The fortunes of Fifi

by Molly Elliot Seawell

Behold Fifi, a fortnight afterward, installed in a quiet and correct apartment in the Rue de l’Echelle, under the charge of a certain Madame Bourcet, who was as quiet and correct as her apartment. And Madame Bourcet had a nephew, Louis Bourcet, more quiet and more correct even than herself, and he aspired to marry Fifi and her hundred thousand francs.

It was all like a dream to Fifi. The Emperor had been as good as his word. He had consulted Lebrun, the arch-treasurer, who had advised, as Fifi was likely to be provided soon with a husband, that the hundred thousand francs be again deposited in the bank, as soon as it was drawn, less a small amount for Fifi’s present expenses. He argued, that it would simplify matters in her marriage contract to have her dot in cash—which recommended itself to all who knew, as sound doctrine.

He had also been asked by the Emperor, if he knew of a respectable person who would take charge of Fifi for the present. It would still be some time before the day came which she and Cartouche had named for the actual payment of the money. And besides it was necessary to prepare for Fifi’s presentation to the Holy Father, and everybody, including Fifi herself, agreed that certain preliminaries of dress and custom be arranged for that momentous interview. Lebrun had bethought him of Madame Bourcet, whose deceased husband had been a hanger-on of the arch-treasurer’s. Thus it was that the day after Fifi finished her engagement at the Imperial Theater, Cartouche had deposited her and her boxes in the quiet apartment of the quiet Madame Bourcet.

There was one box which she particularly treasured and would not let out of her sight from the time it was put into the van until it was placed in the large, cold, handsome room which was set aside for her in Madame Bourcet’s apartment. No one but Fifi knew what was in this box. It contained her whole theatrical wardrobe, consisting of three costumes, and her entire assortment of wigs, old shoes, cosmetics and such impedimenta. Fifi would not have parted with these for half her fortune. They would be something real, substantial and familiar in her new environment. They gave her a mystic hold upon the street of the Black Cat, upon the Imperial Theater, and upon Cartouche, so Fifi felt.

Toto was brought along with the boxes, but met with such a cool reception from Madame Bourcet that he declined to remain; nor would Madame Bourcet admit a dog of his theatrical antecedents in her family. Nothing had been said about a dog; she disliked dogs, because they barked; there was no place for him in the apartment. Toto showed his understanding of Madame Bourcet’s attitude toward him by deliberately turning his back on her, and walking out of the house after Cartouche. Fifi said not a word. She was too dazed to make any protest. Cartouche’s honest heart was wrung when he left her sitting silent and alone in Madame Bourcet’s drawing-room.

It was a large, dull room with a snuff-colored carpet on the floor, snuff-colored furniture and snuff-colored curtains to the windows, which overlooked a great, quiet courtyard. No wonder that Fifi, as soon as Cartouche left her, rushed into her own room, which adjoined the drawing-room, and opening her treasured box, took out an old white wig, and clasping it to her bosom, rocked to and fro in an agony. There was but one thing in the box that was not hers, and that was a wooden javelin which Cartouche had used with great effect in his part of the centurion of the Pretorian Guard. It was rather a commonplace looking javelin in the cold light of day, but Fifi held that, too, to her breast; it was those things that kept her from losing her mind; they made her feel that after all, the old life existed, and was not a nightmare, like the present.

With the moral support of the wig and the javelin she was enabled to compose herself, and to meet Madame Bourcet and Louis Bourcet, the nephew, and as Fifi shrewdly suspected, the person assigned to become the future owner of her hundred thousand francs. But Fifi had some ideas of her own concerning her marriage, which, although lying dormant for a time, were far from moribund.

For this first evening in her snuff-colored house, Fifi, with a heavy heart, put on her best gown; it was very red and very skimpy, but Fifi had been told she looked charming in it, which was the truth: but it didn’t seem to charm Madame Bourcet, when Fifi finally presented herself.

Madame Bourcet was a small, obstinate, kindly, narrow-minded woman, who went about measuring the universe with her own tape line. Louis Bourcet proved to be Madame Bourcet in trousers. Fifi thought, if Louis were dressed up in his aunt’s petticoats and Madame Bourcet were to put on Louis’ trousers, nobody could tell them apart.

Before this interesting youth was presented to Fifi, Madame Bourcet informed her that Louis was the most correct young advocate in Paris and had not a fault. After this promising introduction, Fifi hated Louis at first sight; but with that overwhelming sense of strangeness and of being led blindly toward an unknown fate, Fifi gave no sign of dislike toward the most correct young advocate in Paris, and the man without a fault.