When I awoke, it was broad daylight. Caroline was still asleep. It was only six o’clock, so I did not wake her; she must have been fatigued. I softly imprinted a kiss on lips which seemed to invite it even when asleep, and I left that bed where I had found in my inamorata’s arms all the delights of sensual pleasure, save only—but why think of that?
I dressed without making any noise, for I wanted to go away without waking her. I knew that very close companionship soon gives birth to satiety; therefore, I proposed not to see her too often, so that when we did meet we should enjoy ourselves more. Oh! I had had experience! When it is not used with care, there is nothing that becomes exhausted so quickly as love. And then, although Mademoiselle Caroline pleased me immensely, I had no idea of living with her altogether. When I was fully dressed, I glanced once more at my new friend, then crept from the room and closed the door very softly.
What a difference between Paris at six in the morning and the same Paris at six in the evening. What perfect tranquillity reigned in that quarter, which, a few hours later, would resound with the rumbling of calèches and tilburys, with the trampling of brilliantly attired equestrians, with the shouts of coachmen and footmen, with the uproar of tradesmen and foot passengers! A few milkwomen alone gave life to the picture. I walked toward the boulevards. How cool it was! what a delicious hour for walking! I could not resist the desire to walk the length of the boulevards before the dust and tumult of the day had transformed them into the rendezvous of dandies and petite-maîtresses. I felt, too, that the air I was breathing did me good, that it tranquillized my mind; and I understood how one may at six in the morning repent of what one did at six in the evening.
But the shops began to open, the tradesmen took down their shutters, the concierges were sweeping down their steps, blinds were being raised, lazy folk were beginning to yawn and stretch their arms, working girls came out to buy their ounce of coffee, old bachelors their roll, maid-servants their beef stew, and old women their little pitcher of cream. The messenger went to the wine shop for his glass of wine, and the cabman for his glass of brandy, in order to begin the day aright! The peasant women, who had already done half their day’s work, remounted their donkeys and returned to the fields; and I left the boulevards and went home.
Three-fourths of the tenants were still asleep. It was only half-past seven, and I met nobody but a few maid-servants. My neighbor was not awake as yet, I sincerely hoped. Poor Raymond! after his adventure of the preceding evening, I presumed that we must have a grand explanation. He must inevitably be in a rage with me; for I credited him with sufficient common sense to understand that the young women in the milliner’s shop had deliberately made sport of him.
On reaching my door, I found something attached to the knob. It was a bouquet from Nicette, already a little withered; it had been there since the evening before, no doubt. The little flower girl did not forget me; and I, who might have gone to say good-morning to her at six o’clock, had not even thought of her. I very seldom passed her shop. And yet, Nicette was well worth going out of one’s way to see; but for the last few days I had been so engrossed that I had had no time to think of my protégée; indeed, I had vowed not to think too much of her, and I believed that I should do well to keep my vow—for her sake especially. I wanted her to forget me, for I believed her to be very susceptible and quite capable of becoming deeply attached to the man she should chance to love.—“No,” I thought, “I will not go to see her; that is the wiser course. She will end by forgetting me.”—But I had a feeling that I should be very sorry if she did.
I detached the bouquet and entered my rooms; they too reminded me of Nicette and of the night we had passed together there. That night in no wise resembled the night which had just gone, and which had been marked by nothing that was abnormal in my experience. I had spent and expected to spend many nights as pleasurable as the last. But those nights are very rare when a girl of sixteen, emotional and attractive, succeeds, while she beguiles us by her charms, in forcing us to respect her innocence.
I was not so happy as I should have been. Having become the possessor of an adorable woman,—for Caroline was truly adorable, and she lost nothing by being seen in a simple négligé,—what more could I desire? Ah! I had been deceived so often, that I was justified in being fearful. My new mistress was at least as coquettish as my previous ones had been, and that fact was not very reassuring. But why torment myself in anticipation? Moreover, I had promised myself to be impassive and to take things philosophically. Yes, I had made myself that promise, but I had not succeeded in keeping it; perhaps with time and a little more experience I might succeed. They say that one becomes wonted to everything, but in my opinion it is very hard to become wonted to anything that wounds our self-esteem.
Someone knocked; it was Madame Dupont with a letter.
“Give it to me, Madame Dupont.”