XV
TWO GENTLEMEN AFTER DINNER
Several days had passed. Paul had paid frequent visits to the two friends in the evening, and his sombre humor was beginning to disappear. His face no longer wore that forbidding look which intimidated the country people; as he talked with Honorine his voice became less harsh, his eyes softer.
The young widow, on her side, experienced an entirely unfamiliar sensation when the master of the Tower seated himself at her side. That sensation afforded pleasant occupation for her heart; she felt happier than ever before, and did not attempt to conceal her happiness, because she saw no harm in the interest which she felt in a man who had hitherto always been betrayed in his affections.
More than once Agathe had said to her:
“You ought to ask Monsieur Paul to tell us his adventures; then we should finally learn the story of the ravine. We should learn why he went at night to the cross that marks the place where someone was killed.”
But Honorine would reply:
“I do not like to invite confidences; it would seem to indicate curiosity, suspicion even. So long as a person does not tell us his griefs, it means that he does not think us likely to be interested in them. Let us wait. It is a good deal gained that Monsieur Paul should have abandoned for our sakes his uncivilized, solitary habits; he comes to see us, and that is a great compliment on the part of a man who never speaks to anyone. But we can’t expect him to treat us at once like old friends.”
“Why not? his dog made friends with us at once, and since he divines a person’s feeling toward his master, it seems to me that the master might well follow his dog’s example.”
The owners of the Goldfish Villa had issued their invitations for the gorgeous fête which they proposed to give in their new abode. Nothing was talked about in Chelles but the preparations that were in progress at Monsieur and Madame de Belleville’s. Workmen had been brought from Paris; there was to be an illumination and fireworks in the garden. The courtyard and avenue were encumbered with shrubs, and boxes filled with rare flowers; upholsterers had come to renew the hangings, and painters to touch up the stairs and stair-rails. Everything was in commotion, and in the midst of it all Chamoureau, bewildered by the crowds of people coming and going and by the noise that arose on all sides, often took refuge in the depths of his park, saying to himself:
“Those people drive me crazy; they will prevent me from finding what I seek—that discovery which may throw open the doors of the Academy to me. I feel sure that I am on the point of putting my finger on it. I will go and reflect upon it, while I contemplate the trees in my park.”
On the eve of the day appointed for this grand function, which had thrown the whole village of Chelles into commotion, Freluchon arrived at nightfall, and not finding Edmond at home, was on his way to Madame Dalmont’s, where he was certain of finding him, when he collided with somebody at a street corner.
“Hallo! it’s Chamoureau!” cried Freluchon; “delighted to meet you, my dear fellow. But why did you hurl yourself at me in that way? Are you getting short-sighted?”
“No, not at all; but I wasn’t looking to see where I was going; I was absorbed in my ideas.”
“Sapristi! you must have some very profound ideas then, since you became Monsieur de Belleville.”
On that day Chamoureau had, as usual, dined with his new friend the baron, and the two gentlemen had indulged somewhat too freely in the pomard with which one of the cellars of the villa was stored. So that, after dinner, they had felt the need of a short walk in the country.
“Dear Freluchon,” said Chamoureau; “so you received our invitation for to-morrow?”
“To be sure I did; and that is why I came to-night, so as to be on hand to-morrow.”
“You’ll pass the night with us; that’s very nice; we’ll give you a splendid room. Oh! we have plenty of them; we have bought an enchanting place here—so dainty and elegant! It’s a little Parc-aux-Cerfs.”
“Ah! do you have stags—cerfs—here?”
“No; that’s a figure of speech; I allude to a royal pleasure-house.”
“If you did have stags[B] in your house, it wouldn’t surprise me.—I am much obliged to you for your proffered hospitality, but I do not need to incommode you; I have my room here in Edmond’s house.”
[B] Another covert allusion to “wearing the horns,” or being a cuckold.
“Ah! you stay with Edmond, do you? You would be much better off with us; it’s more elegant there and more comfortable.”
“My dear Chamoureau, I don’t doubt that everything is magnificent in your house, but I am very comfortable at Edmond’s, and I shall sleep there. Moreover, as you may readily imagine, I have accepted your invitation for to-morrow from curiosity. When I learned that you had bought a country house at Chelles——”
“An estate!”
“Well! isn’t a country house an estate?”
“Yes, but when you say a country-house, it seems to mean just a place to sleep, a little box to loaf in over Sunday; whereas an ‘estate’! that instantly denotes something of value, of importance—something vast.”
“Bigre! how we do effervesce since we became Chamoureau de Belleville! But don’t you want me to say a château—a palace? I’ll call it whatever you please!”
“I want—I want above all things that you shouldn’t call me Chamoureau again!”
“Oh! as for that, I can’t promise.”
“If you call me that at our party to-morrow, it will be infinitely disagreeable to me.”
“Why did you invite me then?”
“It wasn’t I who invited you, it was my wife.”
“Ah! thanks! I recognize you there. Well, my amiable friend, as you were not the one who invited me, I am perfectly justified in telling you that I am going to your fête to-morrow solely from curiosity, to laugh a little; because I am persuaded that there will be some amusing sights there—not counting you—and lastly because I am curious to see how you receive your old friends now that you are rich and noble and have a palace!—There! are you content with me? Ha! ha! you must tell your wife not to invite me another time.”
Chamoureau bit his lips.
“We will receive our old friends very cordially,” he muttered, “when they don’t make fun of us.—Look you, a few days ago, a German baron arrived here, a former friend of my wife; and a man of the highest extraction, and he paid me the most flattering compliments on my marriage.”
“The deuce! he must have a fine German accent, must this baron!”
“Why, no, not very much; he swears in German, that’s all. Well, since he has been here, he dines and breakfasts with us almost every day; he dined with us to-day again, and we drank a certain pomard—ah! such pomard!—he drinks straight, does the baron—and I held my own with him.”
“Ah! I am not surprised that you didn’t see where you were going just now.”
“Nonsense! I never get drunk myself.”
“What are you looking for now?”
“I am looking for Monsieur de Schtapelmerg.”
“Good God! what did you say?”
“I said I was looking for Monsieur de Schtapelmerg; that’s the baron’s name.”
“He has a name that requires study to be pronounced in a becoming manner.—So he was with you, was he?”
“Yes, we came out together after dinner—to take a look at the country. He probably left me, at the call of nature; and I was so absorbed in my search that I didn’t notice that I was alone.”
“Have you lost anything, pray, that you were engaged in such an absorbing search?”
“Oh, no! I am seeking a method of ascertaining the age of trees simply by looking at the trunk.”
“I should never have suspected that that was what you were seeking. You are getting to be beyond me; I am no longer on your level. Was it your wife who commissioned you to ascertain that?”
“As if women ever meddled in science! It’s an idea that came into my head as I contemplated the magnificent lindens in our avenue. You haven’t seen our avenue yet, have you?”
“I have seen nothing, as I have just arrived; but when you have found out the age of a tree, what will you do with it?”
“Oh! you distress me, Freluchon! When one makes a scientific discovery, one endows one’s country with it, and the country rewards one. It may lead to anything!”
At that moment a vinous voice arose in the distance, calling:
“Hallo there! Belleville! damnation! Belleville! What in the deuce has become of our friend? Ho there! you fellows!”
“Hark! it seems to me that I hear the baron’s voice!” said Chamoureau; “he is looking for me.—This way, baron, this way! It’s getting dark, and this village isn’t lighted with gas as yet.”
Croque was tipsy; but as he was accustomed to being in that condition, he was quite firm on his legs, and even essayed to twirl his cane from time to time. However, as he walked toward Chamoureau, he failed to notice rather a deep rut, and he fell at full length in the road.
Thereupon he emitted a string of oaths calculated to appall a carter.
“Bless my soul!” cried Chamoureau, “I believe that Monsieur de Schtapelmerg has made a false step!”
“I am inclined to think that he has fallen altogether,” observed Freluchon.
And the two gentlemen went to assist Croque, who could not succeed in extricating himself from the rut.
“Ah! cré nom, tarteiff! a thousand million colored pipes! What in the devil’s the sense of roads like this! this is a vile hole of a place, this village of yours. When you dig holes, you ought to put lamps by ’em. Isn’t there any mayor here—cré coquin?”
“I hope you’re not hurt, my dear baron?”
“Ouiche! do I ever hurt myself? I’ve fallen farther than that—when I jumped from a first-floor, yes, and a second-floor window!”
“Take hold of me, monsieur; there, that’s right.”
“Hallo! there’s somebody else! is it neighbor Luminot?”
“No, dear baron, it isn’t our neighbor Luminot; it’s one of my friends from Paris, Freluchon, who has come down this evening so as to come to our fête to-morrow.”
“Oh! it seems he was afraid of missing the coach, was friend Tirebouchon!”
“I didn’t say Tirebouchon, baron, but Freluchon.”
“And if I should choose to murder your name, monsieur,” retorted the diminutive youth, “I might call you something extremely vulgar!”
Croque, who was once more on his feet, rubbed his nose and strove to recover his self-possession, muttering:
“Monsieur, I had no intention—I didn’t mean—however, a name’s a name, and after all, if I’ve offended you—ten thousand sauerkrauts! I am all here; I don’t retreat, at cards or at table.”
“Monsieur le baron, I am persuaded that you do not retreat anywhere; but you have not offended me; call me Tirebouchon if it amuses you, and I will join in the laughter.”
“A thousand kirschwassers! if you’re not satisfied——”
“But I tell you, on the contrary, that I am perfectly satisfied. I am not like Chamoureau, who doesn’t want to be called by his own name.”
“Cha—Cha—Chamou—what’s that you say? De Belleville’s name is Chamou?”
“Formerly—before my marriage,” stammered Chamoureau, “I may have had another name, but the moment I dropped it, I ceased to have it!”
“I say, that’s a good one! My sister didn’t tell me that, the hussy!”
“Who’s your sister?” cried Chamoureau.
Croque saw that he had been imprudent. To make his interlocutors forget it, he began to pretend to be in a quarrelsome mood once more.
“Never mind about that!” he said; “I’m an old soldier, I am, triple sauerkraut! I’m a bully boy who has shown his mettle, I am—in all sorts of ways, do you hear, Monsieur—Cornichon?”
“Ha! ha! very good! very pretty! we are pleased to make puns on my name, are we? Go on! The pomard makes you clever—spirituel.”
“What! the pomard makes me spirituous—spiritueux! What business is it of yours? If I have been drinking pomard, it didn’t belong to you; you haven’t got the like of it in your cellars, you miserable Chonchon—Torchon!”
“Oh! Monsieur de—excuse me if I don’t finish your name; I’m afraid you’re a bit quarrelsome in your cups. Come, let’s not get excited; I helped you out of your wheel-rut, and to reward me, you propose a duel. There! there! let’s be good friends.”
But the more mildness Freluchon displayed, the uglier Croque became, because he thought that the other was afraid of him. He advanced upon the young man, twirling his cane and talking in a tone that seemed to proceed from the depths of his chest.
“I tell you, you’re a shrimp. Yes, I have been drinking pomard—what business is it of yours, ten thousand smoked hams! I have a right to drink at Belleville’s, and you haven’t. I’ll drink as much as I please, and I’ll smash your jaw!”
“Oh! baron, baron, this is disgusting talk! surely you are anxious to return to your rut.”
“What’s that about a rut? I’ll chuck you into it!”
But, as Croque raised his cane over Freluchon’s head, the latter dealt him such a well-directed blow with his fist, that the self-styled baron fell back into the hole from which they had lifted him and lay there for some moments before he recovered his breath.
“Mon Dieu! you have killed him!” cried Chamoureau.
“If I did kill him, it would be no great loss to mankind, for this baron of yours, who swears by sauerkraut and kirschwasser, gives me rather a poor idea of the company I shall meet to-morrow at your house.”
“Why, he’s a very comme il faut man; he’s rather hot-headed, that’s all.”
“Oh! I have an idea that this baron is brummagem; and furthermore——”
“Mon Dieu! what am I going to do?”
“Don’t be alarmed, Chamoureau, such fellows are hard to kill. Look, what did I say? he’s moving a paw already.”
“Let’s help him to get up.”
“Oh, no! not I. I don’t help ingrates twice over!”
Croque raised his head, opened one eye, looked all about him, and stammered:
“Credié! what a crack! It was magnificent! I’ve been hit before, but never anything like that; it sobered me off in an instant!”
“Well, baron, if you say so, I’ll begin again.”
“Thanks! oh! no, I thank you! I’ve had enough; I’ve had my reckoning.—De Belleville, give me your hand, old fellow.”
When he was on his feet once more, Croque walked toward Freluchon and offered him his hand, saying:
“Young man, you’re a fine fellow; you have my esteem; let’s be friends.”
“Ah! you’re satisfied now, are you, monsieur le baron? You don’t want to fight any more?”
“I am perfectly satisfied. Shake! I am very glad to have made your acquaintance.”
“And I was certain that it would end like this. Bonsoir, messieurs; I am going to hunt up Edmond.”
“Until to-morrow, Freluchon; we rely on you. Try to bring Monsieur Edmond; my wife has invited him too.”
“Parbleu! I don’t doubt it; but I don’t know what he means to do. Until to-morrow.”
