Frédérique, vol. 1

A week had passed since the unique night I had spent at Madame Dauberny's. I had respected that lady's orders and had made no attempt to see her; I had simply left my card with her concierge.

When the image of my friend Frédérique presented itself to my mind, I exerted myself to banish it without pity; it seemed to me that my supper in her apartments was a dream, which it was not necessary that I should remember.

For several days, too, I had felt strongly inclined not to call again on Madame Sordeville. But, before renouncing my hopes in that direction altogether, I determined to go to her house once more. If she received me coldly a second time, I swore that I would not try to see her again.

One fine day, after making a careful toilet,—which always made my servant Pomponne smile, for he was bent on considering himself very sly,—I presented myself at the door of the pretty brunette, whose hair, by the way, was not so beautiful as her friend Frédérique's; but we cannot have everything.

"Madame is at home," said the concierge.

I went upstairs, gave my name, and was admitted to madame's boudoir, a charming sanctuary, the divinity of which was sure to attract many of the faithful.

I was greeted with the most gracious smile imaginable; she reproached me most kindly for having left her so long without a glimpse of me. Never had Armantine looked lovelier to me, and her amiability was delightful. I found once more my partner of the ball at Deffieux's.

I passed an hour at Madame Sordeville's, and at the end of the hour it seemed to me that I had just arrived. What did I say to her? I have no idea; but I think that I squeezed her hand more than once, and that it did not seem to offend her. I went so far as to put her hand to my lips; she withdrew it, and said in a tone in which there was no trace of severity:

"Well, well! what are you doing? what are you thinking about?"

"You, nothing but you."

"Oh! pardon me if I do not believe you! When one thinks so much of people, one doesn't go whole weeks without seeing them."

"When those people have received us with icy coldness, is it not natural that we should hesitate before venturing to present ourselves again?"

"Coldness! Ought I to have taken your hand, made you sit down beside me, and talked exclusively with you all the evening?"

"Oh! you are laughing at me, madame! You are well aware that, even in a crowd, before witnesses, there are a thousand ways of pouring balm on a suffering, anxious heart; a word, a glance, is enough."

"But, monsieur, such words and glances are almost signs of a mutual understanding, and are only exchanged by persons who know each other very well, who are sure of each other."

I kissed her hand. That time she made no objection and did not withdraw it; but she faltered:

"You are so impulsive! I begin to think that a tête-à-tête with you is very dangerous."

"And you will not receive me again?"

"I didn't say that."

"And you will permit me to love you?"

"If I should forbid you to, would you obey me?"

"Oh, no!"

"Then you see that I may as well permit it."

"And I may hope?"

"Ah! I didn't say that!"

"But you will not say anything!"

"I am not so quick as you.—By the way, I did have something to say to you. The other evening, you went away with Madame Dauberny, I believe. Did you escort her home? That would be very natural, as my friend was of such great assistance to you at the Guillardin ball that you should be polite to her."

I did not know what to say; I was uncertain whether Frédérique wanted it known that she had invited us to supper. In that uncertainty, it seemed to me more becoming to say nothing about that episode; one never repents having been discreet.

"I escorted Madame Dauberny to her door," I replied, after a moment, "and left her there."

"Ah! that is strange! It took you a long time to tell me that!"

"Because—I had forgotten."

"Indeed! Frédérique is so original—so disdainful of conventionalities sometimes, that I had thought——"

"What, pray?"

"But, no, that would have been contrary to all the proprieties! To be sure, she snaps her fingers at them."

"But what was it that you thought?"

"Nothing; or, rather, I don't choose to tell you."

"You must have seen your friend often since that evening?"

"Only once. I have no idea what she is doing now. She is hardly ever seen in society. She probably has something to keep her busy. Saint-Bergame must be replaced. For you know, I suppose, that they have quarrelled? Frédérique is not in the habit of remaining unengaged. Before Saint-Bergame there was another, and before him another, and another. She loves variety."

I admire the way women abuse their intimate friends! At that moment, I wondered what they would say when they spoke of their enemies; the difference could hardly be perceptible.—And so Madame Dauberny had had a large number of weaknesses! She had never had a serious attachment! That was a pity; and it surprised me; for it seemed to me that she was just the woman to inspire one.

I do not know what I should have said in reply to Madame Sordeville's remark, but a visitor arrived: a lady of uncertain age, almost lost in gauze and lace and veils, which were heaped upon her head and hung down about her body. I fancied that I had a cloud before me, or one of Isabey's pictures, minus the beautiful coloring. I surrendered my place to that atmospheric personage, and took my leave. Madame Sordeville made me promise to attend her next reception, and honored me with a glance that filled my soul with joy.

I left the house, as light as a feather. I did not walk, I fairly bounded. Pleasure transformed me into a goat; I longed to dance. You will consider, doubtless, that I was very childish, and that a man who had had so many amorous adventures should have been more blasé; you are entirely wrong, for I was blasé in no respect; my last bonne fortune made me as happy as the first of all. That was a dispensation of Providence in my favor, for blasé people have two drawbacks: they do not enjoy themselves, and they bore their friends.

Pomponne smiled again when I reached home; that fellow was not such a fool as I supposed: he read my face very well indeed.

I waited impatiently for the Thursday which was to give me an opportunity to see the charming Armantine once more. I had thought of nothing else since my call upon her; she was so affable and expansive that day, that I believed that the moment of my happiness could not be very distant. She had received the avowal of my love without indignation; nay, she had seemed to listen to it with pleasure; she had abandoned her hand to me and let me put it to my lips; and, but for that inopportune visitor, who could say that I should not have obtained more? No matter! it seemed that I was fairly justified in hoping.

Thursday arrived in due course. Pomponne was ordered to surpass himself in dressing my hair; I do not know whether he succeeded, but I do know that he pulled my hair for half an hour; so that he made my head extremely sore. But I did not scold him. I dressed with my eye on the clock. I longed to be there, but I said to myself that it was more adroit to make her wait a little—and I had no doubt that she was waiting for me.

