DEATH OF RONCHEROLLE

"O my God! my father is dead!" cried the girl. Georget and his friend sadly hung their heads; thereupon Violette fell into Monsieur de Brévanne's arms.

NOVELS
BY
Paul de Kock
VOLUME XVI
THE FLOWER GIRL
OF THE
CHÂTEAU D'EAU
VOL. II

THE JEFFERSON PRESS
BOSTON NEW YORK

Copyrighted, 1903-1904, by G. B. & Sons.

THE FLOWER GIRL
OF THE CHÂTEAU D'EAU

[XXIV, ] [XXV, ] [XXVI, ] [XXVII, ] [XXVIII, ] [XXIX, ] [XXX, ] [XXXI, ] [XXXII, ] [XXXIII, ] [XXXIV, ] [XXXV, ] [XXXVI, ] [XXXVII, ] [XXXVIII, ] [XXXIX, ] [XL, ] [XLI, ] [XLII, ] [XLIII, ] [XLIV, ] [XLV]

XXIV
HOW IT HAPPENED

"I had fallen madly in love with Mademoiselle Lucienne Courtenay; you know as well as I that her beauty and her charm attracted every eye. I paid my addresses to her, she welcomed my homage. In short, I believed that she loved me as dearly as I loved her, and we were married.

"During the first year of our union, I was happy; but I began at last to discover that my wife was not, as I thought, a model of affection and sensibility. Lucienne was coquettish, extremely coquettish; accustomed very early to being flattered because of her beauty, she must needs always be surrounded with homage, with compliments, with admirers! Dress was her principal, I might even say her only, occupation. Amiable and playful when she had her little court about her, my wife yawned and was bored when we were alone. If I spoke to her of my love, she would reply by inquiring about some new fashion. Ah! Monsieur de Merval, if coquetry amuses and fascinates in a mistress, it becomes very dangerous in a wife, especially if a man is jealous, and I was.

"The second year of my marriage passed, and I had already ceased to be happy; my wife desired to pass her life in parties, dissipation, balls; if I ventured to remonstrate, if I seemed disposed to decline an invitation, she would make a scene, she would call me a tyrant! You may imagine that I always ended by giving way; when one is in love, one is very weak, and I was still in love with my wife; I did everything to please her; I said to myself: 'Her taste for dissipation will pass! With time she will become more sensible, and she will give a little more thought to her husband.'

"My greatest grief at that time was that I was not a father; I prayed constantly that Lucienne might give me a pledge of her love, but my prayers were not granted. Ah! many times since then, monsieur, I have thanked God because He did not listen to me; for it is a great misfortune to have children when one cannot set them the example of domestic peace and virtue!"

Here Monsieur de Merval turned his head away, with a singular expression; but the count, paying no heed, continued:

"Now I must mention a person whom you knew, De Roncherolle, with whom I was very intimate. We had been close friends at school. Roncherolle was a very handsome gallant, and his unfailingly high spirits, his effervescent, although slightly satirical wit, fascinated almost everybody who knew him. We had lost sight of each other on leaving school; when I met him again, after nine or ten years, he was a man of fashion, famous for his gallant adventures, for his success with the ladies. He was still as jovial and clever as before; his tendency to mockery often involved him in difficulty, but, being as brave as he was sarcastic, he had already fought several duels in which he had borne himself most honorably. He seemed so glad to see me again, and manifested so much affection for me, that I did not hesitate to give him mine, and we soon became inseparable. But there was a great difference in our dispositions, in our characters. Roncherolle made fun of everything; he often laughed at or turned to ridicule the most venerated customs, the sentiments most worthy of respect, and we sometimes had lively altercations on that subject; but Roncherolle always brought them to a close by some jocose remark, by some repartee so original, that it was impossible to take anything seriously with him.

"When I married, Roncherolle naturally became one of the habitués of my house; you will be surprised perhaps to learn that with my jealous temperament, I introduced into my domestic circle a fascinating man, especially renowned for his conquests; but I believed Roncherolle to be my friend, my sincere friend; and despite his easy-going principles, he was the last man whom I deemed capable of betraying me! Alas! I believed in friendship, as I had believed in love; it is so pleasant to believe; but one suffers keenly in proportion when one is undeceived!

"I was destined to pay dear for my confidence ere long. Obliged to take a journey which would keep me away from Paris for a week, I desired to take my wife with me; she invented a thousand excuses for not accompanying me. I went away, urging Roncherolle to take care of Lucienne. I was blind, as you see; I had no suspicion of what others perhaps had already guessed.

"But when treachery surrounds us, it seems as if heaven itself undertakes to open our eyes; it arranges events in such a way as to reveal the truth to us; for I do not believe in chance, I believe only in Providence.

"As soon as I arrived at Havre, which was my destination, I found that the matter which I supposed was in litigation was settled, so that I was free the next day, and I started to return to Paris. I exulted in the thought of surprising my wife, whom I had not warned of my return. The train which took me back to Paris was delayed two hours on the way, and it was nearly midnight when I reached my house; the weather was bad, the night was very dark, but I distinguished a carriage which arrived almost at the same time as myself, and stopped a few steps from the porte cochère of my house. A secret presentiment or warning instantly took possession of my mind. Something told me that my wife was in that carriage, that she was not returning alone, and that I was on the point of discovering a shocking treachery! I cannot tell you how it was that that thought came to me so suddenly, or what was the source of the flash that suddenly gleamed in my eyes; but without hesitating a second, I quickened my pace and reached the carriage just as the driver opened the door to let the persons who were within alight. The size of the cab and the darkness enabled me to hide behind it and, unseen, to hear everything.

"Roncherolle alighted first, I recognized him instantly; then he helped my wife to alight; but imagine my feelings, when, instead of entering the house at once, I saw her walk a few steps away with Roncherolle, to whom she applied the sweetest and most affectionate names, and then made an appointment to meet him the next day. I did not need to hear any more; I could no longer doubt my misfortune. The man whom I had believed to be my sincere friend was my wife's lover! I rushed like a thunderbolt between the traitorous pair, and talked to them as they deserved. My wife uttered a shriek, and ran to the door and rang the bell. I grasped Roncherolle's arm, when he too tried to fly, and said to him: 'You know now what I expect of you; the insult you have offered me can only be wiped out with your blood; if heaven is just, I shall kill you; if not, after betraying your friend, you will have the added happiness of making his wife a widow. To-morrow morning, at eight o'clock, I shall expect you at Porte Maillot; we need no seconds; luckily, I know that you are no coward; I rely upon you.'

"Roncherolle disappeared without a word. I entered my house; I hesitated to appear before my wife, for I expected tears, entreaties, a scene of despair; but although my heart was torn, although it requires much courage to endure a blow which shatters in a moment the whole charm of one's life, my course was already fully decided upon, and that is why I went to my wife's apartment.

"Imagine my surprise, my stupefaction, when I found her occupied in preparing for the night, almost as tranquilly as if nothing had happened. However, at my approach, I saw that she trembled a little, she was afraid of me; that was the only sentiment that I inspired in her, that was her only remorse.

"'Do not tremble, madame,' I said to Lucienne, 'I am too well-bred to adopt extreme measures with you, measures which your infamous conduct would render excusable, perhaps, but which after all would not wipe out the dishonor with which you have covered my name. That name I propose to abandon, and I order you also to cease to bear it; this is the last order that you will receive from me. To-morrow I go away, I leave you forever. You have your own fortune, I have mine, and thank heaven! our marriage contract was drawn up in such a way that each of us retains the enjoyment of his own property. I shall make no noise, no scandal; the world may interpret my conduct as it pleases; very likely it will put me in the wrong, that would not surprise me; but I shall get over it; it will be much harder for me, no doubt, to give up a happiness of which I had dreamed, of which I was still dreaming, and which I did not think was destined to last so short a time; but I will try, and heaven will help me.'

"After saying this, I was silent for a few moments. I confess that I expected tears and some words of repentance. But I was mistaken again! My wife uttered a few incoherent sentences, in which, however, I understood that she was trying to make me think that I was a visionary, that I had misunderstood her conversation with Roncherolle, and finally she ended by saying that she was very unhappy with me and that we should do well to separate. I left her, I went away with death in my heart, but without a glance at that woman who had not a single tear for the unhappiness she caused me!

"The next day at seven o'clock, I had finished all my preparations for departure and had written to my notary; I was preparing to start for the place where I had appointed to meet Roncherolle, when a messenger brought me a letter; I recognized the handwriting of the man whom I was going to meet, and I hastily broke the seal; that letter has remained engraven in my memory! Roncherolle's missive was thus conceived:

"'My dear De Brévanne'—he had the effrontery still to address me so!—'I am very sorry for all that has happened. You have taken the thing too seriously! I believed that you—as everybody else did; and this is one of those things which happen every day; why in the devil did you come back when you were not expected? From the days of the famous Sultan of the Thousand and One Nights, such surprises have always brought ill luck to those who make them. Now you want to fight with me. I know perfectly well that you are entitled to, but it would be a stupendous piece of folly, which you would repent some day. Yes, if you should kill me, I will wager that later—much later probably, but at some time or other—the day would come when you would be sorry for it; for the passions calm down, and when a man reflects coolly, he is often surprised to find that he has been terribly angry for a trifle. I propose then to spare you the regret of having killed me; and as for myself, I need not tell you that I shall never aim a pistol at you. And so, as our duel cannot take place, it is useless for you to go to a rendezvous where you will not find me. You know me well enough to be aware that it is not from cowardice that I decline this duel; I have proved that. But with you,—no, whatever you may do, I will not fight; and as you will hope doubtless to meet me somewhere, I give you notice that when you receive this letter I shall already have left Paris. Adieu; I tell you again, I am sorry, very sorry for what I have done, as you are seriously offended, but if you should kill me ten times over, that would remedy nothing, for what is done is done. Adieu. He who no longer dares to call himself, but who will always be, your friend.'"

At this point in Monsieur de Brévanne's narrative, Monsieur de Merval could not help uttering an exclamation and interrupting the count.

"Upon my word," he said, "I do not believe that there ever was another letter like that. To write in such terms, under such circumstances! However, it depicts the man, and I recognize Monsieur de Roncherolle in every line; he shows himself in that letter as he was in society!—Excuse me for interrupting you and pray go on."

"I could not believe that that letter which I had under my eyes meant what it said; ten times I read it, then I went to Roncherolle's house; but he had not misled me, he had gone away at six o'clock that morning. Judging from the preparations that he had made, it was probable that he had left Paris, but where had he gone? No one could tell me. I sought him in every direction, to no purpose; for several days I made the most minute search, I could not discover a trace of the man, who, after shamefully betraying my friendship, dared appeal to it to excuse himself for not giving me satisfaction for his outrage. So I was forced to go away without my revenge. Ah! Monsieur de Merval, I confess that that was one of the most cruel torments that I suffered! I left France and travelled for some time; but on receipt of certain intelligence, I returned suddenly to Paris a year after my departure; I was assured that De Roncherolle had returned, that he had been seen; but despite all my efforts, I could not succeed in finding him. I went away again and travelled a long while; years passed, and time, that great restorer, at last restored the tranquillity which I had lost, without, however, restoring my happiness; for, from the sufferings that I had undergone, I had retained a deep-rooted misanthropy, and almost an aversion to mankind. I was excusable, was I not, monsieur? Betrayed in my dearest affections, at the age when the heart abandons itself to them with the least reserve, I no longer believed in anything that had formerly contributed to my happiness; and it is melancholy to say to oneself: 'I have no friend; the man who presses my hand to-day will betray me to-morrow if any of his passions may be gratified by so doing.'"

"Oh! Monsieur de Brévanne, you must not include all mankind in the same anathema! Believe me, there are sincere sentiments, and there are men who understand friendship.—And so you have not seen Monsieur de Roncherolle since the day that you were to fight?"

"As I tell you, it was impossible for me to find him. Someone told me once that he had met him in the Pyrenees, travelling with a lady who called herself the Baronne de Grangeville; from the portrait that was given me of that lady, I had no doubt that it was my wife, and that thought prevented me from going to the Pyrenees; for I will admit that, while I desired earnestly to meet a false friend upon whom I hoped to be revenged, I had not the slightest desire to meet a woman whom I had loved so dearly and who had betrayed me so outrageously. Much time has passed since then. A few years ago, I bought this country house, in which I am beginning to take some pleasure. Now, Monsieur de Merval, you know the cause of my separation from Madame de Brévanne—tell me frankly if the world guessed the truth, and if it judged justly in this matter?"

"Yes, I tell you again, you were not the one who was blamed; to be sure, there were, immediately after your rupture, some persons, ladies especially, who undertook to compassionate the Comtesse de Brévanne, and when they mentioned her, always referred to her as the unfortunate wife, the poor woman whose husband had abandoned her; but very soon those same persons were obliged to admit that they were wrong, for the connection between Madame de Grangeville and Monsieur de Roncherolle became so evident that it was impossible to refuse to believe in it. However, as there are women who are never willing to admit that they were altogether in the wrong, they undertook to excuse your wife by declaring that her intimacy with Roncherolle probably dated from the moment that you left her. But after that, events spoke so loud, the facts were so patent!"

"What's that? what events, what facts?" said the count, gazing at Monsieur de Merval; the latter paused, seemed embarrassed, and continued, in the tone of a person who feels that he has said too much:

"Why, I mean Madame de Grangeville's departure from Paris, her travelling with Monsieur de Roncherolle; however, you know all that as well as I do, and I fancy that it cannot be very agreeable to you that I should expatiate farther upon these details in the life of a person who no longer bears your name."

"My dear Monsieur de Merval, as I told you before I began the story of my deplorable misadventure, only a short time ago I should not have had the courage to do it, or to listen calmly while you spoke of that woman whom I loved so well; but I have seen that woman again, here—I mean in this neighborhood—only a few days ago."

"What! you have seen——"

"The person who calls herself now the Baronne de Grangeville, yes. It was at the party given by my neighbors, the people whose house you were leaving when I met you this morning. They had invited me, and I, surmounting for once my aversion to society, attended the party. In fact, I may as well confess that I had not entirely lost the hope of finding Roncherolle; I have been positively assured that he is in Paris now, and as most of my neighbor's guests were likely to come from Paris, I said to myself: 'I will go back into society, and perhaps I shall meet there the man whom I have sought in vain so long.' So I went to Monsieur Glumeau's; they were giving theatricals in his woods, and I stood apart from the others, but where I could see everybody. Imagine my feelings when my eyes met those of a lady seated beside Madame Glumeau, who very quickly turned her head aside when her glance and mine met. That glance, brief as it was, impressed me—it instantly reminded me of Lucienne. I left my place, and standing farther away under the trees, it was easy for me to observe at my leisure that person's features. I cannot describe my sensations; I could not, I did not wish to believe that it was my wife; I imagined her still young and pretty; in short, still as fascinating as at the time I parted from her."

"And you found a tremendous change! Remember that twenty years make great ravages, especially in women who were formerly very pretty; the ugly ones change much less, and it is that fact that consoles them for being ugly.—Did Madame de Grangeville recognize you?"

"I have every reason to think so; when a few drops of rain put the guests to flight, she alone remained in her seat, she seemed afraid to move; at last, however, she turned her head to see if I were still there; she saw me and her terror seemed to redouble; apparently I frightened her! As for myself, she aroused my compassion, nothing more! I was about to go away, when several young men came in search of her and escorted her back to Monsieur Glumeau's house, where, as you may imagine, I was careful not to follow her.—Now, Monsieur de Merval, explain to me, pray, how it happens that that meeting, which, by arousing all my memories, should have renewed my former griefs, has produced an absolutely contrary effect? Yes, since that moment my heart has been calmer, my thoughts have been much less gloomy; it seems to me that my mind views things in an entirely different aspect now!"

"The change seems to me very easy to explain, monsieur le comte. Before this meeting, your wife was still in your eyes the youthful beauty with whom you were in love and of whom you were jealous; your memories were the more bitter because they always recalled the treachery of a very fascinating person! To-day that same person appears before you with twenty years more upon her, and she is so changed that you have difficulty in recognizing her. You realized then that you were still in love with, and unhappy about, a person who no longer exists. For to you, who have passed nearly twenty years without seeing your wife, her beauty has entirely vanished; whereas to those who have seen her constantly, she may still appear beautiful. As a man of much wit once said: 'How do you expect that one person should notice that another grows old, when they see each other every day?'—Hence I conclude, Monsieur de Brévanne, that sentiments of regret are much less poignant when the object regretted has ceased to be what it once was."

"I believe that there is much truth in what you say. But have you seen Madame de Grangeville lately, Monsieur de Merval?"

"Yes, I too met her at the Glumeaus', in Paris, some time before the festivity in question. I had seen Madame de Grangeville more recently than you had, for I had caught sight of her occasionally at the play or at concerts; but I never ventured to speak to her; the false position which she occupied imposed that restraint upon me. At the Glumeaus', it was she who accosted me and attempted to renew our acquaintance; she even invited me to call upon her."

"And you accepted that invitation?"

"I should have been afraid of being discourteous if I failed to do so."

"And does she still make the same show, is she still as fashionable as ever? For she was a coquette in everything; she must have the most sumptuous furniture; the most trivial object in her apartments must have the stamp of the most refined elegance!"

Monsieur de Merval shook his head slightly as he replied:

"Oh, no! it's not like that at all now; Madame de Grangeville's household has undergone the same change as her person!"

"Is it possible that her tastes have changed too?"

"Oh, no! not her tastes! I presume that they are still the same; but it is her means that have changed; I believe that she is ruined!"

"Ruined!"

"Or practically so!"

"But she had twelve thousand francs a year!"

"Yes, but that was twenty years ago; and in twenty years, a person who loves luxury and pleasure can consume much more than that. In fact, I found Madame de Grangeville in a small and very modest apartment, on a fourth floor; and the furniture of that apartment was very far from handsome!"

"And how many servants?"

"How many servants? Why, just one; and I fancy that one was sufficient. I saw a sort of lady's maid, who doubtless does everything."