“No ill-will, Monsieur—Merluchon?”
“Oh! not the slightest, baron.”
Croque and Chamoureau walked away arm-in-arm, leaning on each other. Freluchon soon arrived at Madame Dalmont’s. Edmond was at the piano with Agathe, but Honorine was thoughtful and melancholy, for her new friend, Paul, had not come to see them.
Freluchon enlivened the company by describing what had taken place between himself and the Baron von Schtapelmerg.
“Is that the gentleman whom you thought so ugly?” Agathe asked her friend.
“Yes, and I haven’t changed my opinion.”
“Frankly,” said Freluchon, “I have rather a poor opinion of that man, who talks about nothing but sauerkraut and kirschwasser; I never heard a genuine baron swear as he does. And then he let fall some words which—impressed me. I propose to study this baron.—Are you going to Madame de Belleville’s ball to-morrow, Edmond?”
“I have no desire to.”
“You make a mistake; I have an idea that it will be very interesting.”
“Go there for a moment,” said Honorine; “otherwise they will say that we kept you from going.”
“What do I care?”
“Go,” said Agathe, “if for nothing more than to satisfy yourself whether those people do say unkind things about us.”
“That reason persuades me, dear Agathe, although I do not believe that anyone dares to speak ill of you. No matter; I will go to Madame de Belleville’s ball.”
“And I,” said Freluchon, “shall go first to the dinner, yes, and to the breakfast—to everything, and try to sit next the Baron von What’s-his-name at table. I will ply him with drink, and then I fancy that I shall hear some curious things.”
The two young men left the ladies, and as they passed Poucette, Freluchon, who attempted to ascertain whether the young peasant wore a hoop-skirt, received a kick on the shins from her clogs.
XVI
THE BLACK HEN
A gentleman, dressed in the height of fashion, alighted from the railway train and walked slowly up the steep hill leading to Chelles. As he walked along, this gentleman looked all about, pausing sometimes to admire the landscape.
“The suburbs of Paris are charming,” he said to himself; “how many people go a long distance in search of sites and points of view which are far inferior to these! But one never does justice to what is close at hand—to what one can enjoy without trouble and expense! We must needs go to Italy, where it is too hot, where most of the inns are detestable, where the living is wretched, and where there is still danger of being attacked by brigands; for it is good form to go to Italy!—Or we must needs go to Switzerland, where we freeze to death, where we destroy our respiration climbing mountains, where we walk on the edge of precipices of which the mere sight gives one vertigo, where we drink a lot without ever being hilarious, where everybody goes to bed with the hens, where the cooking doesn’t approach the French cooking. But it’s good form to go to Switzerland!—We go to England, where there is always a fog, blended with a dense smoke which makes the eyes ache; where one is expressly forbidden to indulge in any form of amusement on Sunday; where a shilling goes little farther than a sou does here; where the cooking is even worse than in Switzerland and Italy. But a trip to England cannot be dispensed with.
“And people laugh at me, forsooth, because I have always preferred Montfermeil, Ville d’Avray, Meudon, Montmorency, Enghien, Saint-Cloud, Champrosay, Saint-Germain, Vincennes, L’Isle-Adam, yes, even poor little Romainville, to England, Switzerland and Italy!
“But what do I care for their sneers? I have always had common sense enough to do what I pleased, instead of feeling compelled to do as others do, when it would have displeased or bored me to do it. The man is a great fool who, instead of following his inclinations, his tastes, his desires, says to himself: ‘But if I do this, people will laugh at me!’ especially when you consider how grateful the world is for what you do for it! Will it prevent the world from crying you down, from slandering you, from turning you to ridicule at the first opportunity? No, indeed! on the contrary, it will grasp the occasion in hot haste. Then, why incommode yourself for the world?
“O ye charming hillsides that surround Paris! I have never wearied of visiting and admiring you. I have left it to chronic tourists to fatigue themselves with long and difficult journeys, while I, at Asnières or Neuilly, feasted my eyes on the verdant islets that embellish the Seine; and at Romainville, so sneered at by people who do not know it, I have found, while walking near the fort, or on the low hills overlooking Pantin, views of an immense expanse of country, of which a native of Zurich or Lucerne would not have been ashamed.
“I have been to Villemomble, to Gagny, and many times to Couberon—too many times, indeed! for that was where that fatal episode happened. But I have never before been to Chelles. One has never seen everything! Even if you confine yourself to a radius of ten or twelve leagues around Paris, some village always escapes you.
