Toni, however, knew that the time of his service would come to an end in a year, and then he would be able to carry out that beautiful scheme that had haunted him during his circus life. He would become an instructor in a riding-school and earn big wages, as much as two hundred and fifty francs the month, and meanwhile he would lead so correct a life that even Sergeant Duval would be forced to approve of him. All these resolutions were very much increased by the first sight he caught of Denise. It was about a fortnight after he joined, and during that time he had kept his eyes open for the lady of his love. Although Sergeant Duval had quarters at the barracks, Denise and Mademoiselle Duval lived in lodgings in the town, and Toni did not have many opportunities of going into the town. One Sunday evening, however, a beautiful August Sunday, Toni found himself standing in the public square where the band played merrily and one of those open air balls, which are so French and so charming, was going on. Ranged on benches around were the older women, and among them Toni at once recognized the tall, angular, black figure of Mademoiselle Duval; and whirling around in the arms of a handsome dragoon with a beautiful pair of black mustaches, much finer than Toni’s, was Denise. Toni’s heart jumped into his mouth, his soul leaped into his eyes. It was Denise, of the acacia tree, and the buns, of long ago.
She was as blond, as modest, as neat as ever, but far prettier. Her fair hair was twisted up on her shapely head, on which sat a coquettish white hat. She wore a white muslin gown, with the short, full skirt much beruffled. Denise would have liked a train, but Mademoiselle Duval frowned sternly on such unbecoming frivolities as trained gowns for a sergeant’s daughter.
Denise had developed into as much of a coquette as Lucie Bernard had been, only in a different direction. Lucie achieved her conquests by a charming boldness, a bewitching unconventionality. Denise Duval succeeded in attracting the attention of the other sex by a demureness and quaint propriety which were immensely effective in their way.
Toni, having some instinctive knowledge of this, determined to proceed with great caution and military prudence. He would strive to carry the fortress of Denise’s affections by gradual approaches and not by assault. So, in pursuance of this plan, he walked up to Mademoiselle Duval and making a low bow said:
“Mademoiselle Duval, may I recall myself to your memory? I am Toni Marcel, the son of Madame Marcel, of Bienville, and had the honor of knowing you when I was a boy.”
Mademoiselle Duval gave him one grim look, and then cried out:
“Oh, I know you very well, Toni. You were the worst boy in Bienville, and as dirty as you were bad. Oh, how much trouble did you give your mother!”
This was not a very auspicious beginning for a young man who wished to become the nephew-in-law of the lady he addressed, but Toni was not deficient in the sort of courage which could take him through an emergency like that. He only said hypocritically, and with another bow and a sigh of penitence:
“Ah, Mademoiselle, every word that you say is true. I know I was very naughty and very idle, and my mother was far too patient with me. I gave her a great deal of trouble, but I hope to be a comfort to her in the future. I had a letter from her only yesterday in which, like the rest of your sex, Mademoiselle, she showed a beautiful spirit of forgiveness. I hope that she will come to visit me for a few days before long.”
Mademoiselle Duval was not greatly softened by this speech, but seeing Toni disposed to take a scolding meekly, she invited him to sit down by her side, when she harangued him on all his iniquities for the last seven years. The sergeant had told her that Toni had been in the circus and that was enough. Mademoiselle Duval warned Toni that all circus people were foredoomed to hell-fire, and that he would probably lead the procession. Toni took the attack on himself very meekly, but said: