while; I passed before the group and stared at the pretty creature; but she paid no attention to me. I saw that I must make up my mind to invite her to dance, but I had difficulty in doing it; for I felt that I should look like a petty shop-clerk who was in the habit of going to Tivoli to dance on Sundays. While I was making these reflections, the orchestra played the prelude; that decided me, and I walked toward the young women. But just as I was on the point of delivering my invitation, the pretty flowermaker rose and gave her hand to a young man, who had got the start of me, and who led her out to dance. I had arrived too late; so much for listening to my absurd self-esteem! However, I swore that I would not be behindhand for the next contradance; and for fear of being defrauded again, I hastened to the quadrille in which Mademoiselle Caroline was performing, and then and there engaged her for the next one. She accepted, and I was overjoyed; I stood near her, mingling my words of praise with those of several other young men; and while her partner was executing the avant deux, I complimented her on her bunch of roses and apologized for my awkwardness of the previous evening. At that, she looked up at me and smiled, and took more notice of me; I had reason to believe that her scrutiny did not result to my disadvantage. From time to time, I ventured a word or two to the effect that I had come to Tivoli solely in the hope of meeting her; she did not reply, but I saw that she listened; if she were ever so little of a coquette, I felt sure of making my way! And she was, she must be; for all women are. The dance at an end, I impatiently awaited the following one, when I should be able to talk with Caroline, and it would be easy for me to find out how far I might hope. In the briefest interview I can generally tell what manner of person I have to do with, and I rarely make a mistake; not that I believe all that they say to me, but I divine how much hope they are willing to give me. Women, being more expansive than men, have a certain laisser aller which says a great deal to one who is accustomed to deal with them. When they have wit, a mere hint discloses it; when they have nothing but jargon, they murder you with it; when they have nothing to say, there is no possibility of mistake. Montaigne said: “Style makes the man;” I think that he might well have said also: “Conversation makes the woman;” but I beg his pardon for presuming to express my opinion in conjunction with his.

Mademoiselle Caroline was escorted to her seat. While waiting for the next contradance, which would furnish me with the means of judging her more accurately, I strolled through the thickets that surrounded the dancing enclosure. I preferred not to remain like a noodle beside the little flowermaker, nor to parade up and down in front of her. But the moment drew near when I might hope to squeeze her tiny fingers and press her hand tenderly in mine. Give me the dance for lovers! you can boldly reveal your secret sentiments, you can declare them without speaking a word. I am inclined to think that that is why the young women have so great a fondness for that exercise and enjoy themselves so heartily at balls. How many avowals have been made and reciprocated while forming a ladies’ chain or a trenise! and despite their active surveillance, their mammas are powerless to prevent that.

But the time passed; I strolled back toward my partner. Mon Dieu! what a noise! what an uproar! what confusion in the garden! The first bomb had just been fired, and everybody was running toward the great central square, dragging their chairs, or carrying them in their arms.

“The fireworks! the fireworks!” people shouted on all sides.

What a rush! In heaven’s name, had they never seen fireworks before in their lives? How they pushed and jostled and fought, to pass one another! What a hurly-burly! But what had become of Caroline? I hurried to the dancing enclosure—it was deserted; everybody had abandoned it for the fireworks. Where my pretty grisette had been sitting, I saw two men fighting for a chair, pulling it in opposite directions; each of them finally carried away half, which must have been exceedingly useful. I was not in luck with Mademoiselle Caroline; she disappeared at the moment that I was going to join her. However, I did not lose all hope; I assumed that she had gone to see the fireworks, and I determined to try to find her there.

I walked in the direction that the crowd had taken; but at the sight of that moving mass, one half of which concealed the other,—for some had climbed upon the chairs, while others clung to the frames,—I felt that it would be absurd to look for anyone there. So I resigned myself to wait until the display was over; perhaps the dancing would be renewed then, and I should see her again. Meanwhile, I walked around the outskirts of the crowd, and saw almost as much of the fireworks as those who stood on their chairs. I also observed several couples, who, instead of joining the crowd, went in the opposite direction and concealed themselves in the obscure shrubbery; they evidently had not come to Tivoli for the fireworks; but I am convinced, none the less, that they had been waiting impatiently for them to begin, and that the display would afford them as much pleasure as those who waited for it with their noses in the air.

There was a set piece representing Ixion crushed by the thunderbolts of Jupiter; and I heard a gentleman explaining it to his family, while he supported his wife and held up his little girl, who shrieked at every explosion.

“Who’s that tall man in a red cloak riding horseback on a bird?” inquired the child.

“That’s Jupiter, my dear, on a bird-of-paradise.”

“And what’s that stick he’s shaking in his hand?”

“That’s his thunderbolt to whip men who aren’t good.”

“Oh! yes; like my school teacher’s switch.”

“Who was this Ixion, my dear?” queried his better half.

“A Roman, I believe. Wait and let me think. Oh, yes! he’s the one that wanted to drive Jupiter’s chariot. He’ll be struck by lightning, as you’ll see.”

“What does that mean, my dear?”

“That means that he’ll be thrown into that big hole, which is hell, and once there——”

“Oh, yes! I understand; then he’ll be struck by lightning; quite right, too.”

“Oh! oh! oh! I’m afraid!” cried a little boy, who had hidden under the chairs.

“Hush, Octave! if you squirm so, you’ll make us fall. I won’t bring you to Tivoli again; you’re too big a coward. For shame! a big boy, nine years old, who plays with my national guardsman’s cap all day long, and don’t dare to look at a rocket!”

At that moment a mortar burst with a great noise, and Octave gave a leap which overturned his mother’s chair; she fell, dragging with her her husband and daughter, the latter of whom tried to save herself by clinging to a gentleman’s coat; which coat, being decidedly old, could not stand the strain; the skirt remained in the child’s hand, and the owner began to shout thief! thinking that somebody had stolen his handkerchief, and unable to find even his pocket. At the same instant there was a more deafening and more prolonged report; innumerable bursts of flame darted in all directions, twisting and writhing like serpents, dazzling the eye and filling the garden momentarily with a magical, supernatural brilliancy, as if the whole expanse were on fire; but the noise, the glare, and the false daylight lasted but a moment; a few rocket sticks, cartridges, and the débris of bombs fell in the garden, and in many instances upon the sightseers, spreading terror and confusion among them. I saw one lady whose hat was burned, another whose shawl was riddled with little holes made by the sparks from a rocket; and it seemed to me that that was paying rather dear for the pleasure of witnessing a display of fireworks. I turned away, well pleased not to have received a splash from the pyrotechnic drama, but greatly surprised that I had not seen my neighbor Raymond in some transparency; for, having lost sight of him among the preparations for the display, I expected to see him appear during the final discharge.

I returned to the dancing enclosure. My invited partner was not there; I was compelled, therefore, to abandon all hope of finding Caroline. I watched the throng of honest bourgeois, who, as soon as the last of the fireworks was discharged, set off for their firesides, content with their evening’s enjoyment, which was to last them throughout the week. I strolled at random along the avenues, where the colored lanterns were beginning to flicker and grow dim. Suddenly I heard a little bell, and, although the hearty laughter of some young people near by, the whispering of the ladies, and the distant sound of the dance dispelled all possible illusion touching the reality of the hermitage, I went up none the less to the abode of the so-called sorcerer, who, with the assistance of a long beard, a wand, a pointed hat, a gray frock, and a horn three feet long, undertook to tell fortunes at a very moderate price.

