What further business had I at Monsieur de Grandmaison’s? My revenge was complete; the confusion was at its height; the scene of pleasure was transformed into a scene of uproar and distress; singing had given place to outcries, bonsmots to lamentations, drunkenness to wrath, merriment to gloom; in a word, Caroline had seen and recognized me, and the effect had surpassed my anticipations. I was satisfied; and leaving them all to extricate themselves from their plight as best they could, I left Monsieur de Grandmaison’s house, thoroughly cured of the sentiment the young flowermaker had inspired in me.
XXIII
THE TWO VISITS.—THE LESSON IN HANDWRITING
On the following morning, at nine o’clock, my doorbell rang. I was still in bed, reviewing the events of the evening, and laughing at that which had been powerless hitherto to extort a smile from me, because a single sentiment had filled my mind and prevented me from considering the scene from its comic side. But now that my head was cool, my heart tranquil, and my mind no longer tormented by the anticipation of what was to happen, I thought of the different personages I had left at Monsieur de Grandmaison’s house; I fancied that I could see them gathered about the lost supper, lost by the exertions of Monsieur Raymond; and I laughed all by myself, as if I were still in their midst.
If at that moment some inquisitive mortal, escorted by the Diable Boiteux or some other imp, had perched on the roof of my house and amused himself by watching me, he would have thought, no doubt, that I was temporarily insane. For my own part, I cannot see that it was any more extraordinary to laugh at those reminiscences than it would have been to weep at them; but we are never astonished to see a person shed tears; whereas, if you laugh all by yourself, you are looked upon as a madman or an idiot. Can it be that tears are more natural to man than laughter?
My concierge, who, as I believe I have already told you, did my housework every morning, opened my door and ushered in my neighbor Raymond, who, seeing that I was in a hilarious mood, thought that his presence was responsible for it, and stood for a moment uncertain whether to be angry or to join in my laughter. He prudently adopted the latter course, and approached my bed chuckling.
“Well, my dear fellow, it was a warm evening! Ha! ha! ha! You are still thinking about it, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I look to you for the details of the catastrophe.”
“And I to you for an explanation.”
“Do you want it in the Bois de Boulogne again?”
“No, no! Ah! you fox! the lovely Caroline had some reason for fainting when she saw you!”