The count's face darkened. He was silent for some moments, then muttered:

"So she has spent, squandered her fortune; and at the age when illusions vanish, she will find herself destitute perhaps!"

Monsieur de Merval made no reply, but took his hat.

"Are you going to leave me already?" said the count; "I hoped to keep you with me all day."

"You are very kind, but it is impossible to-day; I must return to Paris."

"But at all events, you will promise to come again to see me?"

"I will come next week, if you care to receive me."

"I shall count upon you, and long for you as for a sunny day."

"Au revoir then, my dear count; we shall meet again soon."

Monsieur de Merval shook hands with Monsieur de Brévanne, then left the house, saying to himself:

"Poor count! he does not know all even yet! But what would be the use of telling him a thing the knowledge of which could not be agreeable to him, and which perhaps he will never know?"

XXV
GEORGET'S TORMENTS

During the first days that he passed in the country, Georget rose at daybreak and was occupied constantly until the night arrived; he hardly gave himself time to eat his meals. He ran hither and thither from one part of the garden to another; he turned up the earth with the gardener, he felled trees, he gathered wood, wheeled the barrow, cleaned paths, transplanted shrubs, and did it all with so much zeal and vigor that his face was constantly streaming with perspiration.

In vain did his mother urge him to take a little rest; he paid no heed to her; and when Monsieur de Brévanne said to him: "Why do you tire yourself so, Georget, for heaven's sake? There is no hurry; I don't want people to kill themselves working, and you will make yourself sick, my friend;" Georget tried to smile as he replied:

"Oh, no! monsieur; on the contrary, it does me good to keep busy all the time; it diverts my thoughts and amuses me; it prevents me from thinking of something else too much."

"Poor boy!" said the count to himself; "I understand; he does all this to enable him to forget that young woman whom he loved; he is trying to fly from himself; and he has much difficulty in doing so."

"Friend Georget, him a squirrel!" said Pongo to Mère Brunoy. "Him no stay a minute in one place. Him no sit down a minute in the shade to rest and talk! So nice when you hot, to rest in the shade! Friend Georget, him melt away with sweating. If him work like that in my country, him die right away in two days!"

However, there were times when the young man stopped, compelled to wipe away the perspiration which streamed from his face; at such times he would look about to make sure that he was alone; and when he was certain that no one could see him, he would let his head fall on his breast, and sit for some minutes absorbed in thought; and often great tears would mingle with the perspiration on his cheeks.

One evening, Georget went to his mother and asked:

"Do you still like it here very much, mamma?"

"Do I like it, my boy? Why I should be very hard to suit if I wasn't happy here; a pretty house, a lovely country, pleasant work, all the good things of life, and such a kind master, who keeps asking me if there is anything I want! Aren't you happy and content to be here yourself?"

"Forgive me, mother, I am perfectly contented. We have been here a long time already, haven't we?"

"A long time! Only nine days, my dear."

"Only nine days! That is strange! It seems to me as if it was more than a month!"

"Poor boy! Are you so terribly bored? Do you regret Paris?"

"Oh, no! I don't regret Paris, mother! I don't think of Paris at all! But, although I have said that I would never step foot in Paris again, if you should happen to need anything, if you have left anything at our rooms that you miss, you must tell me so, mother; because it would take me only a short time to go and get it for you; and I will return at once, I won't stop an instant. It is such a little way from here to Paris, that I am sure it wouldn't take me three hours to go and come back!"

"Thanks, my child, but I have no need to send you to Paris; I haven't left anything at home that I need; you won't have to take that trip."

Georget said nothing more, but his face betrayed his disappointment; however, he dared not insist, for he feared that his mother would read what was going on in his heart. A few days later, Georget accosted Pongo, who was busily engaged in a dispute with a superb dahlia.

"Whom are you talking with, Pongo?"

"Who me talking with, Monsieur Georget; why, you see, with this fine flower, this lovely dahlia, with the little pink and white edges; but him naughty, not willing to stand straight, always hang his head. What a bad trick to hang his head, like a fox! You hear, flower? Hold up your head and look at the sun, or me will have something to say to you."

"It seems to me that it's a long time since you went to Paris, Pongo! I thought that Monsieur Malberg used to send you there now and then?"

"Yes, Monsieur Georget, master he send me to Paris when him have errands for me.—Oh! see little red flower over there hold his little head straight! Do you see, great coward, the little one stands better than you!"

"And you have no errands in Paris just now?"

"No, Monsieur Georget, and me very glad to stay here, where it's cool, not get tired travelling; though master, him always want me to take the carriage; but me not like the carriage; too crowded, dirty folks, not polite, make faces at Pongo! One day me going to fight a nurse who stuck out her tongue at me! Then driver come and make me get up on top with all the bundles!"

"But that wasn't right, Pongo! What! you were going to fight with a nurse,—a woman!"

"Why, she stuck her tongue out at me and call me gingerbread man."

"So, Pongo, you don't like it when you have to go to Paris?"

"No, no! And then when me leave Carabi, him always scratch me when me come back; for him forget me, and not mind me any more; but me go there all the same."

"Well, my dear Pongo, if you choose, the first time that Monsieur Malberg gives you an errand to do in Paris, I will undertake it, I will go in your place; and you need not be afraid but that I will do exactly as you tell me."

"Oh! thank you, Monsieur Georget, you very kind; but me can't accept."

"Why not?"

"No, no, me no do that!"

"It would be a favor to me too, because then I could take the opportunity to buy some things in Paris that I need."

"No, Monsieur Georget, me not send you in my place, because, when master, him tell me to go there, if me no do it, he says: 'Pongo he no more my servant, Pongo he make others do his work'; and he turn me away. No, Pongo always do master's work himself!—Just wait, you flower, me take a cane to you, fine Zima like master's, and then you have to stand straight."

Georget walked sadly away from Pongo; the poor boy was burning with longing to go to Paris, though it were to stay there but a moment; but he dared not admit it either to his mother or to his patron; for after swearing so often that he would never go there again, that he held Paris in horror; after having earnestly begged that he might never be sent there, how could he now have the face to ask permission to go there? Would it not be equivalent to an admission that he was still thinking of Violette, that he could not succeed in forgetting her, that, in short, he would give ten years of his life to see her for an instant? At eighteen, years seem such a trifle; if a lover's wishes could always be gratified, he would often squander in a few days the best part of his youth.

Monsieur de Merval had kept the promise he had given to the Comte de Brévanne, and had gone to Nogent to pass a day. That day had been employed in walking about the country, talking confidentially all the while. Monsieur de Brévanne had questioned his guest again concerning Madame de Grangeville's present position, and without making it apparent that he attached much importance to the matter, he had inquired her address. He had also asked Monsieur de Merval if he had not met Monsieur de Roncherolle in Paris; but Monsieur de Merval was unable to give him any information upon that subject.

During that day, employed in that confidential conversation, that outpouring of the heart, in which one often reveals one's most secret thoughts, Monsieur de Merval had been more than once on the point of disclosing a secret of the greatest interest to him whose confidence he received. But, always held back by the fear of causing him pain, he had not spoken, and had left Monsieur de Brévanne, saying to himself, as after his first visit:

"What is the use of telling him that? Perhaps he will never know it."

On the morrow of the day that he had passed with Monsieur de Merval, the count in the morning informed his servant that they would go to Paris about noon.

Pongo began at once to make his preparations, which consisted, first of all, in stuffing Carabi with cake and bits of meat, in order, he said, that the cat might not commit larceny during his absence and so call for punishment.

The mulatto had hardly finished with his friend Carabi, and was about to beat flonflon, which was the name he gave to his master's travelling coat, when Georget passed him.

"What are you doing there, Pongo?" said the young man, stopping.

"Me beat flonflon, Monsieur Georget, me make flonflon very fine and clean; him like to be beaten, for him go to Paris!"

"What? are you going to Paris, Pongo?"

"Yes, me go with master, he tell me we go soon, at noon; you hear, flonflon?—There! oh! you be all clean!"

"You say that Monsieur Malberg is going to Paris to-day?"

"Yes, Monsieur Georget, with me; he take me, so me put on Mina, my pretty new cap."

Georget stayed to hear no more, but set about searching the house for the count; at last he found him seated under a lilac bush, where as usual he seemed to be deep in meditation.

"Pray forgive me, monsieur, if I disturb you," said Georget, approaching the count; "but I have just learned that—that monsieur is going to Paris to-day."

"Yes, that is true; but what does it matter to you, my boy, so long as I do not take you, as you begged me not to do? Never fear, I don't need you; I shall take nobody but Pongo."

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, you see, I have reflected—I have realized that I was wrong to say that to monsieur, for I ought to be at his service, I ought to be always ready to do what he wishes; and then—you see—I had no right to ask monsieur not to take me to Paris when he went there; and that is why—if monsieur would like me to go with him—why I will be ready whenever monsieur says, I won't keep him waiting."

The count watched Georget closely while he was speaking, and replied gently:

"I thank you, Georget, for the effort that you make to please me, but I tell you again, I will not subject you to such a severe trial; you have a horror of Paris, I know, and I can understand it; you might meet someone there whom you wish never to see again, whom, on the contrary, you wish to forget entirely; I will not expose you to dangers which you are wise enough to avoid. Besides, I have no need of your service in Paris; so calm your fears, my friend, you shall remain here."

The poor boy was struck dumb; he did not know what to say; he turned pale and staggered, and at last, finding that he had not the strength to conceal longer what he felt, he fell on his knees in front of Monsieur de Brévanne, stammering in a voice broken by sobs:

"Oh! take me, monsieur! Take me, I beg you! It isn't my fault, but I can't stand it any longer! I won't speak to her, monsieur; I won't speak to her, that I swear to you; but if I can see her for a moment, just a moment; if I can know that she is still there in the place where I used to see her, then I will come right away, I will come back calmer and more at peace, and I will work even better than ever, for my head will not be in a whirl as it is now."

"Rise, my poor boy! At all events, you are honest now, and I prefer that. What is the use of disguising what you feel? Moreover, my poor boy, you do not yet possess the art of dissembling; stay as you are; it is more rare, but it is much better. Well, as you can't live without seeing her, you may go to Paris with me."

"Oh! how kind you are, monsieur!"

"But be careful! be prudent! remember the past! Ah! if twenty years had passed since you had seen the object of your love, I should have less fear for you; but after only a fortnight, it's very dangerous!"

"I won't speak to her, monsieur; I swear to you that I won't!"

"Very good. Go and get ready, and tell Pongo that I am taking you in his place, that he need not go to Paris."

Georget, drunken with joy, ran like a mad man through the gardens; he longed to tell everybody that he was going to Paris. He told the gardener, who was watering his vegetables; he shouted it at his mother, who was working in front of the house, and who thought that she must have heard wrong; but when she attempted to ask her son for a word of explanation, he was already far away. He hastened up to his room to dress; he finished his toilet in a moment; then he started out to find Pongo, whom he found still brushing and beating flonflon; he tried to take possession of the coat, which the mulatto refused to give him.

"Let me have it, Pongo! let me have it!" said Georget; "you are not going to Paris, I am going to take your place. Give me the coat, I am going to take it to monsieur; it is beaten enough."

"What! what you say, Monsieur Georget,—me no go to Paris? Oh! you joking! you make fun of me!"

"I tell you, Pongo, that your master himself just told me that he would take me in your place; you can stay here with Carabi, that ought to please you."

"Me no believe you! Let flonflon alone."

"But I want to carry the coat to monsieur, as he is ready to go."

"You no touch flonflon! Me carry him to master alone, no need you."

"Then take it at once——"

"You won't give orders to Pongo. Let flonflon alone!"

"Ah! you tire me!" and Georget, in his impatience to be gone, leaped upon the coat which the mulatto held by one sleeve; each insisted upon the other's letting go, and as neither of them would give way and as they continued to pull, the subject of the dispute fell upon the gravel, deprived of both sleeves, which remained in the hands of the two disputants for the honor of carrying that garment to their master.

At that moment Monsieur de Brévanne arrived upon the scene of conflict; he saw his coat upon the ground, sleeveless, while Georget and Pongo, with an equally confused and sheepish expression, gazed piteously at the portion of the garment which had remained in their hands.

"Well! I am waiting for my coat!" said the count, who found it hard not to smile at the bearing of the two persons before him.

"Coat—flonflon—there, there!" said the mulatto, passing his master the sleeve that he held.

"What's this you are giving me, Pongo? a sleeve?"

"Oh! me put on the rest afterward, master, me stitch up all what's torn, me fix it nice. It's Monsieur Georget's fault, him want to take the coat, him say me no longer monsieur's servant; me no believe him, he try to take flonflon by force."

"That is true, monsieur," said Georget; "it is my fault that your coat is torn, I admit; I was in such a hurry to bring it to you, and he refused to give it to me."

"If he take my place to wait on master, then Pongo discharged, turned out! Poor Pongo! very unhappy! he go bang his head against the wall."

And the mulatto began to utter noises that would have frightened an ox. Not without much difficulty did his master convince him that he had never had any intention of dismissing him, and that if he did take Georget to Paris that day, it did not mean that Georget had any desire to take his place.

Georget himself embraced Pongo and begged him to forgive him for the pain which he had involuntarily caused him; the mulatto became calm, he picked up the pieces of flonflon, and Monsieur de Brévanne, having donned another coat, started for Paris with Georget.

XXVI
A GOOD FRIEND

On reaching Paris, the count said to Georget:

"I don't need you at this moment, my boy; go about your own business; but be on the boulevard, opposite Rue d'Angoulême, at five o'clock; I will take you up there as I pass, I shall have a cab, and we will come back together."

"Very good, monsieur; but if monsieur needs me, if he wishes me to go with him——"

"It isn't necessary; be at the place I have mentioned at five o'clock."

The count walked away, and Georget did not hesitate long as to what he would do. In a few moments he was on the boulevard, and he walked in the direction of the Château d'Eau. It was flower market day in that quarter, the weather was magnificent, and there was a great concourse of dealers and promenaders. Georget congratulated himself upon that circumstance, which would enable him to keep out of sight in the crowd, and not be seen; for he wished to see Violette, and he wished also to see her without her suspecting it.

On approaching the place where the pretty girl kept her booth, Georget felt his legs tremble and give way under him. His heart beat so violently that he placed his hand against it, trying to suppress its throbbing. The poor boy had never been so intensely agitated. He longed, yet dreaded, to turn his eyes toward the place where he used formerly to stop so often. At last, taking advantage of a moment when many people were between him and that spot, he raised his eyes and looked; he saw Violette, and after that his glance remained fastened upon her. At that moment indeed, the flower girl, being busily engaged in making bouquets, was looking at her tray and was paying no attention to the passers-by.

Violette was as fascinating as ever; but the rosy tinge of her complexion had almost entirely disappeared, her brow was careworn, and all her features bore the stamp of melancholy; far from impairing her beauty, however, it gave a new charm to her whole person.

Georget instantly observed the change, the pallor which had replaced the roses that formerly adorned Violette's cheeks; and in a second, twenty thoughts rushed through his mind.

"Why that sad, downcast expression?—Why this change, this pallor?—Why, even while arranging her flowers, does her brow remain pensive and careworn?—Is she sick?—Is she unhappy?—Who can make her so?—What is she thinking about at this moment?"

Georget asked himself all these questions in less than a minute. But the last was the one of all others which he would have given everything in the world to be able to answer! Of what was she thinking at that moment?

Is not that always what a lover asks, when he can observe his mistress unseen, and when he sees that she is thoughtful? But it is also the question which most frequently remains unanswered.

Quite a long time passed and Georget was still in the same spot, with his eyes fixed upon Violette, who did not see him. More than once the young man was pushed aside and jostled by the passers-by, by people carrying flowers.

"Look out!" they would shout at him; "stand out of the way! let us pass! Is the fellow stuck to the concrete?"

But Georget did not stir, he did not even hear, he did not even feel the jostling; it seemed as if his whole being were concentrated in his eyes, and as if he only existed through them.

But he had no choice save to emerge from his trance and to reply, when he suddenly felt a pair of wiry arms thrown about him, and someone began to dance up and down in front of him and embrace him, exclaiming the while:

"Ah! so here you are, my poor Georget! You're not dead, or melted! How glad I am! I thought you must be in the canal or in a well, or caught in a slide in the Montmartre quarries! Let me embrace you, saperlotte! You villain! you brute! to disappear like this and leave your friends in despair! Let me embrace you!"

Georget recognized his former comrade, and he felt touched by the joy Chicotin showed as he gazed at him.

"Yes, it is I, Chicotin; thanks; so you have not forgotten me?"

"Forgotten you! what a stupid you are! What does that mean? why should I have forgotten you? weren't we friends? I should like to know if friends part like an old pair of breeches, which you never expect to put on again? Forgotten! why, I've hunted for you in every corner of Paris! I've been to your house, after asking Mamzelle Violette for your address, for I didn't know it!"

"You asked Mamzelle Violette for my address?"

"To be sure; I had to ask her, to find out."

"And what did she say when you mentioned me?"

"Pardi! she told me that you lived on Rue d'Angoulême. I went there, and I found a tall, thin brute of a concierge who was as drunk as a fool and fighting with a woman—she must have been his wife, for she called him a blackguard!"

"Didn't she say anything else?"

"The old woman said: 'They've gone away, and we don't know where they are.'"

"But Violette—Violette——"

"The flower girl? Oh! I don't know what's the matter with her, poor girl, but for sometime past she's been as sad as can be; she never laughs now, she has changed completely! But bless my soul! perhaps she was unhappy because she didn't see you any more; you, who used to pass your days with her, all of a sudden you drop her, without even bidding her good-bye, so it seems! That's a very nice way to act! If I'd behaved like that, why it would have been all right! Nobody would have been surprised, but they'd have said: 'Oh! that Patatras! that's just like his tricks! Appear and disappear! like Rotomago in the marionette show.'—But you, Georget, a fellow as polite as you, with the manners of a solicitor's clerk! Really, I shouldn't have expected it of you."