The moment came at last. I set out with my heart full of Armantine's image. I arrived at her door. I remembered that in society one must wear a mask, so that one's secret thoughts may not be divined. But that mask embarrassed me; I could hardly endure it.

There were a good many people there before me. So much the better, I thought. The more numerous the company, the greater one's freedom of action. Monsieur Sordeville greeted me warmly, shook my hand, and reproached me for not coming to their little receptions for several weeks. His excessive amiability should have made me remorseful; but I had never had the slightest liking for the man; and, in any event, why did he neglect his wife?

I succeeded in approaching her for whose sake, and that alone, I had come. She greeted me most graciously; but when I tried to exchange with her one of those glances which are far more eloquent than empty words, I could not meet her eye. She had turned to a young man who had just been presented to her, and received his compliments with a profusion of little smirks and grimaces, which were very pretty, perhaps, but which I considered sadly out of place at that moment. I flattered myself, however, that my turn would come; that she had not forgotten that I was there, within a few feet. But lo! the fair-haired youth of the other evening, Monsieur Mondival, came up and entered into conversation with her; the fellow must have said something very amusing, to make her laugh so heartily! But Madame Dauberny had assured me that the man was stupid, and I relied upon her judgment. Next, a tall man, with black beard, whiskers, and moustaches, came to pay his respects to the mistress of the house. She greeted him with a smile, playing with her fan; their conversation seemed likely to be protracted, and I began to grow weary of waiting for my turn. I walked away, presumably with a very long face; and to cap the climax of my woes, I almost ran into the arms of the gentleman who kept his eyes almost closed, but who saw well enough to recognize me, and entered into conversation with me.

I have no idea what answer I made. I turned my back on him, for he bored me beyond words. I watched the whist players for a while, but soon returned to the salon where Armantine was, saying to myself:

"It can't go on like this; if she laughs with others, there is no reason why she shouldn't laugh with me; I am a fool not to stand my ground."

And I approached Madame Sordeville, who was talking with a lady. Suddenly she turned toward me and burst out laughing.

"Mon Dieu! what on earth is the matter with you to-night, Monsieur Rochebrune? What a horrible face you are making! Have you the toothache?"

When one is already in an ill temper, and is trying to conceal it, there is nothing more maddening than to have someone ask what the matter is; the result is that, instead of simply looking unhappy, you make a grimace; and that is probably what I did, for Armantine restrained with difficulty a longing to laugh again, while I muttered, biting my lips:

"The matter, madame? Why, nothing. What do you suppose is the matter? I have never had the toothache."

"Monsieur," said a tall, thin old woman, who was sitting beside Madame Sordeville, and had, I suppose, heard my last words, "put in some cotton soaked in eau de Cologne. Soak the cotton thoroughly and put it in the tooth. It's an excellent remedy, I assure you! It doesn't take away the pain at once, but, after a few days, you suffer much less."

"But, madame," I said to the old lady who insisted upon my having the toothache, "I have not complained, I am not in pain! I don't know why you insist that——"

"Then, monsieur," she continued, paying no heed to me, "you have another remedy, bay salt. Two or three grains of it produce saliva; you spit, and take more salt, and keep on till the pain is relieved."

I saw that Madame Sordeville was laughing heartily at the impatience with which I listened to the old lady, who continued:

"Above all things, monsieur, don't have them extracted! Oh! keep your teeth, monsieur! keep them, by all means! You no sooner have them taken out than you regret them. I myself, monsieur, have lost fourteen, and I am in despair to-day! I feel that something is lacking. Of course, I know that one can——"

I had had enough. Something more was to be lacking to that lady; to wit, myself as a listener for the entire evening. I had not come there to attend a course of lectures on dentistry. It seemed to me that Armantine was laughing at me while I was having that consultation about my teeth. She had gone to the piano, meanwhile, and the concert began. If it was to be as fine a performance as on the previous evening, the prospect was captivating. I felt inclined to find fault with everything. Now that the music was under way, it would be hard for me to talk to Armantine; she either accompanied, or turned the pages for singers and players. In short, she devoted herself to everybody, except myself. So I had encouraged myself with a false hope! She did not love me—and yet, how charming she was only three days before! Did she not let me squeeze her hand and kiss it? Did she not smile at my declaration of love? Suppose that she ostentatiously treated me coldly before the world, only to conceal more effectually the sentiments I inspired? I grasped at that idea, because it left me some hope. Moreover, if it were not so, Madame Sordeville was a downright coquette, who had been making sport of me and would do it again! I preferred to believe that she was dissembling her love; if so, she dissembled perfectly.

The Baron von Brunzbrack entered the salon and came up to me:

"Ponshour, mein gut frent Rocheprune!"

"Good-evening, monsieur le baron!"

"Do you know if Montame Dauberny vill come to tis barty?"

"I have no idea; I have not seen her since we three were together."

"Ach! you haf not seen her."

And the baron pressed my hand with new warmth.

"So id is mit me. I haf pin often to bay mein resbects, put te lady, she haf pin always oud. Haf you pin to see her?"

"No; I have left my card, nothing more."

"Ach! gut, gut! you pe not in loafe mit her shtill?"

"What, baron! are you still harping on that idea? How many times must I tell you that I have never made love to Madame Dauberny, that I have never thought of doing it?"

"Ach! ja! ja! You pe in loafe mit anoder. I haf forgot."

The baron could not understand how anybody could fail to make love to Madame Dauberny, and I could not understand how Madame Sordeville could allow everybody to make love to her; in love, each of us has his own way of looking at things.

Suddenly Brunzbrack seized my arm as if he meant to tear it from its socket. I thought that he had an attack of hysteria; but, as I saw Madame Dauberny enter the salon at that moment, I understood what had caused his convulsive movement.

Frédérique wore an original costume, as indeed she generally did. A black velvet gown, high in the neck, fitted closely to her figure, which seemed more than ordinarily slender; her hair was dressed with sprays of jet and black velvet bows, and that severe style gave to her face, which was unusually pale, a serious expression. I did not know whether I ought still to be angry with her; I remembered the decidedly brusque way in which she had dismissed me, but in the next moment I remembered all the confidence and friendship she had shown me. While I hesitated, trying to make up my mind, Frédérique passed us, and bowed coolly enough to us both.