Young girls have always had a great fondness for having their fortunes told. Those who are inexperienced are consumed with the longing to know whether a handsome dark young man or a pretty blond will come soon to tell them something; those who are not novices are anxious to be informed as to the fidelity of their lovers, and at the same time to know whether other men are in love with them; the pretty ones know that they will make conquests, the ill-favored delude themselves concerning their charms; desire arouses hope in all, and all are content. I was agreeably surprised to see my young flowermaker awaiting her turn to have her fortune told. I walked toward her; she saw me and blushed; that was a good sign. But her aunt and Monsieur Jules were close by; I could not speak to her. An idea came into my mind while the soothsayer was finishing his séance with the young woman who was with Caroline. I took out my tablets,—a forehanded man always carries them,—withdrew to a lamp post, and with a lead pencil scrawled a most passionate and appealing declaration, which was utterly devoid of sense, but would flatter the girl, I felt sure.

Then I rejoined the curious onlookers, taking care to get close to the soothsayer. Caroline had taken her friend’s place, and the magic horn was already applied to her ear, when I pulled the sorcerer’s frock; I pointed to my note, on which I had laid a five-franc piece. He put out his hand and grasped it; those fellows readily understand one’s meaning. All this was done without attracting the attention of the bystanders. Mademoiselle Caroline was told a thousand pleasant things, no doubt, for she laughed like a madwoman; at times she seemed perturbed and surprised, and glanced furtively at me. I was sure that the soothsayer was talking about me; that knave knew his business; I heartily commend him to the sex. At last he took the girl’s hand and handed her her horoscope, slipping my note into her hand at the same time, and bidding her to postpone reading it until she went to bed. It seemed to me that Mademoiselle Caroline understood, for she thrust the paper into her bosom before joining her aunt.

At last she went away with her whole party, and I did not follow her. I had an idea that my hermit could tell me all that I wanted to know; for he had spoken to her in an undertone, and she had replied many times by the medium of the horn.

My man came to me and led me into his hermitage, where he dashed into the subject at once, without waiting for me to question him.

“Her name’s Caroline.”

“I know it.”

“She makes flowers.”

“I know that too.”

“She’s eighteen years old.”

“So I should think.”

“She hasn’t any lover.”

“So I hoped.”

“She means to remain virtuous.”

“I doubt it.”

“She has noticed you.”

“I think it likely.”

“She is attracted to you.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“She works on Rue Sainte-Apolline, from eight in the morning till eight in the evening.”

“That is all I want to know.”

I rewarded the invaluable soothsayer and returned to the garden, which was beginning to be deserted. I walked in the direction of the exit, enchanted to know at last where I could find Mademoiselle Caroline.

As I passed before a silhouette booth, I imagined that I heard a voice which was not unfamiliar to me. I stopped. People were disputing in the small oiled-paper studio, and I recognized my neighbor Raymond’s voice. What in the devil was he doing there? I listened; the maker of silhouettes said:

“It’s half-past eleven, monsieur; everybody’s gone, and I must shut up shop, too.”

“One more silhouette, my friend, and I’ll go.”

“You’ve been here in my studio more than two hours, monsieur; I have cut you out seventeen times already.”

“Well, this will make eighteen. Oh! I can’t have too many portraits; I shall find places enough for them! everybody’s asking me for one.”

“I tell you that I must close my shop, monsieur.”

“Close it, if you choose; I’ll stay inside; I don’t propose to go yet.”

“You will go, monsieur.”

“One more silhouette!”

“No, monsieur, you can’t have it.”

I could not restrain a roar of laughter, aroused by the desperate decision of Raymond, who, in his fear of being arrested for all the stupid things he had done during the evening, had sought shelter in the silhouette booth, which he was absolutely determined not to abandon. But my laughter caused great perturbation in my neighbor’s soul.

“Hark!” he said to the painter with scissors; “didn’t you hear? There’s somebody close by. You told me the garden was empty.”

“Pay me, monsieur, and be off; or I’ll go and fetch the guard to put you out.”

The threat of the guard made Raymond shudder; he realized that he must leave the friendly shelter of the booth; but before venturing into the garden, he thrust his head out of the door, to see if anyone was on the watch for him. The first person he saw was your humble servant, whose inclination to laugh was vastly increased at sight of the pale and discomposed features of his neighbor. Raymond was uncertain whether he had better hide again or not, when he saw me; but he made the best of the meeting, and, being certain that I would not impose upon his unfortunate plight, he clung to me as to the anchor of salvation.

“My dear Monsieur Dorsan, how delighted I am to meet you! If you knew all that has happened to me to-night in this infernal garden!”

“Oh! I know! it’s made noise enough.”

“Mon Dieu! do they mean to arrest me?”

“Why, it’s very possible. The man that you hurt is in a very bad way; the young men whose coats you ruined are collected at the gate; the damage you did in the garden amounts to considerable, and——”

“Oh! what an unlucky devil!”—And Raymond rushed back into the silhouette booth, despite the remonstrances of the proprietor, who seized him by the coat and tried to put him out.

“Save me, neighbor, I have no hope except in you!”

“Very well, I’ll do it; although you played me a most contemptible trick last night.”

“Oh! I promise you—I swear—it was mere chance. I will contradict all that I said, if that will gratify you; I will say that the girl slept with me.”

“No, no; if you please, Monsieur Raymond, you will be careful never to mention her.—But let us begin by leaving this silhouette emporium. Follow me.”

“I am with you, my dear neighbor.—Give me my portraits; how much are they?”

“Seventeen, at forty sous, makes just thirty-four francs, monsieur.”

“The devil! that’s rather dear!”

“It’s the regular price.”

“Come, come,” I said to Raymond, whose lugubrious face was not worth thirty-four francs at that moment; “you can make a lot of your friends happy with them; that’s some little compensation.”

Raymond paid, with a sigh, and seized my arm, imploring me to protect him.

“I ask nothing better,” said I; “but you must appreciate the fact that I can’t stand my ground alone against half a hundred young men who are waiting for you at the gate, and are to all appearance determined to make it bad for you.”

“Yes, yes, I can see that; but I can’t pass the night here; I have no hat, and I should certainly take cold; and to-morrow night I am to sing the aria from Joconde at a musical party.”

“This is very embarrassing. Do you want to risk going out at the gate?”

“No, indeed! These young men, when they get excited, are very brutal.”

“I see but one way, then, and that is to climb over the wall.”

“But suppose I am taken for a thief?”

“Never fear; I have a scheme in my head. Come!”

We took the darkest paths. Raymond followed me in fear and trembling. I led him to the wall on Rue de Clichy, and bade him sit on the ground behind a clump of trees.

“Stay here; I’ll go out of the gate and come around to the opposite side of the wall on Rue de Clichy. When there seems to be an opportune moment for you to climb over without risk, I will give the signal.”

“What signal?”

“I will clap my hands twice.”

“Agreed. The wall’s rather high; but still, rather than be beaten to a jelly—I can’t hesitate.”

“Adieu! patience; don’t make a noise, don’t stir, but wait for the signal.”

“Oh! I won’t fail. You couldn’t lend me your hat, could you?”