While listening to his old comrade, Georget kept his eyes fixed on the flower girl, who was still arranging her flowers. But there came a moment when the girl raised her head and turned her eyes in Georget's direction. He was convinced that she had seen him, and instantly, dragging Chicotin away, he forced him to leave the boulevard, saying in a choking voice:

"Come, come! Let's not stay here; she may have seen me, and I don't want her to think that I still take pleasure in looking at her, in thinking about her; she would make sport of me again, and I won't have it. Come, Chicotin."

"But, for heaven's sake, look out! How you go! You are dragging me in front of the omnibuses! If you want to get us run over, I beg to be excused! I prefer something different! I say, haven't we gone far enough?—But what is it that you have against Mamzelle Violette? You run away from her, you who used to be so dead in love with her! I don't understand it at all! What on earth has the girl done to you?"

"What has she done to me? She deceived me, she let me believe that she was virtuous and honest, that she was worthy of my love, in short; but it wasn't true; and she listened to one of those fine gentlemen who made love to her, and she went to his room!"

"She! the pretty flower girl a hussy! Nonsense! It isn't true; I don't believe it! it's all talk!"

Georget was impressed by the assurance with which his friend contradicted him, and in the depths of his heart, he was conscious of a thrill of the keenest pleasure; then it was his turn to embrace Chicotin for what he had said; but he simply pressed his hand hard, as he muttered:

"You don't believe that of her. Ah, I was like you, I would not believe it; but if, in your presence, she had refused to deny such statements, you would be forced to believe! Listen, listen!"

And Georget gave his friend an exact account of what had happened the last time that he was on Boulevard du Château d'Eau.

Chicotin listened, shaking his head from time to time like a person who still doubts what he hears, and when his friend had ceased to speak, he cried:

"What does all that prove? That little squint-eyed villain,—and I'll smash him one of these days,—says a lot of nasty things about a girl who won't have anything to do with him! If he blackguards like that all the women who send him about his business, he will have his hands full."

"But that Jéricourt, that fashionable young man,—alas! he is not ugly, and you know very well that he made love to Violette!"

"Well, what then? He wasn't there, was he? He didn't say anything, confirm anything?"

"But Violette! Violette! When the little man told her that he had seen her go into his neighbor's room and come out rumpled and excited, she didn't say to him: 'You are a liar!'—If it hadn't been true, do you think that she wouldn't have contradicted that evil-tongued fellow and confounded him?"

"Oh, bless my soul! I don't know! You should ask her to explain it all to you."

"Ask her to explain—so that she could lie some more to me! Oh! I didn't need any explanation. Besides, she saw my grief, my despair, and she let me go away, she didn't say a word to justify herself. Come, Chicotin, do you still believe her innocent now?"

"Bless me! yes."

"Yes? Ah! if I could only think like you! I have been so unhappy since I have been unable to say everywhere that I love her! She is pale, she is sad, she is changed, and how can I find out what causes her sadness?"

"Wait! wait! I see someone yonder who can tell us better than anybody else the truth of the matter. Look, do you see that young man crossing the boulevard?"

"Monsieur Jéricourt! It is he! Let me go, Chicotin, I am going to speak to him."

"Not much! What will you say to him, I should like to know?"

"I don't know; but I will force him to tell me if he is Violette's lover."

"Force him! Can one force people to tell the truth? It is necessary that that should come natural to them. Come, let's follow Monsieur Jéricourt, let's not lose sight of him. When we are in a place where there are fewer people, I'll go to him and speak to him; he knows me. He don't suspect, however, that on two occasions it was him that I tried to throw down in front of the flower girl's booth; but then, that was a joke! As I have told you, I often used to do errands for him—I haven't done any for some time, I fancy that the funds are low—to his friend, the young lion Saint-Arthur. There's a fellow who's allowing himself to be stripped bare by little Dutaillis! What a number one canary he is!"

"Let us walk along faster, Chicotin; you must speak to him."

"Never fear, we won't lose sight of him. When the time comes, I'll ask him, as if it was a matter of no consequence, to tell me the truth about Mamzelle Violette; I'll tell him that I had an idea of marrying her. Then why shouldn't he tell me the truth? What interest would the man have in deceiving me?"

"What an excellent idea, Chicotin! Yes, yes, you must speak to him; I will keep out of the way, so as not to seem interested. Oh, go at once! go and speak to him!"

"I can't now; he's met someone, he's talking with a gentleman!"

"What a pity!"

"It only means a little delay; we will wait, we have plenty of time."

Monsieur Jéricourt, the dramatic author, had in fact fallen in with one of his confrères, and the gentlemen talked together, sometimes walking a few steps, then stopping, but continuing their conversation all the time. This lasted a long while. Georget was in despair, and Chicotin said:

"It must be that they are writing a play together; there's one of them who seems to be acting it, he gesticulates when he talks as if he was on the stage."

"They don't act as if they proposed to say good-bye."

"Well! if it's a play in five acts that they're composing, and if there's any tableaux in it——"

"Oh! mon Dieu! now they're going into a café! That is the last straw!"

"What do you expect? We can't prevent those gentlemen from wanting to take something. Suppose we go into the café too and take a petit verre?"

"No, Monsieur Jéricourt might notice us, and then he would see that we have followed him."

"You are right, and he wouldn't answer my questions; indeed, it's better that he shouldn't see you. Well, let's do sentry duty; it's a bore, but after all, in our business we often do it for others, and we can afford to be bored on our own account once in a way."

Jéricourt remained more than an hour in the café with the person whom he had met; then they came out, talked again a long while in front of the café, and finally separated.

"At last!" cried Georget, as they walked along Boulevard Beaumarchais, which Jéricourt had taken. "This time, Chicotin, you mustn't wait before speaking to this gentleman, until he has met somebody else."

"No, no; but still, I must choose my place. There are some places where one can talk better than others. Ah! he is turning into Rue Pas-de-la-Mule. I'll tackle him on Place Royale.—Yes, he's turning to the left. Wait here for me, Georget."

Chicotin ran after his customer, and Georget remained on the boulevard. Five minutes passed, which seemed an eternity to the young lover; then, as his comrade did not return, Georget went down the street to Place Royale, looked about in all directions, and finally discovered Chicotin under an arcade, talking to Jéricourt, who listened with a most contemptuous expression. Georget would have liked to hear what was being said; he walked a few steps toward them, but Chicotin saw him and made a very energetic sign which meant: "Clear out."

Georget took up a position farther away; he leaned against a pillar, and waited, putting his head out from time to time to see if his friend was coming. At last he saw Chicotin walking slowly toward him, his troubled expression denoting anything but good news. Georget ran to meet his comrade, crying out:

"Well! what is his answer? Tell me at once; I have been dying of impatience for an hour!"

"His answer? It wasn't worth while following him so far to listen to that!"

"Ah! I understand; Violette is guilty!"

"Well! according to what that gentleman says, he triumphed over the flower girl. When I said to him: 'Be kind enough, monsieur, to tell me something about Mamzelle Violette's virtue, because I know someone who desires to marry her,' he began to laugh in a sneering way, saying: 'Her virtue! the flower girl's virtue! Ah! this is charming! delicious!' and then a lot of stuff that I couldn't understand at all. However, I think he saw you, for he added: 'It's for your little friend that you are asking these questions.'—I replied: 'No, monsieur, it's for myself.'—At that he began to laugh again! How mad that made me, and how I would have liked to hit him, but that wouldn't have helped matters at all! Then he said: 'Only idiots believe in the virtue of these girls who make such a parade of prudery and cruelty. Violette came to my room of her own free will, and when a pretty girl comes to my room, everybody knows what that means; my reputation is established. Say that to the clown who is in love with her.'—And with that he turned on his heel and began to sing. Ah! that fellow is a miserable villain all the same, and I don't advise him to give me any more errands to do, or I'll take pains to make a mistake! I'll carry his notes to the husbands instead of giving them to their wives, and we'll see if that will make him laugh!—Well, Georget, you are unhappy, you long to cry! Come, come! deuce take it! Everything hasn't come to an end! You must be a man, you must show that you are no longer a little brat! As if a man should pass his life whining about a girl who has deceived him! Why, if we should cry every time a woman plays tricks on us, men would have red noses all the time, and that wouldn't be pretty. And then, after all, the girl never made you any promise, you told me so yourself; she was free to give her heart where she chose!"

Georget wiped his eyes, faltering:

"Yes, you are right, Chicotin. Violette was free, and I have no right to blame her. I am a great fool to grieve so, for after all you have told me nothing new; but you see, when I saw this morning how pale and changed she was, I imagined—oh! a lot more foolish things; and then you yourself told me that I was wrong to suspect her."

"Why, I would have put my hand in the fire over that girl's virtue! That was my idea of her!"

"Oh! I don't blame you, Chicotin; on the contrary, I love you for it."

"And where are you living now? You've left Paris."

"Yes, I am at Nogent-sur-Marne, on a beautiful place, belonging to Monsieur Malberg, a man who has been very kind to my mother and me. We want nothing there; on the contrary, we are very fortunate."

"Do wipe your eyes; come, don't cry like that!"

"I am done, I won't cry any more; I am going back to Nogent, and I shall never come to Paris again; it makes me too unhappy to see her, and to think that I mustn't love her. No, I shall not come here again. I swore that I wouldn't, when I went away before; but I will keep my oath now."

"And you will do well. I will go to see you at Nogent—that ain't against the law, is it?"

"Oh, no! do come; but you mustn't mention her to me, you mustn't tell me anything about her; I don't want to know what she is doing."

"Never fear! bigre! I won't be the one to tell you things again that make you feel so bad. Come, wipe your nose and don't think any more about her. Mon Dieu! there's no lack of pretty girls, they're a kind of seed that grows everywhere, like weeds; you can find them in the suburbs as well as in Paris; I'm sure that there are plenty at Nogent, but I'll bet that you haven't looked for them yet?"

"No, I haven't thought of it."

"We'll look for them together, and I will hunt up one able to make you forget all the flower girls in Paris."

"Yes, I will love another, I will love several others!"

"That's the talk; you must love 'em in bunches! In that way, if there's one of them who plays tricks on you, you can console yourself right away with another."

"You will come, won't you, Chicotin? you promise to come? But not to talk to me about her. What difference does it make to me now whether she is pale or red, whether she is sad or merry? Mon Dieu! it's a matter of indifference to me now; I snap my fingers at her, I don't propose to take any further interest in her. When a girl behaves as she has done, she doesn't deserve anybody's interest, does she, Chicotin?"

"No, no! blow your nose again. I'll go to see you, that's agreed; you see, I'm my own master; to be sure, I have my gouty gentleman, who gives me something to do sometimes, but not every day; I haven't been able to find the Baronne de Grangeville, but that isn't my fault. By the way, some time ago weren't you also looking for somebody for your Monsieur Malberg? It was Violette who told me that one day when——"

"Violette! Violette! Did she mention me to you?"

"Ah! what a stupid turkey I am! Here I am talking about her now! I wish I'd bitten my tongue out!"

"Mon Dieu! it isn't a crime, after all, Chicotin. Besides, it must have been long ago, when she loved me a little, when she was fond of me; for she was, I am perfectly sure of it."

"Well, it's all over now! You were looking for somebody, that's all! and that was why we never met."

"That is true, but I looked in vain, I could not find that Monsieur de Roncherolle in Paris."

"Monsieur de—what name did you say?"

"Monsieur de Roncherolle."

"Well, on my word! that is a good one! Is that the man you looked for so long in vain?"

"Yes, can it be that you know where to find him?"

"Do I know! why, it's my gouty gentleman; he set me to find a lady. Ah! he looks to me like an old rake! but swell, and generous, though it seems he's ruined."

"And this gentleman's name is De Roncherolle?"

"Exactly; and I had a bouquet to carry from him—indeed, he bought it of Violette."

"Of Violette?"

"Confound it! I am getting to be as talkative as a magpie, and as stupid as a kettle!"

"Does that gentleman know Violette too?"

"Why, no, he knows her just as everybody may know a person who sells flowers; he bought a bouquet of her and paid for it, that's all."

"And his name is De Roncherolle?"

"Yes, yes; how many times must I tell you that?"

"And he lives——"

"In a small furnished lodging house on Rue de Bretagne, in the Marais; I don't know the number, but you can find it easily enough."

"Thanks, Chicotin, thanks! At last I am going to be able to be of some service to Monsieur Malberg; he was so anxious to find that gentleman; I must go at once and tell him. But mon Dieu! it just occurs to me—what time is it now?"

"The clock on Saint-Paul's just struck six."

"Six o'clock! and monsieur told me to be at the corner of the Boulevard and Rue d'Angoulême at five."

"It will hardly be possible for you to be there."

"No matter, we must run; come, Chicotin, quick!"

The desire to please his benefactor had banished from his mind for a moment the pretty flower girl's image. He ran at the top of his speed to the place which the count had appointed, and Chicotin followed him, saying from time to time:

"Sapristi! we are going at a lively pace! If a horse dealer should see us, he would enter us for the races on the Champs-de-Mars; we would beat all the ponies!"

The two young men arrived at the place appointed, but Georget could not see his master.

"Wait here," he said to his friend; "I am going to our house, and I shall be able to find out there if Monsieur Malberg has gone back; wait."

Georget went to the house where he used to live. He found Baudoin's wife, who by an extraordinary chance was sober, and who said to him:

"Monsieur Malberg came here to ask if you were here, but it was three-quarters of an hour ago; he was in a cab, and he didn't even get out; he probably started for Nogent right away."

Georget returned to his comrade.

"Monsieur went to the house to look for me, then he went away; of course it wasn't his place to wait for me. So I must start at once, and I will soon be there."

"Are you going on foot?"

"Yes, I can go faster than the public carriages."

"I will be your escort as far as Vincennes, but on condition that we don't run so fast as we did just now. Now that your master has gone ahead, it won't make any difference whether you arrive half an hour sooner or later; and if he scolds you, you have something to tell him that will restore his good humor."

"Oh, he never scolds.—Come, Chicotin, let us start."

"What on earth are you doing? We are on Boulevard du Temple, and you are starting off toward Porte-Saint-Martin to go to Vincennes!"

"Ah! you are right; I was thinking of something else, and I made a mistake."

"All right; come, file left, and let's shake out our legs; it's lucky I'm here to start you on the right road."

XXVII
A RESEMBLANCE

The Comte de Brévanne had a reason for going to Paris, but he did not wish to confide to anyone the purpose of his journey; having completed his visit, he was driven, about five o'clock, to Boulevard du Temple, near Rue d'Angoulême, and there he looked about for Georget, who, intent upon following Monsieur Jéricourt, had forgotten his appointment with the count. The latter, without alighting from his carriage, drove to his city home, where the concierge informed him that Georget had not called.

"I can guess where he probably is, and what has made him forget the appointment," thought Monsieur de Brévanne. "Driver, take me to the flower market on Boulevard Saint-Martin."

The driver whipped up his horse and the count said to himself:

"Here is an opportunity to see this girl who is so pretty, and who has turned my poor Georget's head; I will wager that he is within a few steps of the flower girl's booth, and that he can't make up his mind to go away. A boy loves so earnestly at eighteen! and this poor fellow's heart is too soft; he will be unhappy for a long while if I do not succeed in curing him. But how? First of all, I must find out whether this girl is really a bad girl."

The count left his carriage at the corner of the boulevard, and entered the flower market, saying:

"How shall I know Mademoiselle Violette? Why, of course, from Georget, whom I shall probably see hovering about her booth."

And Monsieur de Brévanne walked along, examining all the flower dealers. He saw some who were old and others who were not pretty. Beauty is a rarer thing than is generally supposed. Go into a theatre, and turn your opera glass in all directions: sometimes out of six hundred women in the audience, you will not find a single one who is really beautiful. Let us not be surprised at the vast number of conquests that pretty women make, for their number is very, very small.

The count walked on, not surprised at not seeing Georget, as there seemed to be no fascinating flower girls. But as he drew near the Château d'Eau, a lovely face instantly attracted his eyes. It belonged to a flower girl, and she was probably the one he sought. Georget was not there, however; but the girl was so lovely that it was impossible that there could be another among the dealers in flowers that could be compared with her.

Monsieur de Brévanne stopped in front of the flower girl, and gazed at her with an interest which became deeper with every moment; as he scrutinized her features, he was conscious of an emotion which he could not comprehend at first; the girl reminded him of someone; he searched his memory for a moment, but it did not take long to decide whose portrait he saw in the girl.

"What an extraordinary resemblance!" said the count to himself, his eyes still fastened upon Violette's face, for it was her booth at which he had stopped. "This girl has all Lucienne's features, but Lucienne's features when I was paying court to her, when she was not my wife; only, Lucienne had a merry expression, a smile always on her lips, and this girl has a melancholy look, her brow is careworn; but probably she is not always thus. Is it a delusion of my senses? No, that profile, that nose, the outlines of the face—it is impossible for two persons to resemble each other more closely. And is this the Violette with whom Georget is in love? It must be she; but no matter, I must make certain."

The count walked to the flower girl's booth, picked up a bunch of roses and asked the price. Violette replied, and her voice made a profound impression upon the count, for that too was his wife's. He bent so piercing a glance upon the girl that she was confused and lowered her lovely eyes.

"I beg pardon, mademoiselle," said the count, as he paid for his roses; "but perhaps you can assist me in finding the person for whom I am looking; it is a young flower girl named Violette."

"Violette—why, I am Violette, monsieur."

"Ah! are you she?"

"There is nobody else of that name in this market."

"Oh! I believe you; indeed, I suspected that you must be the one."

"What do you wish of me, monsieur?"

"It will seem strange to you, mademoiselle, but I was looking for you in order to find another person."

"I don't understand you, monsieur."

"I will explain myself: I have with me now, at my place in the country, a young fellow who used to be a messenger, and whose stand was on this boulevard."

Violette, who instantly flushed crimson, exclaimed:

"You must mean Georget, monsieur."

"Yes, his name is Georget."

"In that case, monsieur, you must be the gentleman of whom he has told me so much good: that Monsieur Malberg, who was so kind to him when his mother was ill, who gave him money, and——"

"I am Monsieur Malberg," replied the count, hastening to put an end to the girl's eulogium; "but it's Georget, not I, of whom we are speaking; he came to Paris with me to-day, and he made an appointment with me at five o'clock, to return to Nogent, where my country house is. I am surprised at his lack of punctuality, and I thought that I might find him at this market. You have not seen him, mademoiselle?"