Brunzbrack left me, to dog the steps of the woman he adored, and I continued to prowl about Armantine. We were both playing the same game. Should we have luck? Up to that time, I had seen no prospect of it.

Monsieur Mondival sang several ballads; he sang them precisely as a schoolboy repeats his lessons; but as the ballads themselves were amusing, the company laughed heartily, and the singer attributed it to his own performance, whereas his only merit was his skilful choice of songs.

After he had finished, the black-bearded man, who had talked a long while with Armantine, seated himself at the piano, and sang a grand aria with infinitely more assurance than voice. But assurance is a great thing in society. He was loudly applauded, and when he left the piano I was certain that Madame Sordeville complimented him. If I chose—one thing was certain, that I had a better voice than that man.

All this irritated me; I was intensely annoyed to find that she paid no attention to me, and I went to the piano and began to turn over the music. But she observed my movements sufficiently to see that I was there, for she came to me and said:

"It's a great pity that you sing only when you are alone; for I should have been delighted to hear you, monsieur."

"Mon Dieu! if it will give you any pleasure, madame——"

"You will sing? How good of you!"

"I will try to sing something. I don't know whether I can manage it."

"Oh! that is an amateur's modesty! I am sure that you sing beautifully."

She walked quickly to a seat, saying:

"Monsieur Rochebrune is going to sing. Silence, if you please!"

Everyone ceased talking, and the room became perfectly still. I began to be afraid that I had gone too fast. To be sure, I sing rather well, but it so rarely happens that I sing before strangers. However, I realized that I must do my best; it was impossible to back out.

I sat down at the piano. My fingers refused to move. What was I to sing? I must make up my mind, for everybody was waiting. I settled upon a romanza by Massini; as is usually the case when one is afraid, I selected the most difficult piece I knew and the one that I sang least well.

At the outset, I forgot the accompaniment and struck two or three discordant notes in the bass—something that had never happened to me before. That was calculated to give my hearers rather a sorry idea of my musical organization.

When I came to the second verse, I forgot the words. I stopped, and began again; but it was of no use, and I mumbled between my teeth:

"Tradera, deri, dera!"

The words of the third verse came to me all right, and I determined to be revenged for the mess I had made of the other two. I attacked it with confidence, and when I came to an ad libitum passage I risked a note which I had taken a hundred times without any trouble. But I had something in my throat that night. Was it fear? was it ill humor? This much is certain, that I made a vile fiasco, and that I ended my song coughing as if I had swallowed something the wrong way.

I left the piano, purple with chagrin, and still coughing. Somebody was malicious enough to applaud me; but I saw in the eyes of the guests that malignant joy which people always feel in society when they have a fair opportunity to laugh at somebody. What distressed me most of all was that I had made an ass of myself before Armantine, who was much given to raillery, and who could hardly restrain her laughter; while Herr von Brunzbrack said to me with the utmost good faith:

"Vat a bity tat you haf ein cold! Id vas going so vell!"

I made no reply; I would have liked to crawl under a sofa. I slunk away to a corner of the salon, where I heard a voice in my ear:

"That false note puts you back at least three months!"

Frédérique was behind me. I understood her meaning perfectly. In truth, in the eyes of a vain, coquettish woman like Madame Sordeville, to make one's self ridiculous before witnesses is a great crime! There are so few women who love us for ourselves! With the great majority we owe our success solely to all the previous successes we have had.

I took refuge in the card room. Frédérique followed me there and organized a game of baccarat, with herself as banker. The stakes were high, and she won from everybody, until she had a pile of gold in front of her. Herr von Brunzbrack had lost all the money that he had with him; but that did not disturb him: he tried to obtain a word, even a glance, from the superb banker; but to no purpose, she paid no attention to him. After a time, in my effort to distract my thoughts, I took my turn against Madame Dauberny, who played with perfect tranquillity, utterly indifferent to her good fortune, and did not deign to notice the laments or the ogling of those whom she had despoiled.

"Ah! so you are going to play," she said to me, in a bantering tone. "Indeed, you are very wise, for, if the proverb is to be depended on, you will be very lucky to-night. But proverbs take the liberty of lying sometimes—poor Baron von Brunzbrack is a living example. If anyone ought to win, he is the man! And yet, I have ruined him as well as all the others. Come, monsieur, let us play, let us play! I shall not be sorry to vanquish you also."

It seemed to me that there was an ironical tone in Madame Dauberny's voice, which was not usual with her. I remembered what her friend had told me as to the numerous lovers who had succeeded one another in her heart; if I chose to be sarcastic, there were many things I might say to her by way of retort. But, no—I was conscious of an indefinable feeling of sympathy with that woman. I loved her—not with love; it was rather friendship, confidence, which drew me toward her. Why, in heaven's name, did I steal that kiss while she was asleep? But, on the other hand, why did she keep changing her coiffure, and make herself so alluring, so seductive? A woman ought not to try such experiments, even on a man who is in love with her friend.

I placed some gold in front of me, and began to play. I won; I doubled my stake, and won again; I continued on the same line, and won incessantly. But after a few moments Frédérique seemed to be inattentive to her game; I noticed that she glanced frequently and with evident impatience toward her left: Monsieur Sordeville was there, talking confidentially with the Baron von Brunzbrack. Suddenly my banker interrupted the game and cried, turning to the two men:

"Mon Dieu! Monsieur Sordeville, do let that poor baron alone for a moment; he comes here to amuse himself, and you compel him to talk to you about the affairs of his government! Really, you abuse your position as host; it is not generous."

Monsieur Sordeville became dumb; his lips blanched, but he forced himself to smile, and replied, after a brief interval:

"In truth, madame, I was ill-advised to converse with one of my guests; it is robbing you of an adorer."

"Come and play, baron," said Madame Dauberny, making no reply to Monsieur Sordeville's compliment.

The baron came to the table with a blissful air, crying:

"I vould like noding petter, but I haf not ein sou."