“And it is at Chelles that Madame de Belleville has bought a country estate—a very pretty, very elegant place, they say. But why at Chelles, so near Couberon—a region which must recall painful memories, to say the least? It seems very strange to me; that woman never does anything without some motive, some object. And I determined upon this little excursion in order to discover her motive.
“O my superb Thélénie! it’s of no use for you to change your name and residence and style of living; I have sworn not to lose sight of you, and you shall not escape me.
“She refuses to tell me what she did with my son; and I am certain that that child is in existence. If he were dead, she would have furnished me with proofs of his death, in order to avoid my importunities. But let some chance circumstance place her at my mercy, and then she will be forced to speak.”
While pursuing these reflections, Beauregard had reached the first houses of the village. Desiring to ascertain the location of Thélénie’s estate, he stopped and looked about, proposing to question the first peasant who should pass. Soon he saw an old fellow, with a shrewd, cunning air, approaching him, holding against his breast an object for whose safety he seemed most solicitous.
As Beauregard was about to step forward to meet this peasant, the latter was accosted by a bourgeois who came from another direction.
Our fine gentleman from Paris, who was in no hurry at all, leaned against a tree, saying to himself:
“Let us wait a bit; perhaps I may learn something about the people of this region.”
“Come, come, Père Ledrux; I was getting impatient, so I came to meet you,” said the bourgeois to the peasant.
“Here I am, Monsieur Jarnouillard, here I am; I was just going to your house; I couldn’t finish my work before.”
“Have you been working for Madame de Belleville, too?”
“I should say so! I’ve been working there these three days; fixing borders and flowers, raking paths, and trimming bushes!”
“Haven’t they a gardener of their own?”
“Yes; but that man can’t do everything. Bless me! there’s so many preparations for the party to-night! Oh! it’s going to be splendid! no one ever saw anything finer in a king’s palace. Colored lamps hung in garlands; and rare flowers—flowers that I myself don’t know! They’ve sent for big boxes of ‘em—like Madame Droguet; and they’ve had lots of new baskets made.”
“Those people seem to like to throw their money out of the window!”
“Well! they spend a lot; but they seem able to afford it. You’re going to the party, I suppose, Monsieur Jarnouillard—you and madame?”
“Parbleu! I should say so! I’ve had to have my coat turned, and my wife has bought an embroidered collar. It’s ruinous, you see; but let’s come to our business, Père Ledrux: I asked you if you happened to have a hen to sell me—cheap—second-hand.”
“Tutu—turlututu.—That’s good, Monsieur Jarnouillard! a second-hand hen! You says: ‘I want a good layer’; and I’ve brought you a famous one.—Here, look at this hen!”
“Ah! she is black.”
“Well, why not? they’re the best, because it’s been noticed, as a general rule—Black hens are the best, you see.”
“Is there any reason for that?”
“There must be a reason; I don’t know what it is, but there is one, for sure.—But yes, I do know it—it’s because the roosters like hens of that color best.”
Monsieur Jarnouillard had taken the hen and was examining it in every part; he even lifted up her feathers, so that the peasant cried:
“I say! do you propose to pluck her?”
“No; but I want to know what I am buying. She’s very thin.”
“Thin! You call that a thin hen! Why, she’s in fine case; and then, good layers are never fat; they’re just like women: when they get very plump—no more children, no more little ones; the fun’s all over.”
“Ah! you know that, do you—and you a gardener?”
“I have heard Doctor Antoine Beaubichon say so often enough.”
“Well! what price do you want for your hen? Madame Jarnouillard’s the one who has taken a whim for having fresh eggs; for, as for me, I don’t care anything about them.”
“If you don’t want a hen, what made you ask me for one?”
“How much do you want for your hen?”
“Well! if I sell her to you for four francs, it’s none too much—if she gives you three eggs a day.”
“Do you take me for a child just out of a crib?”
“Oh, no! deuce take it! if children was born like you, all shrivelled and shrunk, then there wouldn’t be any young folks.”
“Name me a reasonable price.”
“You call four francs too much—for a black hen—and one like this!”
“Sell me one that isn’t black; I don’t care.”
“Just now, this is all I’ve got. Come, I don’t want to be hard with you; give me three francs, and take her.”
“Not if I know it!”
“Well then, how much will you give me for her?”
“Thirty sous—that’s quite enough!”
“Thirty sous, for a black hen of this breed! A splendid hen! Come, give me fifty sous.”
“No!”