"I beg pardon, monsieur, I did see him for a moment, but it was more than two hours ago. He was over there, opposite me; I don't know whether he had been there long, but when I looked at him, when he saw that I saw him, he instantly disappeared, and I haven't seen him since then."

"And he didn't speak to you?"

"Oh, no! he doesn't speak to me now, monsieur."

As she said this, Violette's voice changed, she heaved a deep sigh, and her eyes filled with tears.

The count was touched; as he listened to the girl, he did not tire of gazing at her with a close scrutiny which would have alarmed her if she had not been at that moment engrossed by the thought of Georget.

"Is your mother still living, mademoiselle?" the count suddenly asked; and Violette, surprised by a question which had no connection with Georget, faltered:

"No, monsieur, no, I have no mother.—Did Georget tell you that he knew me, monsieur?"

"Yes, yes, he told me that.—Is it long since you lost her?"

"Why, monsieur, it is several weeks now since I have seen him; so he is in the country with you, is he, monsieur?"

"Georget? yes, he is with me. But I was talking about your mother; I was asking you if you lost her when you were young?"

"My mother? why, I never knew her, monsieur; I am a poor girl, deserted by her parents; and I owe the position that I have to-day to a kind-hearted woman who sold flowers on this same spot."

"Ah! I understand," replied the count, thinking that the girl had been brought up at the Foundling Hospital. "I beg your pardon, I am sorry that I asked you that question; I should be terribly distressed to cause you pain; I must seem very inquisitive to you, but your features remind me strongly of someone whom I once knew very well."

"Oh! you haven't offended me, monsieur; I ask nothing better than to answer you; I was so anxious to know you, since I knew how kind you had been to Georget."

"How old are you?"

"I am eighteen and a half, monsieur; I shall be nineteen in three months, I believe."

"That is strange!"

"Is Georget very happy at your place in the country, monsieur? Does he never come to Paris, he who formerly could not pass a day without walking on the boulevard? To be sure, in those days he used to speak to me, he used to talk with me, and I had to scold him very often, to make him go to work; and now he never looks at me, or else he has such a contemptuous expression, and all because someone told him something about me—as if he should have believed it! Ah! if anyone told me that Georget had stolen, or that he had done anything mean, would I believe it?—I beg your pardon, monsieur, but does he ever speak to you of me? Do you think he has forgotten me altogether?"

For several moments the count had not been listening to the flower girl; he was preoccupied, absorbed by his memories, and he did not hear what she said to him. At last, abruptly driving away the thoughts that beset him, he exclaimed:

"I am a madman! just because of a resemblance, such as nature often produces, I must needs imagine—Adieu, mademoiselle, adieu! once more, pray excuse my curiosity."

And the count hastened away, without answering the last questions of the pretty flower girl, who was more depressed than ever, as she looked after him, saying to herself:

"He wouldn't answer what I asked him about Georget; perhaps he told him not to. To be despised, when one has nothing to blame oneself for! that is horrible! and yet, I feel in the bottom of my heart that the main thing is to have one's conscience clear. I have nothing to reproach myself for, and some day they will reproach themselves for having made me so wretchedly unhappy."

The count entered his carriage and started for Nogent. But on the way, his mind was full of that extraordinary resemblance, and the young flower girl's face constantly returned to his thoughts.

In vain did Georget make all possible haste, he did not reach Nogent until fully two hours after the count. Chicotin left his comrade on the outskirts of Vincennes, panting for breath, exhausted and dying with thirst, because his friend would not consent to enter a wine-shop for refreshment, as that would have delayed them. He shook hands with Georget, saying to him:

"My dear boy, I am very glad I came with you, but I've had enough; if I went any farther I should have the pip, and I believe I should break in two. Deuce take it! you have a way of walking that leaves cabs and omnibuses nowhere. Au revoir; I'll call and say good-day to you at Nogent, but I shall go all alone, and take my own time walking; I prefer that way."

Georget presented himself before his master, decidedly shamefaced; he was afraid of being scolded because he was not on hand punctually at the place which his patron had appointed; but the count simply said to him:

"As I didn't find you at the place I mentioned, I concluded that you had forgotten the time at the flower market, with the pretty flower girl, and I went there to look for you."

"You went there, monsieur? Did you see Violette?"

"Yes, I saw her and talked with her."

"You talked with her? Ah! I didn't speak to her! With one of my old comrades, named Chicotin, who wouldn't believe that Violette had behaved badly, I followed that Monsieur Jéricourt, the man to whose rooms she—she went; and as Chicotin knows that man, he begged him to tell us the truth about the flower girl. As I expected, he confirmed what I had already heard."

"It's a pity, for that girl is very interesting, and I discovered in her features a resemblance to a person who was very pretty also—long ago!"

"Oh! isn't Violette lovely, monsieur? I told you so! And—excuse me if I ask you a question—but what did she have to say to monsieur?"

"She talked about you, my boy."

"About me! about me! why on earth did she speak of me, when she doesn't love me and has made me so unhappy? Why does she think of me, when another man has her love, when she did not care for mine, which was so true, so sincere? Is it to make me unhappy again? is it to make me still more desperate, that she speaks of me? I don't want her to talk about me, I will tell her not to!"

"Come, come, be calm, Georget; you are not reasonable, my friend; and I think that I shall do well not to let you go to Paris again."

"Forgive me, monsieur; you are right to scold me.—Mon Dieu! to think that I hurried back so fast, because I had good news to tell monsieur, and here I have forgotten all about it and haven't told him! It is all Violette's fault, you see, monsieur; she upsets my wits, she makes me forget everything; it is worse than sickness, monsieur!—And she talked about me?"

"Well, Georget, as you have thought of it at last, what is the news that you have to tell me?"

"Monsieur, I haven't forgotten that sometime ago you employed me to find the residence in Paris of a person whom you wished to find; it was a Monsieur de Roncherolle, wasn't it, monsieur?"

At the name of Roncherolle, the count's face instantly lighted up, and he seized Georget's arm, exclaiming:

"Yes, yes, it was he! Well, go on—what do you know?"

"I know that gentleman's address, at last."

"You know it?"

"Yes, monsieur.—Mon Dieu! if I had happened to mention it sooner to Chicotin, my old comrade, I should have known it a long while ago. He is that gentleman's messenger, he works for him."

"And his address?"

"Monsieur de Roncherolle lives on Rue de Bretagne, in the Marais, in a furnished lodging house. He doesn't know the number, but as the street is short, it will be easy to find."

"Rue de Bretagne, in the Marais,—a furnished lodging house?"

"Yes, monsieur, that is right."

"So I have found him at last!" murmured the count, intensely excited.

"If I should go this evening—but no, it is too late. He would not admit me perhaps. But to-morrow morning—yes, I will see him to-morrow."

"What could Violette have had to say to you about me, monsieur?" faltered Georget, walking toward his master; but he simply pointed to the door and said: "Leave me," in a tone which permitted no reply.

Poor Georget left the room, disconcerted, and saying to himself:

"It is strange! I thought I should make him very happy by giving him that gentleman's address; but it seems to have produced a contrary effect."

XXVIII
THE EDUCATION OF A PARROT

Let us return to Monsieur de Roncherolle, whom we left in his little lodging house in the Marais.

When the gout left him at rest, that gentleman usually left his room about noon, and did not return until midnight, sometimes later; always cursing the dimly-lighted staircase, his wretchedly-kept apartment, and the servants who performed their duties inefficiently; and he ordinarily finished his complaints by saying:

"But, after all, as I can't hire any better lodgings, I must make the best of it, I must be a philosopher. I can no longer attract women, I have squandered my money, and with what little I have left I still manage to lose at cards. Such infernal luck! Louis XIV was right when he said to the Maréchal de Villeroi: 'At our age, a man has no luck!'—Ah! ten thousand devils! what would he have said if he had had the gout?"

But one morning, Monsieur de Roncherolle, finding that he was unable to put his left foot to the floor, was compelled to remain in his room, reading a great deal to pass the time away, and sleeping when the gout would allow.

Stretched out in the so-called armchair à la Voltaire, with his diseased foot on a cushion and wrapped in flannel, Monsieur de Roncherolle had been sleeping a few moments when a shrill, piercing shriek and a number of words uttered in a voice like Mr. Punch's, woke him abruptly. Then an ordinary human voice, much too loud for that of a neighbor, however, uttered these words:

"Very good, Coco, very good; you have plenty of voice, my friend; I know perfectly well that you can talk, for I heard you at your owner's café, and that is why I bought you. Now the question is to learn what I want you to say, and you will learn it, won't you, Coco?"

"Good-day, Monsieur Brillant!"

"Good-day, my friend, good-day! you say that very well; but I am not Monsieur Brillant, I am Saint-Arthur, De Saint-Arthur."

"Good-day, Monsieur Brillant!"

"Come, come, Coco, that isn't it; now listen: Dutaillis is lovely! applaud, clap Zizi!—There, that's what you must say; it's a little long perhaps, but you can learn it half at a time. Attention: Dutaillis is lovely!"

"Good-day, Monsieur Brillant!"

"Sapristi! you will make me angry, Coco."

"Cré coquin! you make me sick! oh! what a fool!"

"Aha! he swears; you swear! all right; that is quite amusing, but it isn't enough for me. Dutaillis is lovely."

"Oh! what a fool!"

"Applaud, clap Zizi!"

"Good-day, Monsieur Brillant!"

"Corbleu! morbleu! I will swear, too, if you make me angry."

"You make me sick, Monsieur Brillant!"

"Dutaillis is lovely!"

"You make me sick!"

"Applaud, clap Zizi!"

Roncherolle, who had been obliged to listen to this dialogue, not without cursing and swearing at his new neighbor, interposed at this point by striking the partition with his cane, and shouting at the top of his lungs:

"Ten thousand thunders! ten thousand millions of devils! is this going to last much longer? Haven't you nearly finished, my dear neighbor and Master Parrot? Monsieur Coco and Mademoiselle Dutaillis! do you know that I am the one who will clap you, if you go on braying as you are doing? and I should have done it long ago if I could have moved!"

These words imposed silence upon the dandified little Saint-Arthur and his parrot; for it was in fact the young dandy, Jéricourt's friend and the lover of the little actress of Boulevard du Temple, who had become within a few days Monsieur de Roncherolle's neighbor; the young man's extravagance had forced him to leave very abruptly a charming little apartment on Rue de Bréda, which he had furnished in the very latest style. But because he gratified every day the expensive whims of Mademoiselle Zizi, Saint-Arthur had forgotten to pay his furniture dealer and his upholsterer; those gentlemen lost patience, demanded their money, then set the bailiffs to work; whereupon our former travelling salesman consulted his wallet, and found that he had only eight thousand francs remaining, whereas he owed eleven thousand. He said to himself: "If I stay in this apartment, they will take my money away from me; I prefer to abandon my furniture to my creditors; they can almost pay themselves with it, and I shall still have what remains to enjoy myself with. I will tell Zizi that I have moved to the Marais for family reasons, in order to be nearer an aunt whose heir I am. However, it makes little difference to her where I live, provided that I still take her to dinner at a restaurant, and provided that I am generous to her."

As a result of this reasoning, Beau Saint-Arthur had hired an apartment in the house on the Rue de Bretagne. It was on the same floor as Monsieur de Roncherolle's, and it was three times as large; and as the young dandy retained there, as everywhere, the habit of making a show; as he dressed three times a day; as he ordered dainty breakfasts, drank champagne, and carried a cane made of an elephant's tusk, the people of the house had the highest esteem for him, looked upon him as an important personage, and would gladly have exchanged a dozen tenants like the gouty gentleman for a single one like Monsieur de Saint-Arthur.

"He has shut up at last! that's very lucky!" said Roncherolle to himself, stretching himself out in his reclining chair. "Parbleu! I seem to have a new neighbor as to whom I must felicitate the master of this house. If that had gone on, I couldn't possibly have stood it. The man must be an idiot to try to teach the parrot such stuff.—I shall meet him soon enough."

And Roncherolle yawned, closed his eyes, and was dozing again when suddenly the noise began anew beside him.

"Dutaillis is lovely! Come now! Dutaillis is lovely!"

"Good-day, Monsieur Brillant!"

"You beast!—Applaud, clap Zizi!"

"Zi—Zi—Zan—Zan—Monsieur Brillant. You make me sick!"

"And so do you me, you beast!"

"Par la mordieu! and you're a beast yourself!" cried Roncherolle, sitting up in his chair and grasping his cane again and hammering on the partition and on the floor. "Ah! you have the effrontery to keep on with your parrot lessons! Dare to begin again, and I will twist your pupil's neck, and throw his master out of the window! What a house! What service they have! Here I've been pounding and ringing for an hour, and no one comes! I say there! waiter! chambermaid!"

Again Saint-Arthur and his parrot held their peace. But the little dandy also jerked all the bell-cords that he could find in the three rooms of which his apartment consisted.

At that jangling of bells, the waiter and the chambermaid hastened up to their tenants on the third floor. The chambermaid no longer entered Roncherolle's room, because he had several times told her to go and wash herself, and then to go to the scrubber's. The waiter, who was called the "young man," and who had worked in the house for more than twenty years, was probably quite fifty-five years old. He was a man of medium height, but endowed with a very coquettish embonpoint, and a prominent abdomen, which, however, did not prevent him from having a wrinkled face, and a small wig which did not come down to his ears, and which he was constantly occupied in jerking to the right or to the left. Having never worn any other costume than a pair of short trousers and a small round jacket, like the waiters at restaurants, Beauvinet—that was the "young man's" name—always wore a white apron, one half of which he turned up to conceal the other half, when it had ceased to be spotlessly clean. All in all, Beauvinet was more presentable than the chambermaid and it was he who answered Roncherolle's bell when he rang.

So Beauvinet presented himself before the gouty gentleman, his apron turned up, and pulling his wig over his right ear, which necessarily caused the left side to rise; but one ordinarily obeys the most urgent need, and it was only on extraordinary occasions that Beauvinet pulled both sides of his wig at once; even then he dared not do it except with great precaution, because one day when he indulged in that manœuvre, he had heard an ominous cracking on the top of his head, as if his wig were about to be transformed into a crown; and the perquisites of his position were too small to allow him to purchase a new wig.

"Monsieur rang, monsieur knocked, monsieur called, I believe?" said Beauvinet, showing his bloated and wrinkled face.

"Sacrebleu! yes, I did ring and I did knock; I would have set the house on fire if there had been any fire on the hearth."

"Fire! mon Dieu! is monsieur very cold? Why, it is warm——"

"Hold your tongue! and answer."

"Why, monsieur——"

"And try to let that shocking wig of yours alone; it annoys me to see you always jerking that sorry thing."

"Why, monsieur——"

"Silence! Who is it that lives here, in this apartment next to me? Is it a new neighbor that I have there?"

"Yes, monsieur, that fine apartment has only been let a week."

"To whom?"

"To a very fashionable, a very distinguished young man, who dresses as if he went to the opera every day, and who spends money——"

"Ah! I understand why you call him very fashionable; what is the man's name?"

"Monsieur Alfred de Saint-Arthur."

"Bigre! that's a magnificent stage name! no one ever has such names except in farces or at the Gymnase."

"Beg pardon, monsieur, I don't understand."

"You are not obliged to. Listen, Beauvinet: your Monsieur Saint-Arthur, or Saint-Alfred, no matter which, has behaved very well for a week, as I didn't know that I had a neighbor; but why in the devil has he taken it into his head to have a parrot to-day, and to teach him to talk?"

"Beg pardon, monsieur, but it isn't a parrot that the gentleman brought home this morning, it is a caca—a cato—mon Dieu! he told me the name——"

"A cockatoo, no doubt?"

"Yes, monsieur, that's the name; he is a fine creature, I tell you, with a thing on his head so that you'd swear he's a turkey with his comb."

"It belongs to the family of parrots. Well, this fellow and his bird make a frightful racket, which prevents me from sleeping; and when one has the gout, when one is in pain, one has no comfort except in sleep. I lost my temper too much just now, perhaps, but do you go from me and tell my neighbor that I am confined to my room by this infernal disease, and that I beg him, out of regard for my plight, to be kind enough not to give lessons to his bird so long as I am obliged to keep my room; he can be certain that I shall go out as soon as I am able to walk, and then he may pour out his heart to his bird at his leisure. If this Monsieur de Saint-Arthur is a decent man and has any breeding, he will comply with my request; if not—we will see.—You understand, Beauvinet? Now go, and let your wig alone."

While this was taking place in Monsieur de Roncherolle's room, Joséphine, the chambermaid, had answered Saint-Arthur's bell.

"What does this mean, girl?" he asked her; "isn't a man free to do what he pleases in his own room, in your house? When I pay cash, and I believe I do pay cash, can't I amuse myself by teaching sentences, droll remarks, to my cockatoo?"

"I should say so, monsieur! who would prevent you, pray? Certainly, monsieur is master in his own room; and he can do whatever comes into his head, without having anyone else interfere; and we are too flattered to have monsieur for a tenant, and monsieur must see that we come at once as soon as he rings."

"In that case, girl, why does a person, who evidently lives on this same landing, venture to knock on the wall, to yell like a deaf man, to swear and to threaten, when I am teaching Coco to talk? I bought the bird with no other purpose; as soon as he can talk well, I expect to present him to an actress, a friend of mine who adores me; and I do not propose to stop educating him because of a neighbor."

"What, monsieur! that gouty old fool in the next room had the face to call and knock? Oh! that don't surprise me, that man ain't afraid to do anything. Such a wretched tenant! how I wish he would leave us! he complains of everything in the house. To listen to him, you would think that he had always lived in châteaux; but you mustn't pay any attention to him, monsieur; and above all things, don't put yourself out. In the first place, you hire an apartment three times dearer than his, consequently you have the right to make three times as much noise."

"That reasoning strikes me as mathematical; but what sort of man is this neighbor of mine?"