"You may play on credit, monsieur; you are one of those men whose honor is evident to all, and of whom no one ventures to speak slightingly."

The baron bowed; he was radiant with joy. It seemed to me that there was a hidden meaning in Madame Dauberny's last words, and that they were accompanied with a glance at Monsieur Sordeville, who did not stir.

The baron seated himself by my side. I offered to lend him money; he accepted, and in a short time we broke the bank. Thereupon the fair Frédérique gravely rose and left the table, saying:

"Faith! the proverb did not lie; it was written that you should both win."

"Are you going, montame?"

"Yes, baron."

"Vill you not bermit me to escord you in my carriage?"

"No, not to-night."

"Monsir Rocheprune, he vill come mit us."

"Thanks; but I do not care for an escort to-night. Nights succeed one another, but do not resemble one another."

Frédérique took her departure, leaving the baron discomfited. I returned to Madame Sordeville, as I was determined to speak to her before I went away. I saw that she was alone, so I hastened to her side and told her how happy I should be if I could see her again soon and tell her of my love, without witnesses. She listened with a distraught, indifferent air; and when I thought that she was about to reply, she cried:

"Dear me! they haven't served the tea yet, and it's after twelve!"

And she left me. I stood for a moment as if rooted to the floor. I could not understand the caprice, the coquetry, the bewildering changes, in Armantine's treatment of me. I asked myself if a false note could have caused it all; and if so, what reliance was to be placed upon a lady's favor. I concluded that it would be well for me to go away. At that moment, the tall, thin woman who had previously spoken to me accosted me again:

"When your teeth ache too badly, monsieur, you can fill them yourself. I'll show you how. Come and sit here."

I had no desire to hear any more, and turned and fled while she was seating herself in a convenient position to show me how one can fill one's own teeth.

Three months had passed, and I had not tried to see Madame Sordeville again. However, her image had not faded from my heart; on the contrary, she was constantly in my thoughts, and I imagined her as amiable and fascinating as on the first day that I saw her. So that I was not cured of my passion for that lady, although I had sufficient self-control not to call upon her again. To my mind, it was perfectly natural to love a person who did not love me; that is something that happens every day; but I did not understand how any man could consent to act as laughing stock to a coquette. One must needs try to retain a certain amount of dignity; to forget one's dignity is not the way to win love. When, burning with desire to see Armantine, I was on the point of forgetting my resolutions and running to throw myself at her feet, I remembered how she had left me abruptly, to attend to her tea, without a word in reply to what I had said to her.

I had not once met Madame Dauberny, and I regretted more deeply every day the loss of that strange creature's friendship. It was so novel to be thou'd by a woman whose lover I had never been. At least, it was a change, a departure from common custom. And then, she had given me her confidence so unreservedly! Why had I sacrificed all that by a moment's forgetfulness?

But, after all, I considered that Frédérique had treated me very harshly. She might well have scolded me, have made me understand my mistake, without breaking off all relations with me on the spot. The idea of being so angry about a kiss! It was a most extraordinary thing, for that is one of the offences which the sex readily forgives. And then, there were so many extenuating circumstances! The supper, the champagne, the hour! And that hair of hers, which she arranged in a different way every minute!

It was the end of February, and the cold was still very sharp, when, on one of those keen, bracing mornings that invite one to walk, I happened to remember Mignonne Landernoy. Poor girl! How could I have forgotten her so long, and all for a coquette who certainly did not give a thought to me! I determined to repair my neglect at once. I enveloped myself in a heavy coat, put a comforter around my neck, and started for Rue Ménilmontant.

As I walked along, I recalled Mignonne's plight when I saw her in November; I thought of all that must have happened since then, and I was conscious of nothing but an eager desire to have news of the young woman. I quickened my pace, and at last found myself in front of the concierge's door. She was surrounded by cats, as on the occasion of my first visit.

At sight of a man enveloped in a heavy coat with the collar turned up, and with his face almost entirely hidden by a comforter, Madame Potrelle sat up in her chair and took one of the cats in her right hand as if to hurl it at my head.

"What do you want, monsieur?" she cried, with an imposing air; "what does this mean? Do people come into other people's houses disguised like that? Unmask yourself, monsieur; I don't answer masks, I tell you!"

I removed my comforter, and could not refrain from laughing at the concierge's alarm, as I said:

"Are comforters unknown in your quarter, madame? It seems to be quite as cold here as it is where I came from."

The good woman uttered an exclamation of surprise, for she recognized me; thereupon she placed on the stove the cat she had seized in lieu of a pistol, which instantly vanished. I stepped into the lodge.

"What! is it you, monsieur? Pardine! I remember you now! You're the young man with the shirts."

"The same, madame; it was I who left with you some work for—Madame Landernoy."

"And a letter; yes, yes! Oh! I recognize you. But I couldn't see anything but your eyes just now, and, you see, that startled me at first. Well! you've taken your time about coming to get your shirts; anybody can see you ain't in a hurry!"

"Tell me about that poor young woman."

"She's pretty well, although she works awful hard. You see, she has to work for two now! She was confined more than two months ago; she's got a little girl, a sweet, pretty little thing."

"Ah! so much the better! And the child is with her?"

"Yes, to be sure; oh! there's no danger of her parting with the child; she nurses her herself, and never leaves her a minute; she's so afraid something'll happen to her, that she'll cry or need her care, that she wont let her out of her sight a single minute. When she goes out to buy her provisions, she carries her in her arms. Sometimes I say to her: 'Why, Madame Landernoy'—I never call her anything but madame now—'why, Madame Landernoy,' I says, 'just leave your child here with me; I'll look after little Marie while you do your errands, and you can go much quicker if you don't have her to carry.'—But she won't do it. I believe, God forgive me! that she's afraid my cats will hurt the child; but they ain't capable of it, monsieur; I've brought 'em up too well for that. They're playful and sly—that's because they're young, and we've all been young; but as for bad temper and clawing, I never saw any signs of it in 'em."

"I see that Madame Landernoy loves her daughter dearly."

"Love her! why, her daughter's her life, her thought, her heart! Ah! my word! it would be a pity not to have a child, when one's such a good mother!"