“Impossible; I have to sing in a duet to-morrow.”

“Then I’ll put my handkerchief over my head.”

“That will be very wise.”

“By the way, if they question you at the gate, you must say that I’ve gone.”

“That goes without saying.”

“Don’t leave me too long.”

“Of course, I shan’t suggest your showing yourself while I see anybody prowling about.”

“Dear Dorsan! I am tremendously obliged to you.”

“Adieu! I go to keep watch for you.”

I took my leave of Raymond, laughing inwardly at his plight and his poltroonery. At last I left the garden; it was high time, for they were just going to close the gates. As I passed, I glanced down Rue de Clichy, where my neighbor supposed that I was doing sentry duty in his behalf; and I strolled leisurely homeward, leaving dear Raymond to wait for my signal. His conduct of the preceding evening merited that little retaliation; moreover, the most speedy revenge is always the best.

XI
BY MOONLIGHT

I pursued my homeward way, congratulating myself on my little game, and laughing at the thought of Raymond’s fright and of the figure he must cut waiting for me to rescue him. But soon my mind reverted to a more agreeable subject. I thought of the charming Caroline. I had no doubt that she had read my note, and on the morrow I would go to her shop and find out how far I might hope. A not very moral scheme, I agree! I proposed to try to seduce a girl, in order to gratify a caprice that would last only a moment. But what would you have? I have some grievous faults; I believe that unmarried men were put into the world to make love to girls. Those girls who desire to remain virtuous should do as Nicette did—refuse to allow themselves to be seduced.

Musing thus, I reached my abode. It had seemed a short walk to me. To be sure, the weather was magnificent; the moon was quite as fine as on the preceding night; but my thoughts were not upon the firmament. I was on the point of knocking, when a person who was sitting on the bench near the porte cochère rose quickly and came toward me.

“Ah! here you are, Monsieur Dorsan; I was waiting for you.”

I recognized my little flower girl, whom the sight of Mademoiselle Caroline had banished from my memory. She had not forgotten me; she was waiting for me in the street! and it was nearly twelve o’clock!

“How long have you been here, Nicette?”

“Since nine o’clock, monsieur.”

“Why did you wait so long for me?”

“Oh! monsieur, please forgive me, but I couldn’t stand it; I wanted to thank you again, and tell you what I have done with my money.”

“My dear girl, that wasn’t necessary; I am sure that you are behaving as you ought.”

“Don’t you like it because I waited for you, monsieur? If you don’t, I’ll go away——”

I knew by the sound of her voice that she was ready to weep. Had I spoken harshly to her? She was going away with a heavy heart, but I took her hand and detained her. She heaved a deep sigh. Poor Nicette! could it be for me? If so, I pitied her. In truth, I did not deserve to be loved by a sensitive, faithful heart; and yet, I wanted women to adore me and to be faithful to me: reconcile the two, if you can.

“Come, my dear Nicette, tell me all you have done since last night?”

“Won’t it bore you, monsieur?”

“No, of course not; don’t you know that I am interested in everything that concerns you?”

“Oh, monsieur! if you—but here goes: in the first place, I went home to my mother’s, because, after all, she is my mother, and, although she turned me out of doors, I still owe her respect.”

“That is true; you did very well. How did Madame Jérôme receive you?”

“Very badly, monsieur! oh! very badly! She didn’t so much as ask me where I’d passed the night. But she proposed to me again to marry Beauvisage, and said that then she’d forgive what she called my caravanes.[A] Has there been any caravanes between you and me, monsieur?”

[A] In French slang, “love adventures.”

“Certainly not; and then?”

“Oh! I refused; because, when it comes to marriage, I’m obstinate, too. Then she beat me again, and that time you wasn’t there to stop her.”

I could not restrain a smile at the artless way in which Nicette reminded me of the blow I had received in her behalf; but I was distressed by Madame Jérôme’s hard-heartedness: to think of turning her daughter out of doors, beating her, and abandoning her, utterly without resource, at the age when the simplest and often the only means of support are to be found in prostitution! Ah! there are mothers unworthy of the name!

“Well, Nicette?”

“Well, monsieur, I packed up my clothes and left the house, without seeing my sister, who didn’t dare to show her face before me. I says to myself: ‘I mustn’t whine about it; I haven’t done anything to be sorry for. I refused the pork man, that’s true; but when it’s a matter of a girl’s whole life, surely she has a right to do as she pleases.’—So I went off with my little bundle. I don’t know how it happened, but after walking a while I found myself in your street. I looked round for a booth, and found one over yonder, close by, on Rue Saint-Honoré, near the boulevard. I bought a bed and a chair; that’s all I need. To-morrow, I’ll get a table for my bouquets; as to the flowers, I know where to get them. I’ll set up a stand on the corner of the street, on the boulevard; and when you want a bouquet, monsieur, I shall be there, close by your house; and it will be easy enough for you to let me know. Have I done well, monsieur?”

Nicette had finished speaking, but I still listened. I was touched by her attachment. She had wanted to be near me, I could see that; and there was something so simple and ingenuous in the way she told me about it, that it seemed that in acting thus she had simply done her duty.

“You don’t say anything, monsieur; is it because you’re angry at my leaving my old quarter to come—to this one? If that’s it, why, I’ll look for another room to-morrow; I’ll go far away, ever so far, and you’ll never find me in your path again!”

“What do you say? I, angry because you are near me? It’s very wrong of you to say that, Nicette! I thought that I had shown you how deep an interest I take in you.”

“Oh! I beg your pardon, Monsieur Dorsan, I beg your pardon; perhaps I ought to have asked your permission—for you are my patron.”

“Hush! what a child you are! I am very glad that you live in this quarter. I shall see you often, and always with pleasure.”

“Oh! monsieur, and so shall I. But I won’t take the liberty again to wait for you at your door. I only did it to-day because I wanted to tell you what I’d done, and to let you know where I am now.”

“Don’t apologize, my dear girl; I am so glad to see you! Ah! Nicette, what a cruel, yet delicious, night I passed so near you! I shall never forget it as long as I live. I know that I shouldn’t have so much courage another time.”

“Let’s not say anything more about that, Monsieur Dorsan. I must go home, for it’s very late, and I’m keeping you from your sleep again. To be sure, this is the last time it will happen.”

“Dear Nicette, your alluring charms, your graces, and your delightful frankness, will always be with me in that room, where I should be glad to see you again.”

“Oh! don’t say that, I beg of you, Monsieur Dorsan. I’m too far away from you—a poor flower girl!”

“Ah! Nicette; if you chose——”

“Adieu, Monsieur Dorsan! adieu!”

She said adieu, but she did not go. I held one of her hands; she repelled me and drew me toward her at the same time. My eyes were fixed upon hers; we said nothing; but if my porte cochère had been open, I believe that Nicette would have gone with me again. A sudden outcry aroused us from that pleasant situation. A man ran along the street, shouting thief! Nicette withdrew her hand, bade me a very affectionate good-night, and fled. I tried to detain her, but she was already far away.

I knocked at my door and was just about to enter, when the man whom I had seen running toward us, all alone, and whom I had taken for a drunken man, rushed through the porte cochère and fell headlong in the courtyard, crying:

“Safe at last!”