"What sort of man? Bless my soul! he's the kind that has the gout; he growls and swears and yells; he's mad because he can't go out; and I have an idea that he'd like to raise the deuce still, although he's too old for that now; but he can't move, and that makes him angry."

"What! this neighbor of mine is old and helpless, and he dares to threaten me! Upon my word! that is too funny; it is really amusing! I believe that the wisest way is to laugh at him."

"Oh, yes! monsieur; but if you want me to go and speak to the old grumbler——"

"No, no, my dear, it isn't necessary; I don't need any intermediary in this sort of thing; I know how to handle it myself. Go, go; we will arrange matters with the neighbor."

And the dandified little Saint-Arthur, overjoyed to learn that his neighbor was old and ill, drew himself up and dismissed the chambermaid, pacing the floor of his room with a lordly swagger.

The servant had not been gone two minutes when Beauvinet knocked lightly at the door, then opened it and entered Saint-Arthur's room, saying:

"May I come in?"

"What is it now? what do you want of me?" asked the young dandy, scrutinizing Beauvinet's wrinkled face.

"Monsieur, it's me, Beauvinet."

"You! I don't know you."

"No, because Joséphine asked the privilege of blacking monsieur's boots; but I also belong to the house."

"In the first place, my dear fellow, nobody blacks my boots, because I only wear patent leathers; and they are never blacked; that was a stupid remark of yours; go on."

"I was saying to monsieur that I belonged in the house."

"What are you in the house?"

"I am the young man, monsieur."

"Ah! you are the young man, are you? how long have you been the young man?"

"More than twenty years, monsieur."

"You are an old young man then?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Well, what do you want of me?"

"Monsieur, your neighbor in the next room, Monsieur de Roncherolle, sent me."

"Aha! it was the old fellow in the next room who sent you? Indeed! I am interested to know what message this gentleman who doesn't like parrots sends me. He sent you to apologize to me, I suppose?"

"Yes, monsieur, yes; the gentleman told me to tell you that he knew he lost his temper too much just now, that it was the fault of the condition he's in."

"Ah! he admits it; that's lucky; it was time!"

"And then, as he has the gout, and as he would like to sleep all the time, the gentleman told me to ask you not to teach your cockatoo so long as he's sick; but as soon as he goes out, then you can play with your bird some more."

"Upon my word, this is too much! I say, is this old fellow a downright idiot? I mustn't teach Coco to speak during the day, because my gentleman wants to sleep! Why, when a person wants to sleep all the time, he should go and live with mountain rats. And he thinks that I am going to gratify him——"

"You understand, monsieur, I am simply repeating what he told me to tell you, being the young man of the house. What shall I say to the gentleman from you?"

"Nothing. I will take my answer myself; yes, this gouty old fellow shall see me, he shall know whom he is dealing with; for it is time to put an end to all this nonsense."

"Ah! monsieur means himself to see his neighbor?"

"Yes, young man. I will teach the fellow a thing or two! So I must not instruct my parrot except when that gentleman has gone out! that is delicious! it is worth putting on the stage! I will tell it to Zizi, and she will have a good laugh.—Go, young man; I have no further need of you."

Saint-Arthur cast a glance at his mirror, to see that nothing was lacking in his costume, strove to assume a martial air, and when he had achieved it, took his pretty ivory cane and went to his neighbor's room. Roncherolle was trying again to sleep; he was on the point of succeeding, when he heard the door on the landing open and close violently; he always left it unlocked, so that people could come in without his having to get up.

"Who's there? Who in the devil is making that racket?" cried the sick man, jumping up. "Everybody seems bent on preventing me from sleeping to-day! Is that the way to shut a door?"

"Apparently it is my way of shutting one," said Saint-Arthur, entering the room with his hat on, and walking toward Roncherolle without even bowing to him. The invalid opened his eyes and began to scrutinize the personage who had entered his presence in that unceremonious way.

"You stare at me with an expression of surprise, Monsieur le Dormeur! To be sure, you don't know me. I will begin by telling you that my name is Alfred de Saint-Arthur, and that I live here beside you, in a very pretty apartment, which does not resemble this; in fact, that I am the master or the owner of the cockatoo which you heard just now."

"I suspected as much; just from looking at you, I could have guessed that you were the master of the parrot; for master's the word, as you teach him his tricks."

"Ah! very pretty! monsieur is pleased to jest, I believe. Well, we will have a laugh; I came for that purpose. I say, Monsieur de la Marmotte—for a man who wants to sleep all the time may properly be classed with the marmottes—I say, old fellow, you sent someone to me to tell me not to teach to talk the rare bird that I possess; the nasal tones of that creature bore you, fatigue you; he prevents you from going to by-by. That is most distressing, and I am really distressed by it. But, instead of ceasing my lessons to Coco, I propose to give them to him from morning to night, if I please. I have a right to do it! I am in my own apartment; and if you venture to hammer and knock on the partition again, to make me stop, I warn you that it will end badly for you, sacrebleu! because, deuce take it! I am not patient, and morbleu! and——"

Here Saint-Arthur paused, because his neighbor was eyeing him in such a peculiar way that it began to take away his self-possession.

"Have you finished?" asked Roncherolle, rolling his chair nearer to Saint-Arthur.

"Why, yes, I believe that I have said all that I had to say."

"Then it is my turn. In the first place, where did you think you were going, when you came in here?"

"Where did I think I was going? that's a funny question! Why, I thought that I could not have made a mistake; I knew that I was going to my neighbor's room."

"No, monsieur, when you came in here, you evidently thought that you were going into a stable, for you didn't bow and you kept your hat on your head."

"Oh! that is possible, monsieur, and——"

"When anyone comes into my room, monsieur, I propose, I demand that he shall take off his hat. Come! take yours off at once!"

"What! take my hat off? But suppose I——"

"Suppose you don't choose to? Well, in that case I will just take it off myself, and it won't take long!"

Roncherolle grasped his cane, raised it quickly, and aimed at his fashionable neighbor's head; but he, seeing the gesture, very quickly snatched off his hat, while a shudder of ill augury ran through his frame.

"Now I am going to answer your nonsense, for you haven't said anything else since you came in. I didn't send word to you that you mustn't teach your parrot. In the first place, I am too well-bred, monsieur, I know too much, to employ such terms to a man whom I suppose to be well-bred also; I sent to you a request to suspend your lessons while I am suffering from the gout, because that terrible disease often forces me to pass whole nights without sleep; so that it is very natural that I should wish to enjoy a little repose during the day; and instead of acceding to my request, which a courteous man would have done, monsieur enters my room as if it were a public square, he calls me his 'old man,' and a marmotte, and threatens me with his wrath if I venture to complain again!—Do you know, monsieur, that it is doubly cowardly to insult an old man who is ill and cannot defend himself?"

Little Saint-Arthur, who felt very ill at ease, and had lost all his swagger, replied in a faltering voice:

"But, monsieur, I don't know whether—I don't understand—I——"

"Well, monsieur, I will tell you something, and that is that you were not such a coward as you thought. That surprises you, doesn't it? But this is how it is: in the first place, I am not so old as I look; misfortune and disease age a man very rapidly, monsieur; and secondly, although caught by my one leg, I am in a condition to demand satisfaction for an insult, and you are going to have a proof of it."

Thereupon, rolling his chair to his desk, Roncherolle opened it and took out a pair of pistols, which he handed to his neighbor, saying:

"Look you, with these, we will sit, each at one end of the room, and blow each other's brains out as nicely as possible. Come, monsieur, take one; they are loaded; I am a far-sighted man, you see!"

Saint-Arthur had turned as pale as a turnip; he leaned against a piece of furniture to hold himself up, and glanced toward the door. But Roncherolle continued, raising his voice:

"Come, monsieur, take one and let us have done with it; you came to my room to laugh, you say; well, it seems to me that we are going to enjoy ourselves. What makes you look at the door like that? Can it possibly be that you would like to deprive me of your company? I warn you that that will not do you much good, for I will have my chair rolled to your room, I will roll it there myself if necessary, and I won't stir until you have given me satisfaction."

"Why, this old fellow is evidently an inveterate duelist!" said Saint-Arthur to himself, supporting himself on whatever came under his hand. Soon, seeing that retreat was impossible, he formed a heroic resolution, and going up to Roncherolle, he bowed humbly before him, saying in a voice which fright rendered almost touching:

"Monsieur, I am really ashamed of what I did; I am confused beyond words; I behaved like a hare-brained boy, like a poor—I may as well say it, like a blockhead. I can't imagine what I was thinking of; that is to say, yes, I do know,—I had wine at my breakfast, which I am not used to, and it must have gone to my head. I realize how badly I behaved, and I regret it; I withdraw the absurd remarks which I may have made to you, I withdraw them; in fact, I offer my apologies for all that has taken place; pray accept them and do not be offended with one who henceforth will devote all his efforts to be agreeable to you."

Roncherolle looked at the young man for a moment, then shook his head and said:

"Is it true that you were a little tipsy?"

"It is true that I was a good deal so; I drank six petits verres, and then I drank champagne."

"And you are not strong at that game, perhaps?"

"Not very strong."

"Ah! I could give you lessons in that."

"You know how to drink champagne?"

"I should say so! I know thirty-three different ways of emptying one's glass."

"Thirty-three ways! ah! that's the sort of thing I would like to know. So you are not angry with me any longer, neighbor?"

"I cannot be, as you have apologized."

"I repeat my apology."

"And if you had told me sooner that you were tipsy——"

"True, I should have begun with that when I entered the room. As for my parrot, never fear, my dear neighbor, you won't hear from him any more. I have a dressing room beyond my two rooms; that is a long distance from you, and if I close all the doors, I think that you will not be able to hear him talk."

"Very good, and on my side, I hope not to be confined to the house long. Then, as I seldom come home except to go to bed, you can teach your parrot to talk at your ease."

"My dear neighbor, I am overjoyed that this little discussion has afforded me the pleasure of making your acquaintance. I see that you are a man who has lived—when one knows thirty-three ways of drinking champagne!"

"Yes, it is true, I have lived, and very well—too well apparently, as they say that that's the cause of my gout."

"As soon as you are cured, I hope to dine with you; will you do me the honor to accept an invitation?"

"Why not? I have never refused an opportunity to enjoy myself, and I don't propose to do so now."

"I will take you to dinner with a fascinating woman, an actress on the boulevard. That will not offend you?"

"Offend me? far from it! in the old days, I would have invited you to dine with four."

"Bravo! bravissimo! I see that we are made to get along together; you are very jovial."

"I am much more so when I am not ill."

"Wait—just wait three minutes, if you please; I am going to make an experiment with Coco."

Saint-Arthur hastily left Roncherolle and went to his room where he was heard to close several doors. After a few moments he returned and asked:

"Well, did you hear?"

"What?"

"Did you hear my bird talking?"

"Not a sound!"

"Ah! victory! I took him into the little dressing room, beyond the two rooms, and there he will stay. I made him talk a great deal, in fact."

"Did he say: 'Dutaillis is lovely?'"

"No, he said: 'Good-day, Monsieur Brillant!' but I will teach him, I will persist, and so long as it doesn't inconvenience you——"

"I can't hear it at all now."

"Then it will go all by itself. Au revoir, my dear neighbor; overjoyed to make your acquaintance. You will allow me to come and inquire for your health?"

"Whenever you please."

"I shall please often. Au revoir then; at your service; don't move."

"Oh! there's no danger of that!"

"To be sure; I keep forgetting your gout; what a thoughtless creature I am!—Your servant."

Saint-Arthur bowed to the ground this time, then left the house, saying to Beauvinet, whom he passed on the way:

"I have seen the gentleman who rooms beside me, and he is a delightful man, a man of the greatest merit, a man whom I expect to see a great deal of; and sapristi! no one had better speak ill of him in my presence; whoever does so will have me to reckon with!"

The young man of the house was thunderstruck at these words, and in his effort to recover his wits, he pulled his wig over his left ear.

XXIX
A HIGH FLYER

Thus Saint-Arthur became, as to Monsieur de Roncherolle, a zealous, courteous, obliging, and above all, a very neighborly neighbor. The little dandy, seeing the gouty gentleman frequently, was astonished to find him possessed of much intelligence and joviality, with a piquant, original way of telling a story, and a memory abundantly supplied with comical, entertaining and sometimes rather risqué anecdotes; but in Saint-Arthur's eyes this last quality doubled their merit; he tried to remember some of the tales that Roncherolle had told him, and went off to repeat them to his mistress, who was greatly amused and said to him:

"My word! why, you know any number of funny stories now! it's amazing, my dear; do you know that you are really getting to be amusing; can it be that you have some wit of your own? Oh! how well you have concealed your capacity!"

"Why, yes, I have concealed it," replied Saint-Arthur, stroking his chin; "I'm concealing lots of other things, too."

"Oh! you surprise me more and more, my dear."

Roncherolle, being forced to keep his room, was not sorry someone should come to visit him; the nonsense of his little messenger made him laugh; the story of his new friend's bonnes fortunes diverted him mightily; and when Saint-Arthur said to him: "Don't you think that I am a fortunate mortal with the ladies?" he would reply with a slight shrug: "It's a fact that the ladies are very fond of men like you."

Saint-Arthur asked his neighbor several times to teach him some of his methods of drinking champagne; but Roncherolle simply smiled and replied:

"Those things can't be taught except at the table."

At last the gout entirely disappeared, and one day Saint-Arthur failed to find Roncherolle in his room; he was sorely disappointed, for his neighbor's witty conversation had become necessary to him; he retained some scraps of it now and then. It is always well to frequent people of intelligence, they allow themselves to be robbed so readily!

The little dandy rose early the next day, in order to find his neighbor before he went out; he caught him as he was leaving his bed and said to him:

"You are better, I see, as you go out now?"

"Thank God! did you expect me to remain in that old easy-chair forever?"

"No, of course not; I am delighted that you are better; but I missed you yesterday, because, when I talk with you, I always remember some of the funny little stories that you tell so well, and I amuse Zizi with them. Yesterday, I had nothing at all to tell her, and she called me stupid; that's just a way of speaking, you know——"

"I understand perfectly.—I am very sorry, but your charmer may find you stupid again to-day, for I have no inclination to keep my room, in order to tell you stories."

"And that isn't what I came to ask you to do, but something much better. Will you do us the honor to dine with us to-day?"

"Where?"

"At Bonvalet's, corner of Rue Chariot."

"Oh! I know Bonvalet's! I have often dined there."

"Well, does it suit you to-day?"

"It suits me very well."

"Ah! you delight me. There will be Zizi Dutaillis, you know."

"Yes, you have already told me that. I shall be enchanted to make her acquaintance; I have always been very fond of professional ladies."

"There will also be a friend of mine, an author—Monsieur Jéricourt; do you know him?"

"I never heard of him."

"He's a fellow of great talent, who will go a long way."

"Who says so? himself?"

"No, a newspaper that he writes for."

"Oh! that amounts to the same thing. However, I will give your friend credit for as much talent as you choose; I am of an obliging disposition."

"We will dine at half-past five; I know that it's bad form to dine so early, but it's on Zizi's account; she acts in the last play, and there is no fun in hurrying."

"All right! I promise to be punctual."

"Very good! By the way, you will teach me the thirty-three ways of drinking champagne, won't you?"

"You won't be able to learn all thirty-three at one sitting. That would be too great a risk to take. But we will do our best."

"That's right; we will learn as many as possible.—Until to-night."

At precisely half after five, Monsieur de Roncherolle, having donned his least threadbare coat and the one which fitted him best at the waist, a tight pair of trousers, a snow-white waistcoat, patent leather shoes, a black satin cravat tied in a dainty knot, and with his hat a little on one side, arrived at Bonvalet's, leaning not too heavily on his cane, and asked for Monsieur de Saint-Arthur's private room. A zealous waiter escorted him and opened the door of a pleasant room, just large enough for four people to be neither too crowded nor too much at their ease.

Mademoiselle Zizi Dutaillis was three-fourths reclining on a divan, toying with a lovely bouquet which her lover had just given her, and taking a flower from it now and then to put in her fair hair, after which she glanced at herself in a mirror. The young actress wore a bewitching pink and black costume, a medley of silk, velvet and lace, which strikingly resembled those of the famous Spanish dancers who were kind enough to come to Paris to introduce us to the charms of the genuine dances of their country. That costume was very becoming to the young woman, who, with her black eyes, her tiny mouth, her very dark eyelashes and her very light hair, was the most coquettish and saucy little minx that it was possible to find in the boulevard theatres.

Saint-Arthur, who was at the window, ran to meet Roncherolle.

"Ah! how good of you!" he cried; "you are a punctual man!"

"I never knew what it was to keep ladies waiting," said the newcomer, saluting Mademoiselle Zizi; she had not quitted her horizontal position when she saw the guest enter, and gave him an unceremonious little nod and said:

"Bonjour, monsieur."

"Mademoiselle Dutaillis," said the little dandy, taking his neighbor's hand and assuming a solemn expression, "I have the honor of presenting Monsieur de Roncherolle, my neighbor, who has been pleased to accept the invitation which—in your name as well as in mine—to have the pleasure——"

"Bah! that's enough! have you finished? You tire us with your speeches! Monsieur will present himself all right; we're here to have a spree and get a little tight. There's no need of making a lot of fuss to say that, is there, monsieur?"

"Bravo! that's the kind of a speech I like!" said Roncherolle, taking Zizi's hand and patting it; "and if I were more active, I would say also: this is the kind of woman I like!"

"Listen to that! you're not shy! You're an old rounder, you are; anyone can see that right away. You have made a fool of yourself for women, haven't you?"

"I glory in it; I have but one regret, and that is that I can't do it any more!"

"Do you hear, Alfred? Take monsieur for your model. Let his cane be your oriflamme! You will always find him on the path of glory!"

As she spoke, Zizi had taken possession of Roncherolle's cane; she thrust it into a mustard pot on the table and waved cane and mustard pot in the air. Roncherolle sank on a chair, laughing till the tears came; but Saint-Arthur cried out, because she had spattered him with the mustard, which he had received in the eye and on his waistcoat.