"You are right, madame; children are a burden only to those who do not know how to love them! Did the young mother consent finally to accept the work I left with you?"

"Yes, monsieur. At first, when she read your letter—she read it here in my lodge—she shook her head like a person who ain't quite convinced. What can you expect? she's suspicious, poor girl! Well! just hear me call her a girl, will you! what a stupid! The poor woman has good cause for that. A scalded cat's afraid of cold water—mine all are; I can punish 'em more, monsieur, by throwing two or three drops of water in their faces than if I took a stick to 'em."

"You were saying that when Madame Landernoy read my letter she did not seem fully convinced of the honesty of my intentions?"

"There was a little doubt left in her mind; but then she says: 'I may as well do this work, as that gentleman will come here to get it.'"

"So that my shirts are done?"

"Yes, monsieur; they've been here more'n five weeks, with the little bill; and in the last few days Madame Landernoy's asked me two or three times if you'd been or sent anybody to get your shirts—because, I guess—just now—— Dame! monsieur, work ain't always very plenty, you understand; and now that she's got a child, she has to have a stove in her room, because she don't want her daughter to take cold."

"I understand, madame; I am very, very sorry that I delayed so about coming. Give me the bill at once."

"Take your shirts first and see how well they're done! Such sewing! it's perfect!"

The concierge had taken a parcel from her commode; but I pushed it away, saying:

"I am sure they are well done. But the bill, the bill!"

"I'll give it to you, monsieur. I'm sorry you won't look at your shirts. Here's the bill—yes, that's it."

I looked to see what I owed, and read:

"For making twelve shirts—twenty-seven francs."

I put my hand in my pocket, and sighed.

"Twenty-seven francs!" I muttered.

"Dame! yes, at forty-five sous the shirt," said the concierge, hearing the sigh. "Do you think that's too much?"

"No, madame; on the contrary, I think that it's not enough. The young woman must spend at least two days making a shirt, doesn't she?"

"I should think so! Say three, and you'll be nearer the mark."

"So that, by working constantly, and robbing herself of sleep perhaps,—for she has a child that often requires her attention,—the poor woman would earn only fifteen sous a day. Can she live, board and clothe herself, and keep herself warm, on fifteen sous?"

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, it ain't every woman who sews for a living as earns that. But then, as you say, they can't live, and they're obliged to—to do something else."

"If I should have these shirts made at a shop, madame, I should have to pay at least three francs each. I am not a tradesman myself, and I don't care to make money out of a workwoman. Twelve shirts at three francs makes thirty-six francs which I owe Madame Landernoy. Be kind enough to hand it to her for me."

I held out the money to the concierge, who did not take it, because she was wiping her eyes. My action seemed to her very meritorious, and yet it was no more than just.

"You are a very good man, monsieur," she said at last, in a tearful voice; "if everybody thought as you do, seamstresses could live and we should see fewer poor wretches on the streets at night. But still, I don't know whether I ought to take the sum you offer me."

"Why not, pray?"

"Because the little woman's so proud in her poverty. She'll say: 'He only owed me twenty-seven francs, and you ought not to have taken any more.'"

"You can explain to her that it's the price I always pay."

"Oh, yes! but that won't seem right to her. Dame! what can you expect? She's suspicious, as I told you. And, worse luck! people do so few—honest things in these days——"

"You must remind her that her daughter may need a thousand things."

"Oh, yes! I know; that's where I shall have to catch her. Well, I'll keep what you give me; and I can give it back if she won't take it."

"She must take it! But that is not all, madame; has she much work at this moment?"

"I don't think so; so this money'll come in very handy."

"That isn't enough; it will soon be spent."

"The deuce! how fast you go! My, thirty-six francs is a lot of money!"

"I would like to give Madame Landernoy other work to do."

"But you can't go on having shirts made forever."

"Mon Dieu! what can I give her? Ah! does she make waistcoats?"

"I believe she tried one for the landlord's little boy; but they said it was a failure. Still, that little fellow's terrible hard to suit; he had his cap made over five times, and finally swore he'd have a three-cornered hat! He's so spoiled that he's unreasonable. But just let him try again to set my cats fighting!"

"Then it's understood, madame, that I am to buy some material for waistcoat fronts, which I will bring you, together with a pattern, and you are to give the work to Madame Landernoy to do, and tell her not to worry; that her customer isn't exacting, that I am having them made for someone in the country."

The concierge dropped her cats to shake hands with me.

"I understand you, monsieur," she said; "you're afraid the young mother won't have work enough; you mean to give her work, by hook or by crook. You're interested in her, and I'll bet that she makes a mistake to suspicion you. Oh! I know what's what, I do; I can scent one of those empty-headed puppies who comes to talk nonsense, when he's a mile away! They don't go about it the way you do; they slip a piece of money in my hand, with a little note that smells of musk and hair oil, and then they examine the house and the yard and the windows as if they meant to break in. I know 'em, I know 'em!"

"No, Madame Potrelle, I am not a lover—here, at all events."

"Pardi! I can understand that you may be, somewhere else. It would be a pity if you didn't think about such things, at your age."

"I will go and buy the material and bring it to you."

"But that will give you the trouble of coming back again, monsieur. If you want, I can save you that. My niece happens to be here just now, and she can look out for my lodge while I go to monsieur's address; and I'll tell you at the same time whether Madame Landernoy consents to take the thirty-six francs."

Something told me that the woman had some hidden reason for making that suggestion. I fancied that she desired to come to my lodgings, so that she might find out more about me and be certain that I had given my own name in my letter to Mignonne; indeed, might it not be that the young mother herself had asked her to try to find out who I was?

As I had nothing to fear from such information as Madame Potrelle could collect about me, I accepted her proposal.

"Here is my address," I said, handing her one of my cards. "Be there in two hours, and I shall have made my purchases. Please be good enough to bring me my shirts at the same time."

"With pleasure, monsieur!"