I recognized Raymond’s voice; I was curious to learn the end of his adventures. The concierge, hearing the uproar, arrived on the scene with a light, and we saw Raymond, his trousers torn from waistband to knee, lying at full length in the courtyard, gasping with fatigue, and trying to recover his breath.

“Mon Dieu!” cried Madame Dupont; “what has happened to you, Monsieur Raymond? a pretty mess you’re in!”

“What! is it you?” said I, in my turn; “why did you leave Tivoli without waiting for my signal?”

“Oh, yes! I fancy I should have had to wait a long while for your signal!”

“You’re too impatient.”

“I had been crouching in that corner for an hour, when I saw some men making the rounds of the garden. Faith! that gave me a fright, and I determined to scale the wall. But I was in such a hurry that I got caught on some broken glass; I tore my trousers and cut the base of my spine. On Rue du Mont-Blanc, I was insulted by some drunken men; indeed, I think they meant to rob me; but I ran off, shouting for help, and here I am in port, God be praised! But I shall remember Tivoli!”

“You must bathe your back in warm water, monsieur,” said Madame Dupont.

“Yes, I’ll do that in the morning.”

“You saved your silhouettes, I hope?” said I.

“I believe I lost some of them when I dropped from the wall.”

“The devil! that’s a pity! they’ll testify against you, and it will be easy to recognize that profile of yours. I advise you to wear a false nose and spectacles for a fortnight or so.”

My neighbor, who knew very well that I was making sport of him, took his candle and tramped upstairs without a word to me. When we were on our landing, I nodded to him, with a smile, and entered my lodgings alone, where I slept soundly. Nights follow but do not resemble one another: that is what all women say a fortnight after marriage.

XII
VEXATIONS

My first thought when I woke was of my two young women. I cannot say whether Nicette or Caroline first presented herself to my imagination; I know that I was attracted by both of them. But Nicette was an honest girl and desired to remain so; thus far I had acted honorably with her; I determined not to try to ruin what I had done. I would be her friend, were it only for the sake of experimenting upon a novel sentiment toward a woman.

As to Mademoiselle Caroline, I had formed a different estimate of her: I did not believe her to be a novice; her little innocent air with Monsieur Jules did not impose on me; she was on the lookout for a husband, but she did not love that poor fellow; if she did love him, would she listen with a smile to all the insipid nonsense that I whispered to her? if she loved him, would she dance with other men? Mademoiselle Caroline was a great coquette, and, in my judgment, decidedly shrewd. And yet, she had treated me cavalierly enough when I followed her on the street; to be sure, she was cross because I had rumpled the finery she had prepared for the following day, which was at that moment much more interesting than a new conquest, since it might be worth a great many to her. But I should soon know what to expect.

At noon I betook myself to the shop that my sorcerer had indicated. He had not deceived me: among a number of saucy faces, I recognized my charming dancer. The young women all lowered their eyes at sight of a young man; but they all scrutinized me furtively. Caroline recognized me; I could tell that by a certain embarrassment, by her evident longing to look at me, and by the assiduity with which she attacked her work, the better to conceal her confusion. It was necessary that I should pretend to have visited the shop for some purpose: I asked for flowers, wreaths, trimmings; they were all shown to me, but it was a man who was obliging enough to spread before my eyes all the treasures of the establishment, and the young women did not stir.

That did not meet my desires, but I realized that I could not remain there all day. I bought fifty francs’ worth of artificial flowers, for which I paid cash; and I left my address, asking that they might be sent to me during the day, as I was to leave for the country in the morning. The man promised, and I left the shop. Caroline must have understood me; but would she come? that remained to be seen.

I returned home, informed my concierge that I expected some parcels I had just bought, and that the messenger was to bring them up to my room. I went up myself, and fretted and fumed like all young men awaiting their first assignation, like all young women whose mammas keep them in the house when they are burning to go out. An hour passed, and no one came. Another hour had nearly elapsed, and I was on the point of going back to the shop, when my doorbell rang. I reached the door with one bound and threw it open; there stood Monsieur Raymond, laden with an enormous pasteboard box.

“What do you want, Monsieur Raymond?”

“My respects to you, neighbor!”

“But what brings you to my door, pray?”

“I will explain. Allow me to come in and put down this box.”

And, without awaiting my reply, he entered my reception room and seated himself on a chair. I remained standing in front of him, hoping that that would make him cut his visit short.

“Excuse me if I make myself at home; but my back is still painful. That wall was devilish high.”

“What do you want of me? I beg you to tell me, for I am in a great hurry.”

“Here goes: in the first place, I wanted to make my peace with you, because neighbors ought not to quarrel.”

“Bless my soul! I have no desire to quarrel.”

“I’m very glad of that; then that’s all at an end. I was on the watch for an opportunity to come here to speak to you; the opportunity came, and I grasped it. Somebody rang at my door just now and asked for you.”

“What’s that? just now? Who was it?”

“A girl—very pretty, too; but not so pretty as the one the other night.”

“A girl! what did she want? pray go on!”

“She brought this box for you, and said there was no message.”

“Well! where is she? what did you say?”

“I took charge of the box, telling her that you had gone out, so that I might have the pleasure of delivering it myself and making my peace with you.”

“Great God! is it possible? Must you always meddle in other people’s business, just to drive me mad? I’ll stake my head it was she!”

I opened the box, while Raymond stared at me in amazement; he did not know which way to turn, seeing the gleam of anger in my eyes when he expected thanks. I found all the flowers I had bought, and, in my rage, I kicked the box away. The bouquets and trimmings flew through the air, and a garland à la jardinière lighted on Raymond’s brow; he dared not remove it, because my outburst of wrath had stupefied him.

After storming about and crumpling and mutilating my flowers, I threw myself into a chair and my eyes fell upon my neighbor. At that sight my anger vanished; it was impossible for me to keep a serious face when I saw Raymond crowned with paper flowers and glancing about him in terror. I roared with laughter; that reassured him, and he followed my example, but his laughter was of that forced variety which resembles a grimace, and not that inextinguishable merriment in which the gods indulge when Vulcan fills their glasses.

“Vulcan to find involved in this debate,
The gentle reader’d scarce anticipate.”

“Well,” said Monsieur Raymond at last, still trying to smile, “your angry fit seems to have passed over?”

“I must make the best of it.”

“Aren’t you satisfied with the goods they sent you?”

“Much I care for the goods, Monsieur Raymond! you will compel me to move.”

“I, neighbor? Why so, pray?”

“Because you seem to be stationed beside me here to thwart all my plans, to drive me mad with rage!”

“I don’t understand.”

“Why, in heaven’s name, when people ring at your door by mistake, don’t you send them to me? Why do you say that I’m not at home when I am? Why did you undertake to deliver this box, when I desired to speak to the person who brought it?”

“My dear neighbor, I am distressed—I was entirely ignorant——”

“I beg you, Monsieur Raymond, as a favor, not to meddle in my affairs any more, or we shall have a serious falling-out! You have quite enough other occupation in the house, listening to the gossip of the cooks, keeping an eye on the women, playing the spy on the girls, and mixing yourself up in family rows, without disturbing yourself concerning my conduct.”