"Sapristi! take care, Zizi; see what you've done; you're spattering mustard on my waistcoat."

"What a calamity! Waistcoats can be cleaned, my friend."

"But you have also thrown some into my eye!"

"Eyes can be cleaned too."

"It stings me horribly."

"That will make your sight clearer; and perhaps you are going to see things you don't expect, which will dazzle you! So don't cry, but attend to the important business that brings us together—the grub! Have you given your order? I'm very hungry myself; and you, monsieur?"

"I am well disposed to vie with you."

"With a fork only?"

"Ah! be careful; your eyes are the best remedy for the gout, I believe."

"Oho! if I was sure of that, I'd apply for a patent for my eyes.—By the way, Frefred, what about that rare bird, that miraculous bird, you were to give me? When will he appear? Are we going to eat him roasted?"

"I should think not! That would be a great shame, for he is magnificent. But I am perfecting his education; I'll give him to you when he is able to say pretty things."

"I am sure that you are not teaching him anything at all."

"Oh! ask my neighbor; he'll tell you that it was my cockatoo's education that led to our acquaintance."

"That is the truth, belle dame; oh! you will possess a very knowing bird."

"That will be a change for me, as I have never had anything but canaries.—Come, Frefred, is the dinner ordered? I am to act to-night, you know—in the last piece luckily. I don't go on till half-past ten, but I must have time to dress first; and when you have just dined and have to hurry, it swells you out and you can't get into your dresses."

"The dinner is served; I am glad to believe, my diva, that you will be content."

"I flatter myself that I shall be; besides, it's the first time you have entertained monsieur, and you ought to make it a point of honor to let him see that you have some skill in ordering a little Balthazar. Ring for the waiter, my dear boy."

"But, you see, I—I asked Jéricourt to come, and he promised."

"Bah! I don't care a hang for your Jéricourt, who always keeps us waiting. Why did you have to invite him? I've had my fill of your Jéricourt for some time past! He puts on airs and calls everything detestable that others write. And sweet things his plays are, too! people stand in line to get tickets."

"Why, Zizi, I thought it would please you; formerly you were never satisfied if Jéricourt didn't dine with us."

"Oh! formerly—that may be! but formerly and to-day—there's half a century between the two.—Say, monsieur, ought we to wait for his friend, who's always loafing, but always keeps people waiting, to give himself importance? Just exactly like the people who are slightly known in art or literature, and who, the first time a new play is given, never come till they're sure it's begun, because then everybody has to move to let them get to their stalls. And they're convinced that everyone says: 'Ah! that's So-and-so; that's the famous author! that's the celebrated artist! see—he combs his hair in a way that shows his genius!'—But instead of the exclamations of admiration that they think they call forth as they pass, if they had sharper ears, they'd hear: 'Oh! what a nuisance! what a bore! to disturb everybody in the middle of an act! The devil take the fellow! He must be very anxious to show himself! but he isn't much to look at! It's just a little bit of self-advertising! And then!'—isn't that so, monsieur?"

"Why, do you know, fascinating Zizi, that you are a keen observer?"

"I don't know what I am, but I know that I have a tremendous appetite, and that I want to dine. It's five minutes to six. We have waited a long while already."

"I agree with you, a lady should never wait for a gentleman."

Saint-Arthur rang and the waiter served the dinner. They attacked the oysters, which they watered with an excellent chablis. From time to time the host exclaimed:

"I don't care, I'm surprised that Jéricourt doesn't come; I told him that he would dine with my honorable neighbor."

"You should have announced a neighbor of the other gender," said Roncherolle; "that would have been more likely to attract the gentleman."

"Never mind! never mind! let's go on eating! He'll come for dessert and we'll give him some nuts and raisins," said Zizi.

But just as the soup was served, Jéricourt appeared; and he scowled slightly when he saw that they had not waited dinner for him.

"I say! come on, you miserable slow-coach!" cried Saint-Arthur; "don't you ever mean to be punctual?"

"What difference does it make—when you don't wait for me?" retorted Jéricourt, with a bare salute to the company.

"Wait for you!" cried Zizi; "on my word! I think not! Catch us having pains in the stomach for monsieur!"

"My friend," said Alfred, "let me present Monsieur de Roncherolle, my neighbor."

Jéricourt bent his head slightly, with a patronizing glance at Roncherolle, whose costume probably seemed to him far behind the fashion of the day. The old gentleman, observing the arrogant air with which the man of letters saluted him, made haste to say to Saint-Arthur:

"I beg pardon, my dear neighbor, but I did not ask you to present me to monsieur. Present him to me, if you please—that is all right; but that I should be presented to him—that I don't like."

Saint-Arthur was dumfounded; Jéricourt compressed his lips and the little actress began to laugh, saying:

"You don't seem to be very strong in the matter of etiquette, Alfred; you'll never be appointed an ambassador, my boy!"

Jéricourt, observing that the strange guest was of a punctilious temper and familiar with good society, decided to take the thing jocosely; and he rejoined, bowing to Roncherolle:

"In truth, it was my place to be presented to monsieur, for he has the advantage of age."

"A melancholy advantage, is it not, monsieur? But one must needs accept it when it comes."

"Will you have some oysters, Jéricourt? I'll ring for the waiter."

"No, thanks, I don't eat oysters; I don't care about them any more."

"The deuce! you don't care about oysters! Why, I've seen the time when you adored them!"

"What a donkey you are, Alfred," cried Zizi, "to be surprised because tastes change!"

"Well! my tastes never change so far as food is concerned; I love oysters, I shall always care for them."

"Perhaps it's the oysters that care for you," said Jéricourt, helping himself to soup.

"Hum! this begins well," said Roncherolle to himself, filling the actress's glass with madeira, while she glared savagely at Jéricourt. That gentleman, as he ate his soup, glanced at the gentleman opposite from time to time, and said to himself:

"I know that man; this certainly isn't the first time that I've seen him; but where in the devil have I met him?"

Roncherolle, for his part, having recognized the man of letters at the first glance, smiled slyly as he submitted to be stared at, and continued to be most attentive to his fair neighbor, who said to him, eating for four all the while:

"You please me, you do! you're a good fellow! you're worth a deal more than all these youngsters! you're as young as they are, only you've been so longer!"

At last Jéricourt, unable to contain himself, said to his vis-à-vis:

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, it seems to you perhaps that I stare at you rather persistently."

"That flatters me, monsieur; I assume that you find me pleasant to look at."

"That is not just the reason, monsieur; the fact is that it seems to me that this is not the first time we have met."

"True, monsieur; and I recognized you instantly, when you entered the room."

"Be good enough then to remind me where it was."

"It was near here—at the Château d'Eau flower market; you were bargaining for a bouquet, as was an exceedingly ugly little fellow—a friend of yours, I think—and you did not make up your mind; whereupon I arrived and put an end to your hesitation by buying the bouquet;—do you remember now?"

"Yes, monsieur, I remember very well."

And Jéricourt pressed his lips together again and scowled, because that reminder recalled no agreeable memories.

"Then there was a gamin who threw the ugly little fellow down, and as he fell he tore his trousers."

"Where?" queried Mademoiselle Zizi.

"Only on the knees."

"Bah! that isn't amusing enough!"

"There was also a young flower girl—a very pretty girl, on my word!"

"I know her," said Saint-Arthur; "she supplies me; it's Violette."

"What does she supply you with, you big monster?" cried Zizi, raising her fork to her lover, as if to stab him.

"Mon Dieu! it's simple enough, my angel; a flower girl supplies me with flowers, naturally."

"Hum! you would be quite capable of going to her for other supplies."

"O Zizi! for heaven's sake, don't be jealous like this. Besides, this flower girl is one of Jéricourt's conquests; one of his victims."

"I don't deny it, I committed that sin; and monsieur here will bear me out in saying that the little one is worth the trouble."

"I will bear you out in saying that the little one is pretty, monsieur, but that's all; for, on the day that I saw you in her company, you did not have the air of having made a conquest of her!"

"This old fellow is decidedly antipathetic to me!" said Jéricourt to himself.

XXX
MANY WAYS OF DRINKING CHAMPAGNE

"Come, Alfred! some champagne—right away! I want some champagne—and I want it frappé."

"Here it is, my siren; it's behind us, cooking in the ice.—Ah! now is the time when Monsieur de Roncherolle is going to teach us a lot of pretty things.—Jéricourt, monsieur knows thirty-three ways of drinking a glass of champagne!"

"Monsieur is quite capable of it."

"For my experiments," said Roncherolle, "I must have cups, not goblets."

"Here are some; I ordered two kinds of glasses."

"I fill my glass—this is the first way; attention!"

Roncherolle coolly emptied his glass and said:

"First of all, there's that way—to drink as everybody else does."

"Oh! I know that."

"It's lucky that you know one," said Zizi; "otherwise it might be thought that you had to be driven to water."

"Let us go on to the second way."

"You will allow me to eat a little sweetbread first?"

"That is only fair."

"Otherwise," sneered Jéricourt, "one might think that you invited monsieur to dinner for the sole purpose of learning to drink."

"And if that were so," rejoined Roncherolle, "I should not bear my neighbor a grudge; that would prove that I am still good for something, and one so often entertains people who are good for nothing!"

"The second way, my dear fellow, the second way!" said Zizi, with a playful tap on Roncherolle's cheek.

"At your service, belle dame.—Look—this glass is full; I put it on this plate, and the point is to drain it without touching it with the hands or spilling a drop."

"Oh! that must be extremely difficult—I will go farther and say that it seems to me impossible," said Saint-Arthur.

"Not at all—look."

Roncherolle took the plate on which the glass stood, lifted it, put the glass to his lips, then tipped it toward his mouth, still holding it steady with the plate, and swallowed all it contained.

"Ah! charming, delightful!" cried Alfred.

"I have seen that done before, but I had forgotten it," said Zizi; "wait; I believe that I can do it."

The young actress did exactly as Roncherolle had done, and succeeded perfectly.

"It's your turn, Jéricourt."

"Do that! why that's the ass's bridge!" replied the man of letters, with a shrug.

"Well, do it then."

"No, I didn't come to dinner to play tricks."

"That's a pity," said Roncherolle, "for I am sure that monsieur must know some that we do not."

"In that case," said Saint-Arthur, filling a glass to the brim with champagne and putting it on a plate, "it's my turn; now that I have seen the thing done twice, I don't see why I shouldn't do it too; I am no more of a fool than other people."

"That's too bad, my dear; if you were, it would be a way of attracting attention!"

"Hush, Zizi! don't say nasty things, but watch; I am going to begin."

The pretty youth succeeded in raising the glass to his lips, but just as he was about to drink, he lifted the plate too high, and all the contents of the glass fell on his shirt and his cravat. Alfred cried aloud in dismay, while his three guests roared with laughter, that incident having restored Jéricourt's good humor.

"Sapristi! I am done for. I was on the edge of success, for I certainly should have drunk it all without spilling a drop."

"But you didn't spill a drop," said Roncherolle; "the whole business went."

"I am wet through, my shirt is drenched and my cravat; what shall I do? I can't show myself in this condition."

"Well then, don't show yourself, my friend, keep out of sight. At all events, it will be dark when you leave here, and you'll only need to button your coat military fashion; that will give you the air of a hero, it will change you completely."

"But I am all wet, I am——"

"Nonsense! take a napkin and wipe yourself, and above all things don't be sulky; we came here to enjoy ourselves, and you still have to learn thirty-one ways of drinking champagne."

Saint-Arthur made no reply; he stuffed three napkins into his bosom and began to eat again.

"Deuce take it! my dear man," said Jéricourt, drinking his wine slowly, "that is what comes of trying to learn original things in order to make yourself agreeable in society; you don't always succeed."

"In fact, there are some people who never succeed," observed Roncherolle.

"I request a suspension of the lessons in drinking champagne," said Alfred; "I must dry myself before attempting anything else."

"We consent," said Zizi, "on condition that it is not to interfere with our drinking."

"It seems to me that you are doing very well," said Jéricourt; "you will be rather gay in your play to-night!"

"So much the better! The play lacks gayety, and I shall do well to impart a little to it."

"I came near acting once," said the host, still sponging himself. "Do you remember, Jéricourt, that place in the country you took me to some weeks ago—at Nogent-sur-Marne?"

"Yes, it was very amusing."

"There was one thing that I didn't call amusing, and that was being obliged to escort that lady back to Paris—an ex-pretty woman."

"Why were you such a fool as to tell her that we had a coupé waiting? She instantly caught the ball on the bound and asked us to give her a little room in our carriage."

"Little was hardly the word; that lady may have been thin once, but she isn't now."

"Ah! I never heard of this lady that you brought home!" cried the young actress, with an American glance at her lover. "That has rather a crooked look!"

"Oh! really, my diva, when I tell you that she was on the decline!"

"It seems to me that you too were on the decline—with her."

"However, she was a woman of great distinction, a baroness!"

"Listen to that! monsieur must have baronesses now!"

"The Baronne de—de Grangeville—that's the name."

"De Grangeville?" said Roncherolle, who, on hearing that name, replaced on the table the glass that he was about to put to his lips. "Did you say that the lady you brought home was the Baronne de Grangeville?"

"Yes, my dear neighbor; do you know her?"

"No—that is to say, her name recalled a person whom I used to know."

Roncherolle had become thoughtful; Zizi tapped him on the knee, saying:

"Well, well, tell us what you're dreaming about, my Knight of the Round Table? Is that baroness's name going to spoil your spirits? I don't propose to have that! Don't let me hear any more of your great ladies; I call for a third way of drinking champagne."

"Here! present!" said Roncherolle, resuming his playful air. "See, my dear girl, here is a third way: we put the glass on the plate like this just now, didn't we? Well, now we are going to stand this second glass on the first one; that is easy enough; but then we fill the glass that is on top, and drink the contents by lifting the plate as we did just now, without touching either glass."

"Oh! that must be terribly hard!"

"Look—here goes."

Roncherolle performed the feat he had described, without spilling a drop of wine. Saint-Arthur was lost in admiration, but Jéricourt muttered as he tipped back in his chair:

"I have seen clowns on the boulevard do that."

Roncherolle glared at Jéricourt with a half-angry, half-bantering expression, saying: "In truth, monsieur, I was a clown a very long while! And with the permission of the company, I will undertake to make you as flat as this knife blade in a very few moments."

Jéricourt did not know what reply to make. Zizi, who, with the tact which all women possess, divined a quarrel on the point of breaking out, made haste to say to Roncherolle:

"Come, my dear gallant, since you are so obliging and are willing to instruct us in your science, show me again what you have just done, and I will try to copy you; I will be your assistant."

"I shan't try this third way of drinking," said Saint-Arthur, "except in my own room and with unsophisticated water."

"You will do well, my boy, for you would break too many glasses here."

The young actress did what Roncherolle had just shown them, and did it with equal success.

"Bravo! bravo!" cried the host. "Honor to Zizi! You know three ways already, dear love!"

"And I don't propose to stop at that."

"These ladies succeed in whatever they choose to undertake," said Roncherolle.

Jéricourt, with a curl of his lip, muttered:

"Madame Saqui could do no better!"

"Oh! you always look as if you were sneering!" said Zizi; "but you would be hard put to it to do as much. It's easy to criticise, my dear man!"

"This much is certain, that I shall not venture to contend with you."

"Because you realize your inferiority."

"But I am waiting till you come to the thirty-third way. I fancy that you will do some very extraordinary things then!"

"Oh! my boy, we're not such fools. We mean to have some fun, to get a little screwed, but we don't propose to get drunk. We will learn one more way and that will do for to-night; what do you say, my gallant?"

"As you command, belle dame."

"Why, do you know that you're a hard-headed party? Champagne doesn't seem to affect you at all. You drink more than we do, and you don't seem to notice it."

"That is the result of my long studies—another advantage of age!"

"Look at Alfred; he hasn't drunk half as much as you, I'll bet, and his eyes are in curl-papers already; anyone would think he was going to sleep."

"I—oh! I haven't any desire to sleep; I was engaged in thought."

"Of what?"

"Of the baroness whom he escorted home, no doubt!" said Jéricourt, with an ironical glance at the gentleman who aroused his displeasure, and whose emotion at the mention of the baroness's name he had noticed.

"Are you going to stuff us some more with your titled lady?" cried Mademoiselle Zizi; "bah! what a tease this Jéricourt is!"

"That subject bores you, my sweet angel; forgive me, I won't mention that lady again. However, I believe that this Madame de Grangeville is nothing more than a counterfeit baroness."

"What makes you think so, monsieur? By what right do you insult that lady?" demanded Roncherolle, in a tone in which there was no trace of jesting, and with a by no means amicable glance at the man of letters.

"What! I insult her? Why do you set yourself up as the lady's champion, monsieur, if you don't know her?"

"I do know her, monsieur, and I have a right to defend her. The Baronne de Grangeville is more noble than you are eminent in letters; but perhaps that is not saying overmuch for her nobility."

"You are attacking me now, monsieur; do you mean to insult me?"

"Come, come, messieurs! upon my word! how is this? do you propose to quarrel now?" murmured Alfred, whose mouth had become dry and sticky. "I won't have it; I——"

"Hold your tongue, Bibi!" cried Mademoiselle Zizi. "Don't you see that it's a joke? It would be pretty, wouldn't it, to come to dinner with a lady and take to squabbling in her presence!—In the first place, I believe monsieur is too well bred for that; and as for Jéricourt, he knows well enough that it doesn't pay to make me angry; I have ways of revenging myself! Come; let's have no more talk about it, and our dear neighbor will show us the fourth way to drink champagne; and everybody must try to imitate him this time. What do you say, my dear friend?"

"I told you just now, belle dame, that I am always at your service."

"Good! now you are agreeable again."

While Roncherolle filled his glass, Jéricourt rose, took his hat, and said, bowing coldly to the company:

"It is eight o'clock and I have an appointment at that hour; I am distressed that I cannot stay longer."

"What! leaving us so early?" faltered Alfred.

"Liberty! libertas!" said Zizi; "all sorts of good wishes, monsieur!"