Madame Potrelle was prompt; I had been at home only a few minutes, when Pomponne appeared and said with comic gravity:

"There's a woman outside asking for you, monsieur. She has something in her apron, and a parcel under her arm. I suppose she's a second-hand dealer who wants to sell you something."

"Hold your tongue, Pomponne, and show her in!"

My servant obeyed my order, although he seemed much puzzled that I received in my salon a person whom he evidently considered unworthy of the honor; and he kept his eye on the object which the concierge held to her breast, wrapped in her apron. I motioned to him to withdraw, and he left the room, walking backward.

Madame Potrelle made a succession of reverences, and handed me my shirts, which she had under her arm, wrapped in a handkerchief. The good woman expressed her admiration of my apartments and their furnishings; which goes to show that opulence always produces its effect on the multitude and on private individuals as well. I tried to put her at her ease, and forced her to sit down in an easy-chair; but she continued to hug her apron to her breast, and it seemed to embarrass her.

At last she partly opened the apron, saying:

"I beg your pardon, monsieur, for venturing to bring him here—but he never goes out, poor dear, and I thought it would do him good."

"What do you mean, Madame Potrelle? have you got a child in there?"

"No, monsieur, no; it's one of my cats, Bribri, the youngest one. The others let him be and won't ever play with him, just because he limps a bit, poor little rascal! He's got a little trouble in his leg. Cats are as bad as men; they turn up their noses at the weak ones! That's why I wanted to give the poor dear a little pleasure."

"You did well, Madame Potrelle; let Bribri run about a little, if you wish."

"You see, monsieur, my cats are well brought up; they ain't capable of forgetting themselves, no matter where they be."

"I am sure of it."

The concierge opened her apron entirely, and a small black and white cat escaped from its folds and scuttled under a piece of furniture.

"Well," I said, "have you seen Madame Landernoy?"

"Yes, monsieur; when she found out that you'd given me more money than she'd put in her bill, she wouldn't take it, and she almost got mad with me. It was no use for me to say: 'The gentleman always pays that price;' she said that didn't make any difference to her. The only way I could make her take the money was to tell her that you had other work for her to do and she could let it go on that.—Well! on my word! there he is on the couch now! Bribri! you mustn't get upon that, you scamp!"

"We will see, when it comes to paying for the waistcoats. Poor girl! what noble pride! what an upright soul! And this is the sort of woman that men take pleasure in defiling!"

"What do you say, monsieur?"

"Nothing, Madame Potrelle. Here are the material, the linings, and the pattern. Take them all, and please accept this for your trouble."

I slipped five francs into the concierge's hand; she made some objection to taking it, declaring that whatever she did for her tenant she did unselfishly. I succeeded without too much difficulty in removing her scruples. She took the material; but the next thing was to capture Bribri, who had established himself under a sofa and refused to come out at all, or came out only to run under something else. It seemed to me that he showed much agility for a cripple.

Madame Potrelle made the circuit of my salon several times on all fours. At last, by rolling a ball of paper across the floor, we succeeded in enticing and catching Bribri, whom his mistress replaced in her apron, saying reprovingly:

"You ain't been a good boy; you shan't go out again for six weeks.—Adieu, monsieur! you haven't got any other word to send to my tenant?"

"Tell her that I am very fond of children, and that I would like to kiss her daughter."

"Ah! if she could hear you, monsieur, I'll bet that she'd hold her little Marie up to you right away. But you won't let three months go by without coming again, will you, monsieur?"

"No, Madame Potrelle; I shall come very soon to hear about Madame Landernoy."

"And I'll tell her, monsieur, that you're an excellent young man—because—anyone can see right away that—— Well! if the little rascal ain't swearing now! Ah! catch me taking you to walk again!"

I dismissed the concierge, who went away without giving Pomponne a chance to see what she had under her apron. He was thunderstruck.

As I was about to leave the house, Pomponne handed me a card; it was Balloquet's. He had been several times to see me and had failed to find me. I was ashamed of my discourteous treatment of that young man, to whom I was indebted for my acquaintance with Armantine and Frédérique. It was not his fault if nothing had come of that acquaintance, neither love nor friendship. I was very sure that he had been more fortunate than I, and that the liaison he had begun at Monsieur Bocal's party had led to something. But there was no reason why I should not convince myself of the fact, and I determined to pay Balloquet a visit.

I betook myself to the young physician's abode on Place Bréda. Balloquet had established himself there in the hope of obtaining patients among the lorettes. He considered that with such a clientage his fortune was assured. He had my best wishes, but it was not medicine that he practised with those ladies.

As I was entering the house in which lived my jovial companion of the night of the weddings, the concierge stopped me.

"Where is monsieur going?"

"To see Monsieur Balloquet, physician."

"He has not lived here for two months, monsieur."

"His address, if you please?"

"Rue d'Amsterdam, No. 42, near the railroad station."

To Rue d'Amsterdam I went. It seemed that Balloquet had not obtained the practice that he hoped for among the lorettes; perhaps he had decided to be a railroad doctor—that is to say, to be on hand to attend to arriving and departing travellers. That would not be a bad idea.

I arrived at No. 42. It was a handsome house, and quite new, naturally enough, as the street was new. I asked for Dr. Balloquet. The concierge pointed to a staircase at the rear of the courtyard:

"Top floor, door facing you. He must be in."

The top floor was at least the fifth. It seemed to me that it must be a bad thing for a doctor to live so far up. Some of the patients who came to consult him would certainly find it hard work to climb so high. Probably Balloquet loved fresh air, and made more visits than he received.

The hall was quite light and very clean and neat; but I had to climb six flights of stairs before I reached the top landing. I got there at last, and found the name of Balloquet, with his professional title, on a little card nailed to the door that faced me. It occurred to me that a copper plate would be better. I thought that I remembered that he had a very fine one at his other lodgings; probably he was having it changed.

I pulled a dilapidated tassel, which had at one time done duty on a curtain. The bell rang shrilly, but nobody opened the door. Perhaps the apartment was very large. I rang again, but nobody appeared. Still, the concierge had said:

"He must be in."