“I assure you, neighbor, that someone has been slandering me to you. I am incapable—I love a jest, that’s the whole of it; but I never gossip. In the first place, I am not talkative. If I were, I might tell you that the lady on the first floor has two lovers; that her husband keeps a mistress; that Monsieur Gérard, on the second, is in a bad way in business, and that I’ve seen summonses for him in the concierge’s hands; that Madame Bertin gives evening parties in order to get husbands for her daughters; that her cook makes a handsome commission on her provisions; that the cook at the rear of the courtyard has a lover she carries soup to; that Gerville the government clerk is running into debt and doesn’t answer the bell when his creditors ring; and a thousand other things. But it’s none of my business; I have quite enough to do to attend to my own affairs, without bothering my head about other people’s. I took this box, thinking that I was doing you a favor, and because I wanted an opportunity to make myself useful to you. It made you angry, and I won’t do it again. After this, I’ll send away people who want to speak to you, even when you’re not in. I salute you, neighbor!”

“By the way, one other word, if you please. What sort of looking girl was it who brought the box?”

“Why, very good-looking—that is to say, attractive.”

“How tall?”

“Medium.”

“Dark hair?”

“Yes; dark or chestnut-colored.”

“Black eyes?”

“Yes; that is to say, dark gray.”

“Ah! it was she!”

“Who is she?”

“That doesn’t concern you, Monsieur Raymond.”

“True; I asked the question inadvertently. Adieu!—By the way, are you going to Madame Vauvert’s to-night? There’s to be a grand party, a concert, and perhaps dancing. I fancy there’ll be lots of people there. I am going to sing the aria from Joconde. Monsieur Vauvert sent me word that he should have a young woman who plays finely on the guitar, and a gentleman who sings in Italian like a Bouffon.”

“A most alluring prospect.”

“I believe Madame Bertin is going, with her young ladies. The younger one is studying a piece that she’s to play on the piano. But time flies, and I have a lot of errands to do.—Au revoir, neighbor! I promised Vauvert to bring him a ‘cello and a second violin to complete his quartette. I must go and drum up my performers.”

He went away at last. The infernal fellow was responsible for my failure to see Caroline; for I had no doubt that it was she who had brought my box. What was I to do next? If I went again to the shop, what should I say? I had no idea; but I did not propose to have my rooms filled with artificial flowers to no purpose. I returned to Rue Sainte-Apolline.

The proprietor was out; so much the better. I complained and stormed because my flowers had not been sent. A girl rose and declared that she had left them at my rooms. It was not Caroline; therefore, it was not she who had come. I became calmer and shifted the blame onto my neighbor’s shoulders. The forewoman scolded the girl. I bought some more wreaths, pretending that I had forgotten to buy them on my first visit; and I asked to have them sent with me. This time Caroline was selected to be the messenger. At last I was to have an opportunity to speak to her freely, to be alone with her!

“One moment!” I said to myself; “I haven’t reached that point yet; I must not be too sure beforehand; one is so often disappointed!”

Mademoiselle Caroline walked with her eyes bent on the ground, and I remained at a respectful distance; but when we were a few steps from the shop, I put her into a cab, which took us to my domicile. She hesitated at first about entering the cab, but I urged her; she consented at last, and then she had no choice but to listen to all that love impelled me to say, if I may give the name of love to the caprice that had occupied my thoughts since the preceding night.

But obstacles give added value to the most trifling fancy, and sometimes transform a simple caprice into a deep-rooted sentiment. The difficulty which I had encountered in obtaining an interview with Caroline caused me to find a greater charm in her company; my words had more fire, more eloquence; and so little is required to convince a girl whose heart is already half vanquished.

Everything, therefore, led me to hope for the most perfect success. In time the cab stopped, we alighted, and Mademoiselle Caroline handed me my box, refusing to go up to my rooms. In vain did I promise, aye, swear to be good; I was powerless to overcome the flowermaker’s obstinacy; all that I could obtain was an appointment on the boulevard for the following evening.

She left me, and I entered the house alone. I could not help thinking of the difference between Mademoiselle Caroline’s conduct and Nicette’s. The little flower girl, who had known me but a few minutes, herself proposed to come to my apartment at midnight; while the grisette, having an excuse for going there, was afraid to venture in broad daylight. What was I to conclude? That one realized the danger more fully than the other? No. Nicette realized it; but she simply did not think of it; she trusted me. That Caroline was more virtuous than Nicette was impossible; indeed, I feared the contrary, and that there might be the same difference in their respective morals as in the flowers they dealt in.

I must, in any event, wait until the time appointed for our meeting. I determined to go that evening to Madame Vauvert’s; not to hear Raymond sing the Joconde aria, but because there was generally a collection of original creatures there that amused me, to say nothing of the master and mistress of the house, who are well worth a chapter to themselves.

XIII
AN AMATEUR CONCERT

In Paris there are parties for all tastes, all social ranks, all professions, all shades of opinion; in a word, for all classes.

A young man with tact and breeding may go everywhere; nothing is so easy as to obtain admission to the enormous parties, the gorgeous fêtes and balls, which are so popular that people go thither in crowds and do not see one another. The master and mistress of the house do not know the names of half the men who crowd their salons. In the best society it is customary for an invited guest to introduce whomsoever he may choose, without asking permission. The newcomer salutes the host and his wife; they exchange the conventional phrases, smiling at each other most amicably; that is all that is necessary; and one may then proceed to play cards, dance, and regale one’s self, without paying any further attention to the master of the house.

It is not so easy to obtain admission to what are called bourgeois parties. There the host, being a little more particular than the banker or marquis of the Chaussée d’Antin, likes to know the people who come to his house. When one young man introduces another to him, he inquires his name, his profession, and his character; indeed, there are some who carry their absurd prejudices so far as to turn a cold shoulder to young men whose too free and easy manners do not please them. But this extreme severity of morals is found only in the Marais or in the heart of Faubourg Saint-Germain.

Between the first society and the bourgeoisie, between etiquette and license, there are the delightful circles, distinguished by amiable freedom of manner, artless gayety, and a pleasant intimacy; these are generally to be found among artists. The arts go hand in hand; genuine talents are not jealous of one another; they esteem, seek out, and appreciate one another; that is why we find among them wit without malice, jesting without bitterness, rivalry without envy, merit without arrogance, and wealth without display.

Next come the strange, abnormal parties, which are made up from all the others. The people who give them do not know how to receive company; but they insist upon having company all the time, because it is good form to give soirées, and in these days no one is willing to lag behind his neighbor. For my part, I am in the habit of going only where I am invited by the host himself; I do not like to be introduced by another guest, unless it be at one of those crushes to which one goes as one would go to the theatre; and one may stay away from a second one without being taxed with discourtesy, because there is no danger of having been noticed at the first.

The function of Monsieur and Madame Vauvert may be placed in the last category. The master of the house fancied that he was a musician, but he had never in his life been able to beat a measure in three time, or to observe a minim rest or a crotchet rest, although he used his feet, his head, and his hands. He thrummed a little on the guitar; and when he had succeeded in accompanying some little ballad, without falling in with a minim rest or a crotchet one on the way, he was the happiest of men. Add to this an enduring passion for the fair sex, to which he paid assiduous court, despite his wife, a nose always smeared with snuff, soiled clothes and frills, strong breath and shifty eyes, a figure of medium height and a body that was always trembling, and you will have an idea of Monsieur Vauvert, who was a very good fellow in spite of his trifling faults, and whose greatest crime was not to be virtuous and orderly at forty-five. Gayety is of all ages, but libertinage is a different matter.