When Jéricourt had left the room, the young woman sprang to her feet and began to dance a sort of cachucha in front of the mirror, singing:

"Il est parti
Ce cher ami!
Ah! ça m'enchante!
J'en suis contente!
Traderi dera la la
Traderi deri! Biribi!"

"Faith!" said Roncherolle, "I must tell you frankly, my dear Monsieur Saint-Arthur, that Monsieur Jéricourt doesn't attract me at all, and that I ask you as a favor not to invite me to dine with him again!"

"Nor me; I won't dine with that ill-licked fellow any more; do you hear, my dear?"

"I hear.—But let's see the fourth way."

"Attention!—You must sing: 'When the bells of the village ring the hour of work, eh bon, bon, bon!' I have my glass full, I drink after your three bons, and I answer bon. You repeat eh bon bon bon three times; I answer bon every time, after drinking; and when I say bon the last time I must have finished my glass."

"Fichtre! that's rather complicated!"

"Not at all; it's simply a matter of emptying your glass in three swallows; you mustn't begin till after the eh bon bon bon, and you must finish it before you say the last bon.—Sing, fair Zizi."

"Here goes!

"When the bells of the village
Ring the hour of work,
Eh bon bon bon!"

Roncherolle, after drinking:

"Bon!"

Zizi:

"Eh bon bon bon!"

Roncherolle:

"Bon!"

Zizi:

"Eh bon bon——"

"Bon! and you see, it's empty!"

"Ah! that's a very pretty way!—It's my turn; fill my glass, old fellow, and sing; I'm ready."

Roncherolle sang and Mademoiselle Zizi drank, answered bon, and swallowed her wine at one gulp.

"You went a little fast," said the professor; "but never mind, you'll do it all right."

"My turn!" cried Alfred, lifting his glass in a hand that was far from steady. "Sing, and you'll see; I'm sure of succeeding at this method; I am waiting at the post."

Mademoiselle Zizi sang the ballad. At the first bon bon! Saint-Arthur spilt his wine on the floor; at the second he struck his nose with his glass; and at the third he swallowed the wrong way and strangled; they were obliged to pound him on the back and make him look at the ceiling, in order to bring him to life.

"My dear boy, I think that you have done enough for to-day," said Zizi; "you are not adroit to-night, and I don't want you to learn any more ways.—Great heaven! it's nine o'clock! I must go and dress—I wear a costume that it takes a long while to put on.—I say, I'm a little dizzy; but no matter! it will pass off on the stage.—Adieu, monsieur; I hope to see you again."

"Are you going away alone?"

"I have only to cross the boulevard. Alfred, you will come to my dressing-room for me at half-past eleven, not a minute earlier; I forbid you."

"Yes, dear angel.—Isn't she enchanting, neighbor, with that little demoniacal expression?"

"And he'd like me not to love anybody but him, the idiot!" whispered Zizi in Roncherolle's ear; "can you imagine such conceit?"

"That certainly would be a great pity."

Mademoiselle Zizi disappeared. Alfred paid the waiter, doing his utmost to stand erect on his legs.

Roncherolle took his arm, to help him to go downstairs, and before leaving him on the boulevard, said:

"Do me the favor to give me the address of the lady whom you took home—the Baronne de Grangeville."

"Ah! the Baronne de—you want to know her address? Villain! monster! you have criminal designs!"

"Perhaps so—but her address."

"Wait—I know it perfectly."

"Well then, where is it?"

"Ah!—Rue de—what do you call it—you know it well enough!"

"If you should tell me the name, I should know it better."

"Rue—parbleu! Rue Fontaine-Saint-Georges; number 21 or 24—it's in the twenties."

"Infinitely obliged."

"Au revoir, my dear friend! I'm going to the Café Turc for a game of billiards; I feel in condition to make fifteen cannons in succession."

"Much pleasure to you."

And Roncherolle walked away, saying:

"I know her address at last! To-morrow I will carry her a bouquet myself."

XXXI
THE EFFECTS OF TIME

But our plans are traced on sand; and then too, sad as it is to admit it, champagne is not really good for the gout.

On the day following that dinner party, during which Roncherolle had given instruction in such pleasant matters, instead of going as he hoped to pay a visit to the Baronne de Grangeville, he was obliged to keep his bed; his gout had returned, more obstinate and more painful than ever; the poor invalid lost his temper, complained, swore like one possessed, because it seemed to him that that relieved him; and finally he said to himself:

"I won't give any more lessons in drinking champagne."

At the end of three days, all that Roncherolle could do was to lie at full length in his reclining chair, with his foot on cushions; then, as he could not hope to leave the house for some time, he sent the young man of the house, Beauvinet, to bring his usual messenger; and Chicotin soon appeared before him.

"Look you, my boy," said Roncherolle, "I have been shrewder than you—I have discovered Madame de Grangeville's address."

"The deuce you have! however did you do it? You can hardly walk!"

"I could walk a few days ago, and if it hadn't been for an infernal dinner—but faith, I guess I won't curse that dinner, for I enjoyed myself hugely; and after all, if I suffer, I suffer for something; let us return to the lady; the Baronne de Grangeville lives on Rue Fontaine-Saint-Georges, number 21 or 23; I am not quite sure of the number but it's in the twenties."

"Oh! that's enough, bourgeois; that's all I need; if necessary, I will try all the houses in the street."

"Very good; now take this five-franc piece; you will go and buy a bouquet for which you will pay three francs, no less, understand; don't try to cheat me."

"Oh! never you fear, bourgeois, that's all right; if the flower girl should ask only forty sous, I would give her three francs."

"But I should prefer that the girl should ask three francs; the bouquet will be finer."

"It's all right; never you fear, the bouquet will be a good one."

"When you have got it, you will take it to Madame de Grangeville from me, and you will tell her that Monsieur de Roncherolle sends his respects and that he will come to see her as soon as he can go out."

"I will say when you get over your gout."

"No, don't mention my gout, that isn't necessary. Say to her that I am indisposed; that is all, do you understand?"

"Yes, bourgeois, never fear; it will all go as if it was on wheels; and shall I come back and tell you what answer the lady gives me?"

"Naturally."

"I am off. By the way, bourgeois, perhaps you don't know, but no doubt you will soon receive a visit from a friend of yours; that happens just right; you are sick and it will amuse you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that yesterday, no longer ago than that, I saw my old comrade Georget, a good fellow, who's in the dumps all the time because he's in love. But that's another story; it would take too long to tell you."

"I will excuse you from telling it, but come to the point at once."

"Well, while we were talking, I mentioned your name; it happens that his master at Nogent knows you and would like to see you; he didn't know your address, so I gave it to Georget."

"What is the name of this gentleman at Nogent?"

"His name is Monsieur Malberg."

"I don't know anybody by that name; your comrade must have made a mistake and taken one name for another. But go about your errand to Madame de Grangeville, and above all things buy a pretty bouquet."

"I should say so! if I didn't get a fine one for three francs, it would be funny."

Chicotin took his leave. Roncherolle stretched out his leg, made a wry face and uttered a hearty oath, because of the pain; then he laid his head on the back of his chair and tried to sleep.

Five minutes passed; the hall door opened again, and a gentleman appeared in the doorway; it was the Comte de Brévanne, who said as he glanced into the chamber:

"Monsieur de Roncherolle, if you please?"

Receiving no reply, the count decided to enter; he saw a gentleman dozing, who had not been shaved for several days, whose head was covered with a huge fur cap, which fell almost over his eyes, and who was wrapped in an old dressing gown of which it was not easy to tell the color. He shook his head, saying:

"That boy must have directed me to the wrong door, this can't be the place. Roncherolle would not live in such a wretchedly furnished room; besides, this sick old gentleman in the chair must be at home. I must try elsewhere."

Brévanne was about to go away, when Roncherolle opened his eyes and seeing a stranger in his room, cried:

"What is it? What do you want of me? Why are you here, monsieur?"

At the sound of that voice, which had not changed so much as the person to whom it belonged, the count stopped, shuddered slightly and repeated in a loud voice:

"I want Monsieur de Roncherolle."

"Well, I am De Roncherolle! what do you want of me?"

The count stepped forward; he scrutinized the man before him, and he wondered if that pale, sick creature, whose face had grown thin and indicated long suffering, who seemed to be at least sixty years old, and whose costume was far from denoting prosperous circumstances, could possibly be Roncherolle, formerly so dandified and magnificent, who was cited as a model for men of fashion, and whom all the women admired.

As for Roncherolle, for some moments he had been looking attentively at his visitor; the more he looked at him, the more keenly did his features betray the emotion which he felt; and at last when the count exclaimed:

"Is it really true that you are De Roncherolle?" he instantly replied:

"To be sure, and you are De Brévanne!"

The count recoiled, exclaiming:

"You dare to use intimate terms to me, monsieur!"

"Oh! I beg your pardon, that's true; I should not address you so; I forgot, it was the old habit; but hereafter I will be more careful. Pray sit down, monsieur le comte; I knew you at once, for, except that your hair is turning gray, you are but little changed; whereas with me it is very different; you could not believe that it was I. I have grown old rapidly, I crumbled all at once; add to that all sorts of annoyances, the change in my position, and people turning their backs upon me because I can no longer oblige them, and others because I did oblige them formerly, like Beaumont, De Marcey and De Juvigny! But I am chattering away and you are still standing; pray take a seat and be good enough to tell what brings you here."

"You ask me what brings me, monsieur!" retorted De Brévanne, still standing in front of De Roncherolle. "You ask me that! you mean that you do not divine?"

"Faith, no!"

"When you see once more the man whom you shamelessly outraged, and whom you have eluded for so many years, you do not divine that he comes to demand the satisfaction which you refused him so long ago?"

"Bah! do you really mean it's for that? What! after so long a time, after twenty years, you still think of that business?"

"There is no limitation in matters relating to honor."

"Ah! that makes a difference; you are obstinate about it. I am sorry for that; but did not I admit my fault? Didn't I ask your pardon long ago? Come, Brévanne, come, does not heaven say: 'mercy for all sins?' We were such good friends once."

"Hush! do not appeal to the memory of that friendship, which makes your conduct even more odious. But let us not waste time in useless talk; for twenty years I have been looking for you, to fight with you; I have found you to-day, and I trust that you will no longer refuse to give me satisfaction."

"Since you are bent upon it! Mon Dieu! men are supposed to become reasonable when they grow old; the fact is that they are never reasonable.—Honor! honor! oh! how right Beaumarchais was!—All this is infernally stupid, on my word!"

"Well, monsieur?"

"Well, I will do whatever you wish; arrange it for—for—ah! ten thousand million thunders! how I suffer! how I suffer!"

A violent attack of pain seized the invalid; he turned pale, his voice died away, great drops of perspiration rolled down his cheeks, the contraction of his features proved the violence of the pain that he felt, and the count was deeply moved at sight of his suffering; he looked all about the room in search of something to help him. He saw on the mantelpiece a phial filled with a liquid; he took it and offered it to Roncherolle.

"Here, perhaps this is what you take when you have such attacks. Drink."

"No," replied Roncherolle, pushing away the phial. "Let me suffer; I have well earned it; you see what I am reduced to; if you kill me, instead of punishing me you will do me a favor."

"Monsieur," said the count, "the duel cannot take place while you are in this condition, I appreciate that; I must wait until you are cured, in order that I may have an adversary worthy of me. I leave you, and I will come again a fortnight hence to learn how you are."

"Oh! as you please. Are you going?"

And with an involuntary gesture Roncherolle put out his hand to the count; but he contented himself with a slight inclination of the head, saying:

"I will send somebody to you, monsieur, to help you."

Then he took his leave, still upset by what he had seen, saying to himself:

"What a change! he is unrecognizable. Ah! he is in a still worse plight than she!"

"If he waits until I get over the gout to fight with me," said Roncherolle to himself, "I fancy that our duel is indefinitely postponed. What a devil of a man!—Ah! that attack is passing away; that is lucky.—Poor Brévanne; he has hardly changed at all; and in the bottom of my heart I was secretly glad to see him, we used to be such good friends, and I should have been so happy to renew our friendship! He would not have turned his back on me, like all those others whom I obliged long ago, and who will have nothing to say to me now, because I lent them money and they don't want to repay it. But what is done is done. Oh! these women! they are the cause of all the follies that we commit."

Beauvinet opened the hall door and put his head in, saying:

"The gentleman who just went out said that monsieur had a bad attack and needed attention; so I came——"

"Clear out and leave me in peace!" retorted Roncherolle, striking the floor angrily with his cane.

The young man did not wait for that invitation to be repeated; he disappeared like a stage shadow-figure, and slammed the door behind his back.

"But he will come again in a fortnight," reflected the invalid after a moment. "He is a man of his word, he won't fail to come; and if, as I must hope, I am in condition to walk, I shall have to meet him.—Fight with him! well, if he is obstinate about it, I will be equally obstinate.—Who is coming to disturb me now, ten thousand devils?"

"Why, it's me," said Chicotin, entering the room; "I did your errand, bourgeois, and I did it well, I flatter myself; in the first place, I bought a superb bouquet; oh! it was A No. 1; it was worth four francs rather than three. I didn't buy it of Mamzelle Violette, just to make her mad; I don't mean to buy anything more of her. But you don't care anything about that.—I went to Rue Fontaine-Saint-Georges, and I found Madame la Baronne de Grangeville, not in the twenties, but at 19, but that don't make any difference. They let me in, and I found the lady sitting in a great machine. To cut it short, when I said to her: 'Madame, it is Monsieur de Roncherolle who sends you this bouquet, with all sorts of messages;' if you had seen what a jump that lady gave on her—her divan, just like a carp in the frying pan; then she said: 'Monsieur de Roncherolle! what, is he in Paris? Tell him to come and see me right away, as soon as possible; I shall expect him impatiently.'—I answered: 'Madame, certainly, to be sure—that's what he means to do; he will come as soon as he can stand on his pins'—oh, no! I didn't say pins, I said legs; and then I bowed and left, and she didn't give me anything."

"Well, keep the rest of the money I gave you."

"Thanks, bourgeois, thanks; and did your friend from Nogent come to see you?"

"Yes, yes, he came, my friend. Do you know, Chicotin, that you're a wretched chatterbox, and that I ought to pull your ears for giving anyone my address without finding out whether I wanted you to?"

"Mon Dieu! did I make a fool of myself? Isn't your friend your friend any longer?"

"Yes, you did make a fool of yourself; but I hope that you won't do it again; meanwhile, you are responsible for my having to leave this house, which, however, I hardly regret."

"Are you going to move?"

"Yes, in a few days, as soon as I can walk. But I don't propose to take furnished lodgings again; he would find me, he would visit them all. I mean to hire a room in some quiet house, and furnish it myself. That won't take long; a bed, a table, two chairs and a bureau, that is all that I need. Listen, Chicotin, while I am unable to go about, you must find those things for me, so that I shall simply have to move in as soon as I am cured. Do you understand,—just a small apartment, as neat and clean as possible; a bedroom and a study, that will be enough for me."

"All right, bourgeois, I understand; I'll look about for you. In what quarter?"

"I don't care."

"Oh! then I can find something easier. How much do you want to pay for your lodgings?"

"Hum! as little as possible; the funds are decreasing every day, my boy!"

"Do you want to go as high as eighty francs?"

"A quarter?"

"Oh, no! What next! I mean for a year."

"You can get nothing better than a garret, a kennel for that price. You may go as high as two hundred francs,—two hundred and fifty."

"In that case, bourgeois, I'll find you something fine, a little palace; I propose that you shall be more comfortable than you are now."

"You won't have much difficulty about that; try not to make me go up too many stairs."

"Pardi! for two hundred and fifty francs you ought to be able to obtain a magnificent lodging on the first floor."

"I don't think it. However, attend to it at once."

Three days after this conversation, Chicotin entered Roncherolle's room with a triumphant air; he found him getting better, and walking about the room.

"Here I am, bourgeois, I've found what you want. I think you'll be satisfied; but lodgings are dearer than I thought; I couldn't find a lodging on the first floor for your two hundred and fifty francs."

"Well, what have you found?"

"I have found two pleasant little rooms, for two hundred francs, no more; fresh paper, not colored, but you can put one on; and a view—oh! such a view! as good as if you was on the Arc de Triomphe; and all the conveniences right at your door; and a waxed staircase, not up to the top, but as far as the third floor."

"What floor is this apartment on?"

"Why, on the fifth, bourgeois!"

"Sacrebleu! I am not surprised that there is a good view; is that what you call getting me a lodging near the ground?"

"There ain't any to be had, master; but the stairs are as easy as can be; you can go up without moving your legs; and then there is a concierge who is willing to do the housework for all the tenants, at a very moderate price, and even to make the coffee."

"There are many advantages, and no mistake; where is this jewel of an apartment situated?"

"Not very far from here, monsieur, on Rue de Crussol; it's near the boulevard, near that handsome round theatre for horses, that's just been built."

"I don't know Rue de Crussol."

"If monsieur is able to walk, I will show him the way there."

"Go and fetch a carriage, and you may take me to see the lodgings."

"Right away, bourgeois."

Chicotin went out to fetch a cab, and climbed up behind when Roncherolle was inside. They stopped on Rue de Crussol in front of the house which Chicotin pointed out. An old concierge, very dirty but very polite, made repeated reverences to Roncherolle, and bustled upstairs before him, while Chicotin said to the old gentleman:

"If you don't want to go up, bourgeois, because it tires you, why I will take you on my back. I am strong and I won't drop you; I would carry you that way through the streets if you wanted."

"Thanks, my boy, but that new style of locomotion does not attract me, and I doubt whether I could make it the fashion. Besides, they say that one must walk about and exercise with the gout. So I will go up on my feet."

"If you must exercise, you see that it is much better that you should live on the fifth floor."

Roncherolle inspected the lodgings, heaved a profound sigh in spite of himself, and reflected:

"After all, what can one expect to get for two hundred francs? It's all I can afford—in fact, rather more."

He gave the concierge her earnest money, informing her that he relied upon her to do the housework and to make his coffee; whereupon the old woman redoubled her reverences and her politeness, crying:

"I hope monsieur will like our house; I shall always be ready to wait on him; whenever he needs anything, all he has got to do is to put his head out of the window and call Mère Lamort, and I will go up in a second."