I tried another method. Sometimes young men dread a woman's visit, especially when they have another woman with them. I coughed in several keys, and in a moment the door opened a little way and Balloquet's nose appeared. When he spied me, he threw the door wide open, crying:

"Why, it's my dear Rochebrune! Come in, my dear fellow, come in! That was a good idea of yours, to cough. I was apprehensive of other visits."

"A doctor doesn't ordinarily fear them."

"That depends on what kind they are."

"Perhaps you have company, and I disturb you?"

"Not at all. I am alone. Come in."

I passed through a very small room, in which I did not see a single piece of furniture, into a large bedroom with an iron bed, a desk, chairs, two trunks, and a small book-case. Clothes and toilet articles were scattered about on all the furniture and in every corner. If picturesque disorder is the result of an artistic temperament, it is impossible to be more artistic than Balloquet, who offered me a chair, saying, as he removed the dressing gown in which he was wrapped:

"I'll go back to bed, with your permission?"

"Certainly; but you lie in bed very late; are you ill?"

"Not now; but I've had a hard time."

"You are changed, that is true. Where is your fine coloring, and the fresh complexion that procured you so many soft glances?"

"Oh! as to my fresh complexion, I have lost that entirely; but it will come back. It's infernally cold here!"

"That is true."

"Come nearer the fireplace."

"I haven't the slightest objection, but how will that help me? There's no fire."

"No fire! Gad! that's so. I remember now that I didn't find a single stick this morning in that trunk that I use as a woodbox; indeed, that's why I stayed in bed, because it was warmer here. Will you get into bed with me, without ceremony?"

"No, thanks; I prefer to be cold. But, tell me, Balloquet, what in the deuce has happened to you since I saw you last? Then you had a very pretty little suite of rooms, handsomely furnished; you had everything you wanted, and a fellow didn't freeze in your room; and to-day you are perched on a sixth floor, in a single room; for I don't see any other than the one I entered, and this is evidently the whole apartment."

"Yes; but how beautifully it's decorated, eh? Fresh paint, and this wall paper, and that ceiling with a centre-piece!"

"Yes, yes, it's all fresh and new; for all that, I should think that you'd need some furniture."

"Do you think so? For my part, when an apartment has pretty wall paper and fresh paint, it seems to me that very little furniture is required."

"Very little, possibly, but some; and I didn't see a single piece in the outer room."

"Furniture would make it look smaller, and it's none too large."

I began to laugh, and Balloquet followed suit, rolling himself up in the bedclothes.

"My dear Rochebrune," he continued, "I will conceal the truth from you no longer: you see before you a man who is completely strapped—yes, completely!"

"Parbleu! did you suppose that I hadn't discovered it?"

"I'll tell you what has happened to me.—Sapristi! where in the deuce is it? I can't find it, and I must have it."

"What are you looking for under your bedclothes?"

"A friend, a trusty companion, who is of great assistance to me."

"A dog taught to fetch and carry, eh?"

"No, no, it isn't a dog. Ah! here it is!"

And Balloquet produced a little squirrel which he had just captured at the foot of his bed, and which he proceeded to fasten to the back of a chair by a small chain.

"What do you do with that beast?"

"He's a gift from the sentimental Satiné; and he would have gone the way of everything else, but for the fact that he has often helped me out of a scrape."

"That squirrel?"

"Yes, my dear fellow. Perhaps you will have ocular proof of it before long. But let me tell you the story of my misfortunes. I am sorry that you won't get into bed; I'm afraid that you are cold."

"No. Haven't you even a match here?"

"Faith! it's doubtful. Ah, yes! I see three in the corner. Why? have you got some firewood in your pocket?"

"No; but I have some cigars, and I propose to smoke one."

"An excellent idea! smoking keeps you warm. Have you a cigar for friendship?"

"Always."

"I recognize you there!"

"Could Achilles have smoked without Patroclus?"

Balloquet gave me a single match, begging me to be careful of it. I lighted a cigar, and from it he lighted the one that I gave him. Then he covered himself with the bedclothes, I wrapped myself hermetically in my cloak, and he began:

"The last time I saw you was at the dinner Dupréval gave us, where Fouvenard told us such a villainous story."

"By the way, you were rather intimate with Fouvenard, I think; what is he doing now?"

"I don't know. I never see him. I am very far from being a saint, but his adventure with that poor girl from Sceaux made me detest him."

"Give me your hand, Balloquet; I am glad that you think as I do on that subject. I should have had a very poor opinion of you, if you had continued to be that man's friend. Take another cigar, and go on; I am listening."

"You remember those two famous wedding parties, don't you? I attended Mademoiselle Pétronille Bocal's, where, after some rather lively scrimmages, I became the jewel, the Benjamin of the family, thanks to your arrival with Papa Bocal's landlord. You saw how refreshments were served at that function: punch, mulled wine, and bischoff circulating all the time. The women were of all the colors of the rainbow, and so lively and free and easy! the number of glances that were flashed at me was fabulous! but I had cast my spell on a buxom, high-colored brunette, with red roses in her hair."

"I remember your charmer; I saw you talking with her."

"In that case, you see that I don't flatter her. To make a long story short, after supper, during which there was a time when the whole company was fighting because Madame Girie, the groom's mother, swore that she hadn't had the second joint of a chicken that rightfully belonged to her, and that they hadn't given her any truffles when all the others had some, we left the mother-in-law quarrelling, the father swearing, the groom apologizing, and the bride weeping and tearing her hair, and stole away, my widow and I, in much better spirits than the givers of the feast. But it's almost always like that; sic vos—you know the rest.

"My new conquest sold gloves; she had a fine shop on Boulevard des Italiens. No end of style! Mirrors everywhere, violet-wood counter, and an odor of perfumery as soon as you entered the shop! I was in raptures. 'At last, here's a woman who won't cost you anything, and they're very scarce!' I said to myself. In fact, during the first few days, my pretty widow invited me to dine in her back shop. We dined very well, for Madame Satiné likes good things, the delicacies of the season; moreover, she kept me in gloves; as soon as she saw that mine were shabby, she'd say:

"'Fi! fi! what sort of gloves are you wearing? I like to have a man always well gloved; that's the way to recognize a dandy.'