“If there’s a time for folly,
So there’s a time for sense.”

And I trust that at forty I shall be as virtuous as I now am the opposite. But let us come to Madame Vauvert.

She must once have been good-looking; the trouble was that she insisted upon continuing to be so. Her complexion was still fresh and ruddy, even when she was ill; which tempted unkind tongues to say that she made it herself. She was not familiar with the manners of good society, but by way of compensation she had a vast deal of curiosity and an extraordinary talent for setting people by the ears, while seeming never to speak ill of anyone; she also had a very pronounced penchant for good-looking youths and for chocolate.

Still, Madame Vauvert’s parties were very entertaining, because there was not the slightest restraint, everyone did what he chose, and one was certain of meeting a lot of original people and of seeing some new faces at every party. Most of those who appeared there simply passed on and off, as in a magic lantern; those whose only aim was to be amused went again and again. I was one of the latter; so Vauvert had come to call me his dear friend, while his charming spouse always greeted me with a most gracious little smile.

As Monsieur Vauvert was only a government clerk, he did not live on the first floor; but on his reception evenings he caused candle ends to be placed along the staircase, so that the artists and amateurs might not break their noses before reaching the third floor above the entresol. He had no servant, but he had a nephew some fourteen or fifteen years old, who was junior clerk to a notary; a sly, mischievous youngster, whom his dear uncle tried to make useful on his festal days, which displeased the young man, who on those occasions always returned home later than usual from the notary’s, in order not to be at the service of his uncle and aunt. It was nearly ten o’clock when I arrived at Monsieur Vauvert’s; the company rarely assembled before that hour, for the petty bourgeois try to mimic the nobility, and think it good form to arrive very late at a party. Musicians, whether amateurs or professionals, love to keep people waiting; and I believe that, in due time, evening parties will not begin until the next morning.

I rang. The door was opened by Madame Vauvert; whence I concluded that the young nephew had not yet returned.

“Ah! here you are, my little Dorsan; it’s very good of you to come; we shall have a lot of people to-night.”

“You will have? Do you mean to say that your guests haven’t arrived yet?”

“Some of them are late; but it’s early yet.”

“Not very.”

“We have a tall young lady from the Conservatoire, who has a magnificent voice.”

“The deuce!”

“And a lady who plays the ‘cello.”

“Great heaven! why, here it’s as it is at Nicolet’s: always worse and worse!”

“Ha! ha! what a funny fellow!”

“What music have you had already?”

“Nothing yet.”

“What! nothing? and it’s ten o’clock! For whom are you waiting to begin your concert?”

“Little Martin hasn’t come yet, to play the piano accompaniments.”

“Isn’t his sister here?”

“Yes, but she won’t play to-night; she’s sick; she’s having one of her nervous attacks.”

“Ah, yes! that’s quite natural. But where’s your husband?”

“He’s gone out to get a ‘cello part and to borrow a second violin, so that we can have a quartette.”

“It seems to me that it would have been well to set about it a little sooner.”

“Why, the poor man’s been running his legs off ever since dinner. He had to fetch Madame Rosemonde and her daughter, then go to the musical instrument maker’s for a double bass, then send for Mademoiselle Luquet’s harp, then go to make sure that Monsieur Crachini could come; in fact, there’s no end to what he’s had to do!”

“I can see that he has had his hands full.”

“And that little rascal of a Friquet doesn’t come home! I hope his uncle will give him a good trouncing to-night. But come in, my dear fellow.”

Our conversation was held in a narrow passage leading on one side to the dining room, which did duty as bedroom and dressing room, and on the other to the salon. I entered this last-named apartment, where the regular habitués and the newcomers were assembled. Everyone was wondering what the host and hostess could be doing, that no one had seen them; everyone was calling for them, and asking why the music could not begin; but not one of the singers was willing to sing first, and the instrumentalists seemed no better disposed.

“It seems to me that things aren’t likely to go very well to-night,” said a short, pockmarked man, who waddled up to me, smiling maliciously, whose nose was hidden by his bulging cheeks, and whose eyes one sought in vain behind his spectacles. “Almost ten o’clock, and nothing doing; you must agree that it’s disrespectful to the company! Poor Vauvert! passing his evening scouring the neighborhood for instruments and scores! It’s amusing enough! There are not two houses like this in Paris.”

“That is just why it’s so priceless. But aren’t you going to sing to-night?”

“Yes; I’ve brought my song from Jean de Paris; it’s called the Princesse de Navarre.”

“I seem to remember that you sang that to us at the last reception.”

“So I did; but I haven’t had time to learn anything else; and then, you know, it’s such a fine thing!—

“‘’Tis the Princesse de Navarre whom I annou—ou—ounce!’

Gad! how pretty it is!”

“Yes, when Martin sings it, it’s delightful. Shall we have much singing to-night?”

“Oh! we shall have some sport. Raymond is to sing the aria from Joconde; that tall girl yonder is to sing the inevitable song from Montano et Stéphanie; the pupil from the Conservatoire has brought a song, too; and Monsieur Crachini will obligingly deafen us with a romanza or two. Then Chamonin and his friend are to make an attempt at a duo from the Bouffes. That’s enough, I hope! God grant that Gripaille doesn’t take his guitar to accompany us! if he does, we are lost.”

As the chubby-faced little man finished speaking, Gripaille accosted him, and was greeted with:

“Well, my dear Gripaille, aren’t we to have the pleasure of hearing you? Come, bring out your guitar; these ladies are dying for some of your chords.”

Gripaille, who considered himself the first guitarist in Paris, replied, casting a seductive leer upon the ladies who surrounded us:

“What the devil do you expect me to sing you? I don’t know anything! I’ve got a cold, too; and then, Vauvert’s guitar is such a wretched instrument! a regular chestnut stove! it’s impossible to play on it.”

“With such talent as yours, one can play on anything,” observed a little old woman, throwing herself back in her chair and clasping her hands ecstatically, while tears of pleasure started from her eyes. “Mon Dieu! what blissful moments I owe to you! Music produces such an effect on me—such an effect! you can’t form any idea of it; my nerves are so sensitive, I abandon myself so utterly to the melody! Take your guitar, enchanter! take it and make me dream! You remind me of a handsome traveller who played the guitar under my windows when I was young!”

The chubby-faced gentleman and I turned away, to avoid laughing in the face of the old woman, from whom Gripaille had great difficulty in extricating himself. Old age is certainly most worthy of respect; but it is hard to keep a serious face before such old idiots, who fall into a trance during a ballad or an adagio.

I saw the old man who usually played the ‘cello part look at his watch, and heard him mutter between his teeth:

“This is very disagreeable! I must be at home at eleven o’clock, and we are wasting all this time doing nothing; and I’ve been here since seven! They were laughing at me when they told me that they were going to begin early, and that there would be a full quartette here; but they won’t catch me again.”

At last Monsieur Vauvert appeared, panting, almost breathless, drenched with perspiration, and bending beneath the burden of a tenor violin and several portfolios of music.

“Here I am! here I am!” he exclaimed, bustling into the room with an air of great bewilderment; “I’ve had hard work collecting all the parts, but I’ve succeeded at last.”

