The Secret of Toni

by Molly Elliot Seawell

This seemed sinful waste to the sergeant, who thought Toni did not deserve such generosity. That superfluity of which Madame Marcel spoke he considered had much better be expended on a worthy veteran who had served his country for more than thirty years, and who would like extremely to end his days in affluence. But it was plain that Madame Marcel had the best of him in the argument that a woman could not take care of herself, so the sergeant changed his tactics.

“But it would be so much more comfortable for you, Madame, to have a protector—a husband I mean. Toni will get married and go off, and that will be the end of him.” The sergeant snapped his fingers. “But a kind and affectionate husband, a man of steady habits—”

“Most men of bad habits are very steady in those habits,” replied Madame Marcel. She was not a satirist and her remark was the more telling because of her sincerity.

“You are right, Madame, but I mean a man of good habits, a man who doesn’t spend most of his time at the wine shops, who has some domestic virtues. I believe, Madame, that the non-commissioned officers in the French army are the finest body of men in the world for domestic life. I never knew a sergeant, or a corporal either for that matter, who was not a good husband.”

“Then I couldn’t go amiss if I should take any one of them,” answered Madame Marcel demurely. “There is a very nice man, a corporal lately retired, who has bought out the cigar shop near me at Bienville. Gossip has linked our names together, but I had not thought of marrying him.”

“By no means should you marry him,” cried the sergeant, realizing that he had been too general in his commendations. “He is probably after your shop and after that nice little competence, which, I judge from your words, you have accumulated. No, Madame, you could aspire to a sergeant—it would be sinful to throw yourself away on a corporal.”

Madame Marcel smiled mysteriously, but a good many of the listeners smiled quite openly, particularly a party of soldiers near them. One of them behind Madame Marcel’s back undertook to enact the part of Madame Marcel while his comrade, mimicking every action of the sergeant’s, managed to convulse all who observed him as he followed this love scene. The sergeant folded his arms, twirled his dyed mustaches, and reflected. He had not made a single breach in the defense as yet. He had heard that women were easily made jealous, so he concluded to try it as a ruse de guerre.

“For my part,” he said, “I have concluded at the end of my present term of enlistment to marry and settle down. I may say to you, Madame, in strict confidence, that I have considered the charms of Mademoiselle Dumont, the dressmaker, whose establishment is a short way from yours, Madame, at Bienville. She is a most estimable woman, of a suitable age, and has given me some marks of encouragement—in fact, I believe it was generally thought among our acquaintances, at the time of my last visit to Bienville, that I should have proposed to Mademoiselle Dumont before I left. My attentions, I admit, had been somewhat compromising. I had sent her a large basket of figs, and, one day, when I went fishing, I also sent her my whole catch, besides having taken her and her sister on an excursion into the country, and having entertained them handsomely. I thought, when I saw Mademoiselle Dumont for the last time, that she seemed a little piqued, and I have reason to know that she reckons herself rather ill-treated by me; but it is by no means unlikely that on my return next summer I shall offer my hand to Mademoiselle Dumont.”

“Perhaps you have not heard,” remarked Madame Marcel sweetly, “that Mademoiselle Dumont was married about two months ago to Hermann, the Swiss violinist, who taught Toni to play the violin.”