Her eyes reassured me; they could not lie! But the knocking was repeated, and we distinguished these words:
“Open the door, open quick, Mamzelle Nicette! your mother’s very sick and wants to see you.”
Nicette ran to the door and recognized the daughter of one of Madame Jérôme’s neighbors. The girl told her that her mother had had an apoplectic attack as the result of a violent quarrel with her daughter Fanchon; and feeling very ill, she longed to see the child she had so unjustly turned out of doors. Nicette flew about the shop; in an instant she had taken off her apron and put on her cap.
“Adieu, adieu, Monsieur Dorsan!” she said, in a trembling voice, and with eyes filled with tears; “my mother is sick and I must forget everything.”
We left the shop; she took the little girl’s arm and dragged her away; the child could hardly keep pace with her. I soon lost sight of them.
Sweet girl! she possessed all the virtues, and I loved her better than I thought, more dearly than I had ever loved. The most convincing proof that I really loved her was that I had thus far respected her innocence; but I felt that I must avoid going to see her at night; to be alone with her would be too dangerous. If it had not been for that knocking—I do not know what might have happened.
I decided to return to Madame de Marsan, so as to turn my thoughts from Nicette; I must give my brain occupation, in order to allow my heart to become calmer. By that means I should at least provide myself with a pardonable motive for my new follies.
XXIV
THE BOURGEOIS COMEDY.—THE REHEARSAL
For several days my conduct was really most exemplary; I paid court to Madame de Marsan, concerning whom my neighbor had told me too much. I did not go again to see Nicette at night; and when I passed her shop during the day, I bade her good-morning without stopping. Her black dress told me of the loss she had sustained, but I did not ask her for any details of Madame Jérôme’s death.
Madame de Marsan was a very agreeable, lively, coquettish person; I found several young men assiduously attentive to her, but had no idea whether they were more fortunate than I. I was not sufficiently enamored of her to be jealous; and yet, it annoyed me to see that swarm of admirers who so often forced themselves between her and myself. Twenty times I was tempted to cease to augment their number, but a secret hope whispered to me that I was the preferred one and that I should distance all my rivals.