"What did you say that I must call you, madame?"

"Mère Lamort."

"Ah! your name is Lamort, is it?"

"At your service, monsieur."

"You are very good; you have, I won't say a devil of a name, but a singular name, at least; an almost terrifying name."

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, that don't prevent me from being as well as can be, or from having had twelve children, who are all as well as you or I."

"For their sakes, I hope they are as well as you."

"And monsieur will see that my name don't prevent me from having a good foot and a good eye; and he'll be satisfied with my services."

"I don't doubt it; we shall meet again soon, Madame Lamort."

Roncherolle returned to his cab, and Chicotin climbed up behind again, saying to the driver:

"I am in monsieur's suite, in his suite, I say."[A]

[A] An untranslatable pun: 'Je suis de la suite de monsieur; de sa suite, j'en suis.'

Two days later, Roncherolle, having purchased just what he absolutely needed to furnish his new lodgings, paid what he owed at his quarters, and announced that they might let his room.

"Ah! monsieur is leaving us?" said Beauvinet, pulling at one side of his wig. "If anyone comes to ask for monsieur, what address shall I give?"

"You may send them to Passage I-don't-know-where, the first door to the right as you enter Paris by the Barrière de l'Etoile."

When Roncherolle had been gone a long time, the young man was still pulling at his wig, saying to himself:

"Passage I-don't-know-where! that's funny; I know all the passages in Paris except that one."

XXXII
A BUNCH OF VIOLETS

Since the Comte de Brévanne had spoken to Violette, and since she had seen Georget look at her from a distance, and then walk hastily away, with a glance of contempt at her, the young flower girl felt every day more depressed and discouraged. So long as Georget had been near her, so long as she was able to see him morning and evening, and read in his eyes the love he felt for her, the young girl had looked upon that love as a mere childish freak, and had refused to admit to herself that she shared the sentiment which she aroused.

But now that her young lover had left Paris in order to avoid being near her, now that he had fled from her, and when he met her manifested no other feeling than that of contempt or hatred, poor Violette realized how dearly she loved Georget; and, what was even more cruel, how dearly she still loved him, despite the grief he caused her.

When she learned that the gentleman who had questioned her concerning Georget was the young messenger's patron, the pretty flower girl had felt a thrill of joy, and hope had returned to her heart; she flattered herself that through the medium of Monsieur Malberg, she could convince her lover that he had done wrong to suspect her. But the abrupt way in which the count left her dispelled that hope.

However, as hope does not quickly leave a young heart, especially that of a young woman who knows that she is pretty, Violette flattered herself for several days that Georget would return to Paris, that he would pass her booth, and that he would not have the courage not to stop; then she said to herself also that this Monsieur Malberg, who had asked her so many questions concerning her age and her mother, would probably want to see her again. But the days passed and no one came, neither Georget, nor his patron. A single man passed now and then in front of the booth of the flower girl, at whom he cast insulting glances, glances which seemed to enjoy the grief that he could read on her face. That man was the author of all the girl's trials; and once even he had dared to approach her and had tried to make love to her; but thereupon Violette had risen, so indignant and so threatening, and the flashing eyes which she turned upon Jéricourt denoted such a determined resolution, and her right hand had grasped so quickly several bunches of thorns which were among her flowers, that he had walked rapidly away, and had never again attempted to enter into conversation with the flower girl.

It was ten o'clock in the morning, and Chicotin had just left Roncherolle, who was living in his new lodgings on Rue de Crussol, and, feeling that his left foot was not yet in condition to descend the five flights, had again employed his regular messenger to carry a bouquet to Madame de Grangeville and to inquire for her health. But as the unfortunate victim of the gout saw his resources diminish every day, he had told Chicotin to buy a bouquet for one franc instead of three.

The ci-devant lady-killer was still gallant; but his fortune no longer permitted him to be gallant in the same measure as of yore.

Chicotin walked along Boulevard du Château d'Eau, with his franc in his hand; and as it was not flower market day, there were very few dealers in evidence; and the flower girls who were in their places had very few violets, which doubtless were also scarce at that moment.

The pretty flower girl who bore the name of that flower was the only one supplied with them; she had some large and fine bunches.

"Sapristi!" said Chicotin to himself, as he turned over some miserable little bunches at two sous which another flower girl offered him; "this isn't what I want; I can't carry such things as these to the lady on Rue Fontaine-Saint-Georges; for when one buys only one kind of flower for a franc, one ought to get a fine bunch."

"You think so, do you, sonny? Perhaps you don't know that violets are out of season just now. See, I will tie these four little bunches that I have left all together and they will make a very pretty bouquet."

"Not much! I don't want 'em; your bunches are all withered; they look as if they had been used before."

"What a stupid little animal!"

Chicotin walked away from her, saying to himself:

"It's no use for me to look, there's only one flower girl who has any real good bunches of what I am looking for, and that's Violette; but I have sworn not to buy anything of her since I knew that she deceived poor Georget. However, I must do my errand, and I don't know whether I shall find violets anywhere else. After all, you buy of a person and pay her and that's the end of it; that don't make you friends; and then, she don't ask so much as the others; I'll go to her."

So Chicotin walked to the girl's booth and examined her bouquets.

"Ah! is it you, Chicotin?" cried Violette, as she recognized Georget's friend. "It's a long time since I've seen you; it's a strange thing how all my old acqaintances have gone away, I don't know where. Have you done like your friend Georget? Have you stopped standing on the boulevard?"

"How much do you ask for this bunch, mamzelle?"

"I say, Chicotin, do you ever see your friend Georget? for of course he must come to Paris from time to time."

"This big bunch of violets, mamzelle, I ask you how much it is."

"And I ask you if you ever see Georget? It seems to me you might answer me."

"Mamzelle, I came here to buy some violets and not for anything else. I buy them of you, because you're the only one that's got any good ones; if it wasn't for that——"

"If it wasn't for that—well, what? Come, finish what you were going to say."

"Well! I was going to say that if it wasn't for that I wouldn't have spoken to you."

"What, you too, Chicotin? Why, has it gone so far that I must receive insults from everybody? that everybody is going to insult me? Ah! that's a shame! what have I done to you, that you should say that to me?"

"To me—you haven't done anything to me personally, but you have to somebody else, somebody I'm very fond of, who's my friend; you've made him unhappy, and when anyone treat my friends bad, I always take a hand in it."

"Ah! Georget has told you too——"

"Yes, mamzelle, he has told me—mon Dieu! you know well enough what he must have told me,—that he couldn't love you any longer, because you—but no matter—How much for this big bunch, mamzelle?"

"And you believed all that too; you are convinced that I am a girl without honor, without shame?"

"Mamzelle, I give you my word that I didn't believe it right away; no, indeed; and that I didn't want to believe it at all; but when you are certain of a thing—look you, just consider that Georget and I followed that dandified Monsieur Jéricourt a whole day, to make him speak; I begged him to tell me the truth about you."

"Monsieur Jéricourt—well?"

"Well! he called me a fool; he said that when a girl went—How much for this bunch, if you please?"

"Ah! the coward! the villain! but he lied, Chicotin, I swear to you that he lied!"

"Oh! mamzelle, everybody knows that women never admit such things; if only nobody had seen you; but as someone did see you, nothing you can say will make me believe—Well, if you're not crying now! I'm sorry for it, I don't like to make anybody cry; but it ain't my fault; I didn't say a word about this; it was you who would talk about it; it worries me to see you cry, and I'll go away, as you won't tell me how much this big bunch of violets is."

"Whatever you please," faltered the girl, holding her handkerchief to her eyes.

"Mon Dieu! I can't pay more than twenty sous, mamzelle."

"All right, that's enough; take it."

"Yes, mamzelle, I will take it; here's the twenty sous. Adieu, mamzelle."

Chicotin took the bouquet and walked away very fast, because he felt that if he remained longer with the flower girl he would be quite capable of crying with her.

Violette wiped her eyes and tried to keep back her tears; but this fresh blow had wounded her heart too deeply; she felt too unhappy, and was absolutely determined to extricate herself from that position. Throughout the day she cudgelled her brains trying to think whom she could apply to for good advice; she felt that she must have a friend, a protector to defend her, to assist her to justify herself. But in vain did the poor girl cast her eyes about; fatherless and motherless, she was also friendless since Georget believed her guilty. At last, an idea, a last hope presented itself to her mind; despite the haste with which Monsieur Malberg had left her, it had seemed to her that he had felt some interest in her; the questions he had asked, the extreme attention with which he had gazed upon her, everything led her to suppose that something spoke to him in her favor; moreover, all the good that she had heard of that strange man, and the benefactions which he had heaped upon Georget and his mother, finally confirmed her in her determination. She decided to go to Nogent, and to appeal to Georget's patron for aid and protection; and she flattered herself that he would not turn her away. Somewhat tranquillized by this hope, Violette went to sleep less unhappy, saying to herself:

"To-morrow morning I will go to Nogent."

XXXIII
DISAPPOINTMENT.—CERTAINTY

On the fifteenth day after his visit to Monsieur de Roncherolle, the Comte de Brévanne did not fail to return to the furnished apartment on Rue de Bretagne. As he was starting upstairs, Beauvinet stopped him, saying:

"Whose room is monsieur going to?"

"To Monsieur de Roncherolle's; I know that it is on the third floor!"

"Yes, it was on the third floor, but as the tenant has left, it ain't worth while for monsieur to go up."

"He has left?—He has gone out, you mean, don't you?"

"No, monsieur, no; he has gone away, he has left our house."

"Left your house! when, pray?"

"About ten days ago."

"And where does he live now? He must have left you his address?"

"His address—yes, monsieur; he lives on Passage I-don't-know-where, first door to the right when you enter Paris by Barrière de l'Etoile."

The count, who was in a very bad humor already, administered a hasty kick on the young man's posterior, and left the house in a rage, saying:

"Let that teach you to make such idiotic answers to me!—Gone! gone! he has escaped me again!" said Monsieur de Brévanne to himself as he went away; "he has sworn that he will not fight with me! Gone! but he could not stand on his legs; so he must have been carried, and it is impossible that he can have left Paris; a man doesn't travel when he is helpless, and above all when he has no money. Judging from what I saw, his circumstances were not prosperous. Shall I have him hunted for in Paris again? No, I will wait until chance once more brings me face to face with him. But I am sorry not to have seen him again; I would have tried to find out—but no, I could never have asked him that!"

Monsieur de Brévanne was about to return to his estate in the country, thoughtful, and dissatisfied with himself, when he suddenly remembered that Monsieur de Merval had given him his address in Paris; so he took a cab and was driven there.

"This is a pleasant surprise," said Monsieur de Merval to the count. "I hardly expected to see you before the bad weather begins; for the autumn will soon be here, and we are having the last fine days."

"My dear sir, do not be too grateful for my visit; a powerful motive brought me to Paris to-day."

"Why, it is true, I had not noticed—you seem to have had some keen disappointment; can I help you in any way?"

"Have you time to listen to me?"

"Always."

Thereupon Monsieur de Brévanne informed Monsieur de Merval that he had found Roncherolle; he described the visit he had paid him, and told him of the useless proceeding which had been the result of his first visit.

"You see," said Monsieur de Brévanne as he finished his narrative, "he has escaped me again; he denies me the satisfaction which I have a right to expect from him; he runs away without leaving his address; he does not want me to find him! What do you think of such conduct?"

Monsieur de Merval shook his head, and after a moment replied:

"Do you desire my real opinion?"

"To be sure."

"Well, if you wish me to tell you my thought, I consider that Roncherolle has done well."

"Done well? to refuse to give satisfaction to the man whom he has insulted? done well to run away, to act like a coward? Ah! I don't understand you, Monsieur de Merval!"

"Please listen to me calmly. In the first place, Roncherolle is not a coward, as we all know; if he runs away from you, it isn't because he's afraid of death. Mon Dieu! he told you so himself; ruined, suffering torture in his bed three-fourths of the time, do you think that you would punish him by depriving him of life? No. You will kill him, for you know very well that he will never aim his weapon at you; you will kill him—you have a right to, and no one would consider it a crime on your part; but when you have accomplished this act of vengeance, will you be any happier? No, no! on the contrary, you will be much less so. I could have understood this duel in the days just after the insult, although it would still have caused you remorse in the future; but after twenty years, when the heroes of the episode are so different from what they were, when it seems that Providence has undertaken to punish the guilty, you would hunt down a miserable wretch, who for twenty years past must have cursed a misstep which deprived him of a genuine friend, whom he has never replaced! No, no; do not do it; leave time to act; it is inexorable; and when we forgive those who have offended us, be sure that every day time takes it upon itself to make them understand how heavily they have laden their future with remorse and regret by yielding in their youth to a guilty passion, a guilty sentiment!"

The count listened to Monsieur de Merval without interrupting him, and seemed to reflect deeply. After quite a long silence, he raised his eyes to Monsieur de Merval's face, and gazed fixedly at him, saying:

"But that is not all, you have not told me all that you know; there is something else."

"What? what do you mean? why do you suppose that I know anything else of interest to you?"

"Because now I remember your questions. I do not know how you were able to discover a secret which had remained a secret to me down to this day; however, I mean this—that of that criminal connection—between Roncherolle and her who bore my name—there was—there was a child born; is that true?"

"Yes, that is true."

"Ah! you knew it then, did you?"

"Chance, one of those circumstances which one cannot foresee, led to my discovering that mystery; this is how it happened: a year after you left your wife,—observe that date, a year after, and I am certain of what I tell you,—I had been passing a few days at the country house of a friend at Ermenonville. Finding myself in the neighborhood of the lovely spot where Rosseau's tomb is situated, I took it into my head to stop there; in my childhood I had been taken to visit that village, which is overflowing with reminiscences of the illustrious author of Emile. But I find that one sees with more pleasure and interest at thirty years than at fifteen whatever speaks to the mind, the soul and the heart.—I had taken rooms at the best inn, which was, I believe, the only one in the village; I intended to pass two days at Ermenonville, to revisit the park, the desert, the island, in fact all those charming and poetic spots which one never tires of visiting. On the evening of my arrival there was a terrible storm. I was, I remember, in the common room of the inn; the rain was falling in torrents, and although it was September, it was quite cold, and I was glad to find a huge fire in an enormous fireplace.

"Suddenly we heard the noise of carriage wheels, which approached and stopped in front of the inn. Great surprise and great delight was felt by the inn-keeper and his wife, who did not expect guests so late, especially in such horrible weather. They ran to the door and I retained my seat in front of the fire. Soon the inn-keeper's wife returned and said to me:

"'It's a gentleman and lady, very distinguished folks, it's easy to see. His wife is in an interesting condition; she's afraid of the storm and wants to sleep here; but while we're getting a room ready for her, she's coming to sit in front of this warm fire, with monsieur's permission.'

"'Why, of course!' I said to the hostess; 'I will with very great pleasure give up this seat to the lady, which is the best one.'

"'She seems to be near her time; continued the hostess; 'it would be lucky for us for she'd have to stay here for some time.'

"As the woman stopped speaking, the travellers entered the room, and a voice which was not unknown to me exclaimed:

"'Pardieu; here's a fire that does one good to see!'

"I had retired to the end of the room. Imagine my surprise, when I recognized De Roncherolle with Madame de Grangeville on his arm, who did seem, in fact, to be in a very interesting condition. Neither of them noticed me. Understanding how embarrassing the meeting would be to them, I made haste to disappear through a small door at the end of the room; I went up to my bedroom, which I did not leave again, and the next day at daybreak I left the inn without seeing the other guests again. That, monsieur le comte, is how I discovered a secret which, I think, has always been a mystery to everybody else; and my reason for never mentioning it to you has been that it seemed at least unnecessary to tell you of something which it could not be agreeable to you to learn, and which moreover is entirely unconnected with you, you understand,—entirely unconnected."

"Yes, I understand very well. However, I never had any suspicion of anything else. Did you return to Ermenonville?"

"Yes, I admit that I was curious enough for that; about three weeks after leaving so hurriedly at daybreak, I went back to the village and stopped at the same inn. The mistress of the house recognized me perfectly, and as we were talking of the guests whom I had left there, I asked her if the event which she desired had taken place in her inn.—'No, monsieur, no;' she replied; 'the next day, the lady was better, and insisted on leaving, and I heard them tell the servant who was driving, to take the Paris road.'—This, my dear count, is all that I know concerning a fact which I should never have mentioned to you if you had not seemed to be informed about it to-day."

"And this child—the fruit of that guilty liaison—did you ever learn what became of it, what they did with it?"

"No, I assumed that it did not live. Otherwise, would not Madame de Grangeville have it with her, calling herself its godmother or its adopted mother? There are a thousand ways of disguising the truth when one wishes to keep a child with one."

NOVELSBYPaul de KockVOLUME XVITHE FLOWER GIRLOF THECHÂTEAU D'EAUVOL. II

CONTENTS

XXIVHOW IT HAPPENED

XXVGEORGET'S TORMENTS

XXVIA GOOD FRIEND

XXVIIA RESEMBLANCE

XXVIIITHE EDUCATION OF A PARROT

XXIXA HIGH FLYER

XXXMANY WAYS OF DRINKING CHAMPAGNE

XXXITHE EFFECTS OF TIME

XXXIIA BUNCH OF VIOLETS

XXXIIIDISAPPOINTMENT.—CERTAINTY

NOVELS
BY
Paul de Kock
VOLUME XVI
THE FLOWER GIRL
OF THE
CHÂTEAU D'EAU
VOL. II

XXIV
HOW IT HAPPENED

XXV
GEORGET'S TORMENTS

XXVI
A GOOD FRIEND

XXVII
A RESEMBLANCE

XXVIII
THE EDUCATION OF A PARROT

XXIX
A HIGH FLYER

XXX
MANY WAYS OF DRINKING CHAMPAGNE

XXXI
THE EFFECTS OF TIME

XXXII
A BUNCH OF VIOLETS

XXXIII
DISAPPOINTMENT.—CERTAINTY