When the dance came to an end, many of the guests prepared to go away. Madame Sordeville rejoined her friend, who also seemed disposed to retire. What was there to detain me there? I had permission to call upon the charming Armantine, and that was all that I could expect.
I left the restaurant. As I passed the rooms where the Bocal wedding party was still in full blast, I heard a good deal of noise. Was it merrymaking or quarrelling? Faith! Balloquet must take care of himself; and I went home and to bed.
XV
A VAGABOND
On the day following that night which I had so well employed, I did not wake until after noon. I went over in my mind the events of the preceding evening. When one has done so much and heard so many anecdotes, one may be pardoned for being a little confused.
Madame Sordeville's pretty face very soon presented itself to my memory. Now that I was no longer excited by the illusions of the ballroom and the strains of the music, I tried to determine what sort of woman she was, and whether I could reasonably hope for success if I should make love to her.
She was pretty, well formed, graceful, amiable—yes, and intelligent; at all events, she possessed that sort of wit that gives sparkle to a conversation; I could not say as yet whether it had any substantial foundation. In that respect, women are much more deceitful than men; they are much more skilful in throwing dust in one's eyes. Too often the flow of words and bright sallies is only a sort of froth that will not stand the test of time.
Madame Sordeville was undoubtedly a flirt. It is often said that all women are; but there are gradations. There are the amiable flirts who give a pungent flavor to love; there are others who do not give a lover one moment's peace or rest; and, frankly, a woman who takes pleasure in tormenting one is a sorry acquaintance. But I had not got to that point; perhaps the lady in question would never be anything to me, albeit her husband seemed to be not at all jealous.
The anecdotes that were told at our dinner the day before recurred to my mind; one of them especially had made a deep impression on me, and I was surprised that I had forgotten for so long a time that young girl of Sceaux—that unhappy Mignonne, toward whom Fouvenard had behaved so abominably. As if it were not enough to abandon her after having made her a mother, he must needs force her, against her will, into another man's arms! That was a perfect outrage! The law punishes men for less than Fouvenard had done—and all because she loved him! Unhappy girl! and to think that she was on the point of becoming a mother! I simply must see her, and try to alleviate her misery. Perhaps she was in utter destitution. He said Rue Ménilmontant, No. 80. I determined to go there; but I hoped that he had lied to us; that his Mignonne did not exist. It would be too execrable, if it were true.
I rang for my servant, and he appeared. He was a simple-minded fellow, but trustworthy, I was confident; and as that is the rarest of qualities in all ranks of society, I kept Pomponne in my service, although he was very often guilty of the most stupid blunders, and was of such a prying, inquisitive turn that I often had to reprove him.
Pomponne gave me all that I required for my toilet; but, as he walked about the room, I noticed that his manner was unusually idiotic, a symptom which always indicated that he had something to say and did not know how to go about it. So that it was necessary for me to give him a lead.