"I let her do as she pleased; I can never refuse a woman anything.

"One day, my loving Satiné, with whom I was dining, said to me:

"'Look you, my little Loquet,'—she always called me by the tail of my name,—'I have an opportunity to make a lot of money.'

"'My dear,' said I, 'you must seize it as you do my name—by the tail.'

"'I know someone who has invented a way of making gloves without seams. They will be splendid; fashionable people won't wear anything else. There's a hundred thousand francs to be made in it.'

"'Somebody once invented seamless boots,' I replied, 'but I don't think he ever made much money, for they didn't take.'

"'Hands aren't like feet. I am sure of the success of this enterprise.'

"'Go on and make your seamless gloves, then.'

"'But I must buy the secret process first, and I can't get it for less than fifteen thousand francs.'

"'That's rather dear for a few less seams.'

"'But with that fifteen thousand francs I shall make a hundred thousand!'

"'Buy the secret, then.'

"'That's what I want to do. A mere trifle prevents me—I haven't any money; but I thought of you. You told me, you know, that it would make you unhappy if I didn't always think of you.'

"'When it's a matter of love, that is true.'

"'I think of you for everything. My little Loquet, you must lend me the fifteen thousand francs.'

"'I should be delighted to oblige you, my sweet love; but there's a trifle that prevents me too: I have no money.'

"'Oh! nonsense!'

"'Five or six hundred francs, at your service, but no more. I am just beginning the practice of medicine, you understand; I have a large number of patients already: almost all the lorettes in the Bréda quarter have me to attend them, and they often have trifling indispositions; but not one of them ever pays me, that isn't their custom. As for my parents, who live in La Beauce, they have got tired of sending me money. They claim that I ought to have acquired talent enough to earn my living. Parbleu! talent isn't what I lack, but paying patients.'

"My brunette stamped impatiently, crying:

"'I mean to make my fortune, I tell you, and I can do it by selling seamless gloves. Look you, my little Loquet, you can give me your notes of hand; I can negotiate them; the owner of the process will take them in payment.'

"'But how am I to pay them?'

"'The profits will begin to come in before they fall due; I shall be selling my new gloves, and we shall have the means to pay them.'

"I hesitated; but my brunette was so sure of success; and then, I had dined well, and at such times I sign whatever anyone asks me to. I made five notes of hand, of three thousand francs each.—You can guess the result! The seamless gloves tore as soon as anyone attempted to put them on. My poor Satiné was forced to assign. We paid the first two notes, but I was obliged to sell almost everything I possessed. The third has come due, and they will soon be here to demand payment. I am besieged already by a crowd of other creditors; for, after all, a man must live, and clothe himself, and have a roof over his head. I am completely cleaned out! But I don't bear my mistress any grudge; she has gone to law with the villain who defrauded her with his secret, and hopes to make him disgorge the last two notes at least, and——"

A ring at the doorbell interrupted Balloquet, who sat up in bed and looked at me, saying in an undertone:

"Damnation! there's someone!"

"Shall I open the door?"

"No, no! wait a moment. I recognize a creditor by his way of ringing; perhaps it's the bearer of that note. No matter! I might as well have it over with. Wait!"

Balloquet jumped out of bed and opened a closet near the headboard, in which I saw a rather large iron chest set into the wall.

"I found this safe here when I took possession," whispered Balloquet, "and it serves my turn splendidly."

"I can't imagine what purpose a safe can serve, when you have no money."

"You will see, my dear fellow."

He opened the chest, threw in three large two-sou pieces, then said to me:

"Will you lend me two hundred-sou pieces for a few minutes? They will do much better."

"With pleasure, my dear fellow! do you want more?"

"No, two are enough, but I don't happen to have any at this moment."

He took out the two-sou pieces and replaced them by the five-franc pieces I had given him; then, untying his squirrel, he put him into the chest, and at once closed and locked the door, taking care to remove the key. Then he closed the closet. Having completed this operation, he returned to the bed, motioning to me to open the door.

An old man stood on the landing, well dressed, very short and stout, with a red face; he had all the externals of a retired restaurant keeper.

"Monsieur Balloquet, if you please?"

"This is the place, monsieur."

"I have come to collect a note for——"

"Be good enough to come in, monsieur."

He entered the inner room, where Balloquet, still in bed, nodded his head to him.

"I have come," the visitor repeated, "to collect a note of hand for three thousand francs, due to-morrow; but to-morrow being a holiday, it falls due the day before."

"Very well, monsieur. Please take a seat, and you shall be paid.—My dear Charles, will you be good enough to get the amount from my safe? It's in the closet at the head of my bed."

Balloquet said this with a self-possession which I could not but admire; I opened the closet, and we heard the jingling of money in the safe. I guessed that it was the squirrel playing with the coins with which he was confined, and I had to bite my lips to keep from laughing, while Balloquet exclaimed:

"I would like right well to know what my next-door neighbor is doing; something that shakes the house, apparently, as it makes the gold pieces dance in my safe; and it's like that almost all day. I shall end by complaining to the landlord.—Take three thousand francs and pay monsieur, will you, Charles?"

I put my head into the closet and replied:

"But the safe is locked and the key isn't in it."

"What do you say? the key isn't in the lock?"

"No."

"Look on the floor—and on top."

"I have looked on top and underneath, but I don't see any key."

"Ah! the rattle-headed rascal! I'll stake my head that that's what has happened. Sapristi! it puts me in a pretty fix, on my word!"

"What's the matter?"

"Imagine, Charles, that I had twelve thousand francs to pay this morning. It was all right, the funds were ready—I am never behindhand, you know—but, being ill, I had asked Bertinet, a friend of mine, who happened to drop in, to stay with me, so that I need not have to get up. He consented, after some urging; he had business at Rouen and was in a hurry to be off. Luckily, my creditor came early to get the twelve thousand francs. Bertinet paid him, and soon after went away. Well, I see now that the careless fellow must have put the key of my safe in his pocket, by accident, and gone off with it! It's very amusing, as he isn't to return for a week!"