Amédée Fleurissoire and Gaston Blafaphas both fell in love with Arnica at the same moment—it was as inevitable as fate. The admirable thing was that this budding passion, which each hastened to confess to the other, instead of dividing them, only welded them together more closely than ever. And, indeed, Arnica did not at first give either of them any great cause for jealousy. Neither the one nor the other, moreover, had declared himself; and it would never have occurred to Arnica to imagine their flame, notwithstanding their trembling voices when, at Madame Semène’s Sunday evenings, she offered them raspberry vinegar, or camomile ... or cowslip tea. And both of them, as they went home in the evening, praised her grace, and the modesty of her behaviour—grew concerned for her paleness—gathered boldness.
They agreed to propose together on the same evening and then submit to her choice. Arnica, young to love, thanked Heaven in the surprise and simplicity of her heart. She begged her two admirers to give her time to reflect.
Truth to tell, she was not more attracted by the one than the other, and was interested in them only because they were interested in her, at a time when she had given up all hopes of interesting anyone. During six whole weeks, growing the while more and more perplexed, Arnica relished with a mild intoxication her two suitors’ parallel wooing. And while, during their midnight walks, the Blafafoires calculated together the rate of their respective progress, describing to each other lengthily and undisguisedly every word, look and smile she had bestowed on them, Arnica, in the seclusion of her bedroom, spent the time writing on bits of paper (which she afterwards carefully burnt in the flame of the candle) or else in repeating indefatigably, turn and turn about: Arnica Blafaphas?... Arnica Fleurissoire?—incapable of deciding between the equal horror of these two atrocious names.
Then, suddenly, on the evening of a little dance, she had chosen Fleurissoire; had not Amédée just called her Arnica, putting the accent on the penultimate in a way that seemed to her Italian? (As a matter of fact, he had done it without reflection, carried away, no doubt, by Mademoiselle Semène’s piano, with whose rhythm the atmosphere was throbbing.) And this name of Arnica—her own name—had there and then seemed to her fraught with unexpected music—as capable as any other of expressing poetry and love.... They were alone together in a little sitting-room next-door to the drawing-room, and so close to each other that when Arnica, almost swooning with emotion and gratitude, let fall her drooping head, it touched Amédée’s shoulder; and then, very gravely, he had taken Arnica’s hand and kissed the tips of her fingers.
When, during their walk home that night, Amédée had announced his happiness to his friend, Gaston, contrary to his custom, had said nothing, and as they were passing a street lamp, Fleurissoire thought he saw him crying. Could Amédée really have been simple enough to suppose that his friend would share his happiness to this last degree? Abashed and remorseful, he took Blafaphas in his arms (the street was empty) and swore that however great his love might be, his friendship was greater still, that he had no intention of letting his marriage interfere with it, and, finally, that rather than feel that Blafaphas was suffering from jealousy, he was ready to promise on his honour never to claim his conjugal rights.
Neither Blafaphas nor Fleurissoire possessed a very ardent temperament; Gaston, however, whose manhood troubled him a little more, kept silence and allowed Amédée to promise.
Shortly after Amédée’s marriage, Gaston, who, in order to console himself, had plunged over head and ears into work, discovered his Plastic Plaster. The first consequence of this invention, which, to begin with, had seemed of very little importance, was that it brought about the revival of Lévichon’s friendship for the Blafafoires—a friendship which for some time past had been allowed to lapse. Eudoxe Lévichon immediately divined the services which this composition would render to religious statuary. With a remarkable eye to contingencies, he at once christened it Roman Plaster.[F] The firm of Blafaphas, Fleurissoire and Lévichon was founded.
The undertaking was launched with a capital of sixty thousand francs, of which the Blafafoires modestly subscribed ten thousand. Lévichon, unwilling that his two friends should be pressed, generously provided the other fifty thousand. It is true that of these fifty thousand, forty were advanced by Fleurissoire out of Arnica’s marriage portion; the sum was repayable in ten years with compound interest at 4½ per cent—which was more than Arnica had ever hoped for—and Amédée’s small fortune was thus guaranteed from the risks which such an undertaking must necessarily incur. The Blafafoires, on their side, brought as an asset their family connexions and those of the Baragliouls, which meant, when once Roman Plaster had proved its reliability, the patronage of several influential members of the clergy; these latter (besides giving one or two important orders themselves) persuaded several small parishes to supply the growing needs of the faithful from the firm of B., F. & L., the increasing improvement of artistic education having created a demand for works of more exquisite finish than those which satisfied the ruder faith of our ancestors. To supply this demand a few artists of acknowledged value in the Church’s eyes, were enlisted by the firm of Roman Plaster, and were at last placed in the position of seeing their works accepted by the jury of the Salon. Leaving the Blafafoires at Pau, Lévichon established himself in Paris, where, with his social facility, the business soon developed considerably.
What could be more natural than that the Countess Valentine de Saint-Prix should endeavour, through Arnica, to interest the firm of Blafaphas & Co. in the secret cause of the Pope’s deliverance, and that she should confidently hope that the Fleurissoires’ extreme piety would reimburse her a portion of what she had subscribed? Unfortunately, the Blafafoires, owing to the minuteness of the amount which they had originally invested in the business, got very little out of it—two-twelfths of the disclosed profits and none at all of the others. The Countess could not be aware of this, for Arnica, like Amédée, was modestly shy of talking about their money matters.