“You must have been diverting yourself between whiles,” said Madame Vauvert, pursing her lips.

“Oh, yes! parbleu! that’s very likely; diverting myself, indeed! I’m bathed in perspiration!—You can begin the quartette, messieurs.”

“Let’s begin, let’s begin!” said Monsieur Pattier, the ‘cello player; “we have very little time.—But have you brought my score?”

“Yes, yes! there it is on the stand.”

“Come, messieurs, let’s tune up.”

The amateurs who formed the quartette tried to bring their instruments in tune with one another. Meanwhile, the guests took their places to listen; sat down when they could find chairs. The ladies were already yawning; the bare announcement of a quartette gave them the vapors; to distract their thoughts, they chatted with the men who stood behind their chairs. They whispered and laughed and made fun of everybody, especially of the performers; the moment when music is being performed is always selected by the listeners to make the most noise.

At last the intrepid amateurs were in tune and took their places at their desks. The old ‘cello player had put his little shade of green paper round his candle, so that the light should not hurt his eyes; the tenor violinist had put on his spectacles; the second violin put an ounce of rosin on his bow; and the first violin adjusted his cravat so that his instrument should not rumple his collar.

All these preliminaries being completed,—during which Vauvert tried to bring the assemblage to order by many a prolonged hush!—the first violin raised his bow and stamped on the floor, glancing from one to another of his colleagues.

“Are we ready?” he said at last, with a determined air.

“Oh! I’ve been ready two hours!” retorted Monsieur Pattier, with an angry shrug.

“One moment, messieurs,” said the second violin; “my first string is loose; it’s a new string; I must tighten it.”

The tenor seized the opportunity to play over a passage that seemed rather difficult, and the ‘cellist consoled himself with a pinch of snuff.

“Now I’m ready,” said the second violin.

“That’s very fortunate.—Attention, messieurs, if you please; we will play the allegro rather slowly, and the adagio somewhat quickly; that produces a better effect.”

“As you please; it’s your place to beat time.”

The signal was given; the first violin started, and the others straggled after, as usual. Although I paid little attention to the quartette, it seemed to me to be even worse than ordinarily.

“The villains have sworn to flay us alive!” said one of my neighbors.

“That isn’t right! that isn’t right!” cried the first violin, stopping short.

“I don’t see why it didn’t go well enough,” observed the tenor.

“No, no! there was something that was all wrong.”

“Where was it?”

“Where? I can’t say exactly.”

“Well, I didn’t miss a note,” said the second violin.

“Nor I.”

“Nor I.”

“Come, messieurs, let us begin again.”

“All right, but see that you beat time properly.”

“I should say that I beat time loud enough.”

“To be sure you do,” said Madame Vauvert; “and the person who lives underneath said she would complain to the landlord.”

They began to play again; but it went no better, although the first violin writhed and gesticulated like one possessed; the company began to laugh, and the performers stopped.

“It certainly doesn’t go right,” said Monsieur Longuet, the first violin and conductor. “There must be mistakes somewhere; let me see the ‘cello score. What does this mean? you’re playing in B flat and we in D! Parbleu! I’m not surprised.”

“I’m playing just what you told me to,” rejoined old Pattier, scarlet with anger; “the first quartette in the first portfolio.”

“True; how the devil does it happen? Let’s look at the title. What do I see? Mozart’s quartette! and we are playing one of Pleyel’s! Ha! ha! that’s a good one!”

Everybody laughed at the episode; Monsieur Pattier alone was furious over the mistake, for which Vauvert was responsible, and which resulted in preventing the performance of the quartette. He rushed up to the master of the house, who had just seated himself in a corner of the salon beside a young brunette on whom he was bestowing meaning glances.

“How’s this, Monsieur Vauvert? You tell me that you have brought the score that was missing, and you give me the bass of a Mozart quartette when we are to play one of Pleyel’s!”

“I thought I heard you mention Mozart.”

“You thought! a man doesn’t make such mistakes as that!”

“Well! I’ll go and change it.”

“No, no, it’s no use; almost eleven o’clock; a pretty time to go out after music! I shan’t forget this trick.”

Père Pattier went away, muttering savagely; nobody paid any attention to him. Madame Vauvert scolded her husband for his blunder, and the company congratulated themselves on their escape from the quartette; while the tenor, who was determined not to be squelched, persisted in trying the brilliant passages of his part. Neighbor Raymond had just arrived, with his favorite piece under his arm. I noticed several new faces, and I was looking about for Madame Bertin and her daughters, who seldom came to Monsieur Vauvert’s, whose decidedly mixed society was ill suited to well-bred young ladies, when I heard the confused murmur that announces the arrival of a new personage.

I looked toward the door of the salon. A very stylishly dressed lady was being escorted into the room by Vauvert, on whose arm she leaned, and whose soiled linen, snuffy nose, and awkward manner were in striking contrast to the grace, the refinement, and the elegant manners of the lady, for whom he tried to find a seat in his salon, where vacant chairs were as scarce as at Tivoli. I spied one by the fireplace, upon which a huge cat lay asleep; I threw the cat to the floor, and presented the chair to the newcomer, who thanked me as she accepted it. Thereupon I examined her more closely, and recognized the lady whom I had seen at the theatre two nights before, and whose carriage I had made a vain attempt to follow. I was fully convinced that it was she when I saw in the doorway the man who accompanied her on that occasion.

Decidedly that Saturday evening was destined to mark an epoch in my life; for chance had thrown in my way all the persons who had then attracted my attention. I was Nicette’s friend, I hoped to be Caroline’s lover, and as for this other lady, whose name I did not know as yet, I was ready to bet that we should become better acquainted.

Neighbor Raymond, who lost no time when he hoped to win applause, had already approached the piano and was looking about for someone to accompany him. But Monsieur Gripaille, seeing that no one asked him to sing, or paid any attention to him, ran and seized the guitar, seated himself in the centre of the salon, and prepared to begin. Singing is always the most popular part of a concert, especially a concert of amateurs, where those who play upon any instrument are rarely good enough players or good enough musicians to give pleasure to their audience. A quartette entertains none but those who take part in it; a sonata on the piano makes people yawn; airs with variations for the harp are always twice too long, and pieces for the guitar always fall flat after other instruments. Only for singing, therefore, does the audience at such affairs care to cease its conversation; a pleasant voice never wearies the attention or the ears.

But Monsieur Gripaille had not a pleasant voice—far from it; it was a continual medley of falsetto, shrill notes, and transitions of an octave, the whole accompanied by the thrumming of his thumb on the bass chord of the guitar, while he shook his head from side to side to add to his personal charms. However, the airs he sang were sometimes tuneful, the words amusing, and his performance diverted the company for a moment. But as he always sang the same things, we knew them by heart; and when he once had the guitar in his hands, it was impossible to make him put it down; after the ballad came a rondeau, after the rondeau a comic song, after the comic song another ballad, and so on. I was not bored, because I was talking with the new arrival, who seemed vastly astonished at all that she saw, and very glad to find me there; for she recognized me, and I saw that my presence was not disagreeable to her.

But soon I heard neighbor Raymond and the man with spectacles objurgating Gripaille because he did not stop singing.

“It’s horrible! it’s murderous! it’s enough to put you to sleep!” said Raymond; “he’ll never stop!”

“Oh! when he once has his guitar, we are lost! there’s nothing to do but let him sing.”

“And he doesn’t want anyone to make a sound, either; not even to speak. See! he’s glancing angrily in this direction now, because we’re talking.”

“I don’t care if he is; it’s altogether too much; tunes that he’s sung to us twenty times!”

“He says that he wrote them.”

“He lies; I’ve seen them printed under another name.”

“Great God! I believe he’s beginning another one. That fellow ought to be forbidden to enter a salon.”

“Faith, yes! let’s call Vauvert, and tell him to make him shut up.”

“He wouldn’t dare.”

“I’ll tell you; we must have some young lady escorted to the piano; perhaps that will compel Gripaille to give up his place.”

The two men ran after Vauvert, who was in the utmost perplexity, for he did not know how to request his friend Gripaille to cease to entertain the company. At last, a tall, stout young woman consented to sing; young Martin arrived to play the accompaniments, and they were escorted to the piano. Gripaille pretended not to see what was going on, and played the prelude to his sixth comic song; but the noise in the dressing room, where a party of young men had assembled who could not find room in the salon, forced the guitarist to abandon the contest; he rose very ill-humoredly, despite the faint forced applause, and for lack of something better to do sat down in front of the little old woman, who had been partly in a trance and partly in heaven throughout his singing.

“Come,” she said to Gripaille, as he approached, “come, let me embrace you! You have enchanted me—exalted me to the skies—that is the word! Come, I entreat you!”

The wretched guitarist was compelled to submit; he embraced the old lady with a good grace; admirers are rare, and one has to pay dear for them.

My neighbor spied me and came to me with outstretched hand; but he halted in front of my fair unknown, to whom he made a sweeping bow. The devil of a fellow seemed to know everybody. I listened to their conversation.

“Whom do I see? Madame de Marsan! by what chance? Really, this is a happiness I did not expect! To what are we indebted for this pleasant surprise?”

“Monsieur de Marsan meets Monsieur Vauvert sometimes at the department, and Monsieur Vauvert has been urging him for a long time to come to his concerts; so to-day we decided to come;—but I confess,” she said, turning to me, “that I did not expect all that I see.”

“We will try, madame, to give you so much pleasure that you will not regret your evening.”

Thereupon my neighbor ran to the piano, doubtless to preëmpt the place next to the tall young lady. But the little chubby-faced man had anticipated him, and I foresaw that we could not escape the Princesse de Navarre.

While the young woman was singing her air from Montano et Stéphanie, being forced to give up my chair to a damsel who was looking about in vain for a seat, I went for a breath of air to the dressing room, where a number of young men had taken refuge, driven from the salon by the shrill cries of the singer. At that moment the doorbell rang; Vauvert opened the door, and little Friquet appeared. I expected a scene between the uncle and the nephew, and I waited to hear.

“Where have you been, you rascal?” demanded Vauvert, trying to assume an imposing air.

“Why, uncle, I have been—I have been at the office.”

“At your office, until eleven o’clock at night!”

“Yes, uncle.”

“You don’t expect to make us believe that, I hope?”

“Why not, uncle?”

“Because I know that you leave it every night at nine o’clock.”

“The head clerk gave me some errands to do, uncle; that is what made me so late.”

“Errands! I know how you do errands! I’ve been hearing about you, young scoundrel that you are!”

“In the first place, uncle, I am not a scoundrel.”

“Your head clerk told me that the day before yesterday morning, while they were waiting for a very urgent paper that they’d sent you to have signed, he found you sitting coolly under Pont des Arts, fishing.”

“Me, uncle, me! My word, what a lie!”

“He has the face to deny it, when I have proofs of the fact!”

“Proofs? what proofs?”

“Look, Monsieur Friquet, here’s a package of hooks that I found in your coat pocket. Well! what do you say to that?”

“That doesn’t prove anything, uncle; I didn’t buy those hooks for myself.”

“For whom did you buy them, then?”

“For my brother, who means to go fishing in the Canal de l’Ourcq on Sunday.”

“You’re the most shameless liar I know. I’ll bet that you bought a theatre check to-night, and that you’ve been to see the end of some play.”

“You know perfectly well that I haven’t got any money, uncle.”

“Oh! you always have money to go to the theatre and to stuff yourself. Come, monsieur, fill the glasses and pass them round to the ladies.”

“That’s it!” muttered the little nephew, turning angrily on his heel; “as soon as I get home, I have to be uncle’s servant, they’d better get a negro. And then, the first thing in the morning, aunt sends me to get her milk and her fuel, and lights for her cat.”

“You seem to be arguing the matter!” said Madame Vauvert, pinching Friquet’s arm; “there! that’s to teach you to grumble.”

“Ow! how mean to pinch me like that, aunt! I shall be black and blue for a week.”

“So much the better!”

“Mon Dieu! how ugly she is!” muttered Friquet; and I saw him, for consolation, take a slice of cake out of his pocket and swallow it in three mouthfuls.

But the shrill sounds had ceased; the tall young lady was no longer singing. The little chubby-faced man took her place; he was determined to sing his air from Jean de Paris, and we had to resign ourselves. While he struggled to hold out his notes, coughing at every ritornelle to make us believe that he had a cold, I saw the other singers look at each other, make signs, yawn, and compress their lips. In truth, amateurs are more unkind than professionals, and they who are in great need of indulgence for themselves are always ready to tear others to tatters. They think to conceal their own mediocrity by calling attention to their neighbor’s lack of talent; self-esteem, which blinds us to our own defects, impels us to seek out with avidity the faults of others, as if we were the gainers thereby! What folly! Because Monsieur So-and-So sings false, does that give you a fine voice? because he plays the violin badly, are you the better performer on the piano? because another is ugly, awkward, and ridiculous, are you any handsomer, more graceful, and more agreeable? Of course not; but it is always pleasant to see people at whom one can poke fun, and whom we believe to be less abundantly endowed by Nature than we. Remember that Roquelaure joyously threw himself on the neck of a man who seemed to him even uglier than himself. But, monsieur, what a difference! Roquelaure sacrificed his self-esteem; but you, had you been in his place, would have made sport of the man he embraced, and, turning to look in a mirror, would have deemed yourself handsome, I vow.

The Princesse de Navarre being duly executed, the little man made the circuit of the salon, trying to pick up a word of praise, even from those whom he had so recently declared to be ignorant of music; for praise is always pleasant. Everybody told him that he had sung very well; that was inevitable; we were well bred, which means that we had ceased to be frank. I alone ventured to observe that he seemed to have a cold; he turned as red as a turkey cock, and his nose vanished completely.

“That is so,” he said at last; “I have a very bad cold; it embarrassed me a great deal.”

“Why did you sing, then?”

“Oh! people urged me so hard!”

And I had seen him dispute with Raymond for the opportunity! What strange creatures men are! But, hush! my neighbor was going to sing; that deserved attention. But, no; two other men anticipated him; they sang an Italian duet, I believe; but it was difficult to understand the veritable hotchpotch they made at the piano: one shook his head to mark time, as a bear dances behind the bars of his cage; the other, who was evidently very short-sighted, kept his nose glued to the music. The young man who acted as accompanist tried in vain to make them sing together: it was impossible.

“You’re behind,” said one.

“That’s because I skipped a line.”

“Well, go on!”