“What a skinflint this Monsieur Jarnouillard is!—Come, forty sous, and call it a bargain.”
“I won’t give a sou more than thirty!”
“Oh well! if that’s so, give me back my hen this minute. Bless me! you want all for nothing, and even then you must make a profit; I ought to have known that I couldn’t do business with you.”
“Because I don’t allow myself to be taken in!”
“No, but you take other folks in!”
“Père Ledrux!”
“Monsieur Jarnouillard!”
“No harsh words, I beg.”
“Give me back my hen!”
“Here she is. It isn’t too late; thirty sous.”
“I’d rather eat her!”
Monsieur Jarnouillard walked away, leaving Père Ledrux with his hen, which he looked at with an ill-humored air, then abruptly replaced under his jacket. Whereupon Beauregard, who had been much amused by the conversation that he had overheard, walked up to the peasant and said:
“I’ll buy your hen!”
“You, monsieur,” ejaculated the gardener, surprised by the offer of this fine gentleman, whom he had not previously observed.
“Yes, I; won’t you sell her to me?”
“Oh, yes! indeed I will; but it seems sort of strange that you should buy her, because you don’t look like a dealer in hens, or eggs.”
“In truth, that is not my business; but there must be a beginning to everything. I’ll give you a hundred sous for your hen; does that suit you?”
“A hundred sous! pardi! I should think it did suit me! She’s yours, monsieur.”
And the peasant made haste to offer the hen to Beauregard. But he, taking a five-franc piece from his pocket, handed it to Père Ledrux, saying:
“Yes, a hundred sous, cash, and here it is; but on one condition.”
“What is it, monsieur?”
“That you will keep the hen at your place and take care of her.”
“Ah! monsieur leaves her with me as a boarder?” rejoined Ledrux, pocketing the five francs.
“Yes; does that displease you?”
“Not at all—just the opposite; I don’t ask anything better. Monsieur can flatter himself that he’s bought a splendid hen.”
“Does she lay often?”
“Well! that depends on the sun; there’s times when she does. Shall I keep the eggs for monsieur, too?”
“No, no! I’ll give them to you.”
“You see, she eats a good deal, this hen does; why, she’s always hungry; and what I get for the eggs won’t buy enough grain for her.”
Beauregard began to laugh as he watched the peasant’s weasel face.
“Does it make monsieur laugh because I say this hen needs a lot of grain?”
“No; I was simply thinking that you understand business perfectly; but never fear, I’ll reimburse you in full for all this fowl costs you.”
“Oh! I ain’t afraid, monsieur; I said that just to warn you, because I rather think monsieur don’t belong round here?”
“No, I have never been to Chelles until to-day.”
“And I can guess why monsieur has come to-day!”
“You can guess?”
“I see by monsieur’s looks that he must be one of Monsieur and Madame de Belleville’s guests, and that he’s come for the party they’re going to give at their place to-day.”
“I am, as you say, acquainted with the persons you mention.”
“Very fine folks!”
“I fancy that you haven’t known them long?”
“No, they’ve only been here about two months.”
“And you know already that they are fine folks?”
“Oh! that’s the way folks talk, you know. When a person spends a lot of money and pays, we say: ‘They’re fine folks.’”
“And when they are poor creatures who live on little or nothing and undergo innumerable privations, you don’t say that of them, eh?”
“Ha! ha! what you say’s true all the same, monsieur.”
“Do you belong here?”
“Yes, monsieur; florist and gardener by trade; Père Ledrux. Everybody knows me!”
“And I’ll wager that you know everybody?”
“Well! it’s sure enough that I go about everywhere in the way of my trade; and then a body talks a bit, you know; it sort of rests you.”
“In that case, as I require some information, as I wish to know something about the society of this neighborhood, I think that you are just the man I want.”
“Monsieur couldn’t apply in a better quarter. As for the hen’s board——”
“Here’s five francs more for the first outlay; for, from what you tell me, I see that it costs a great deal to feed her.”
The old peasant put the second five-franc piece in his pocket, saying:
“But I’ll take such good care of her! You won’t know her after a little while. If monsieur would like to come to our house to see where I live——”
“Yes, but first, you must show me Madame de Belleville’s place.”
“That’s easy; we get there by turning to the right.”
“And on the way, you will tell me what houses are to let here.”
“I say! is monsieur coming to live at Chelles, too?”
“Perhaps—for a short time.”
“Our village is getting to be mighty fashionable; we’ve got lots of fine folks from Paris. But I can’t think of any houses to let.”
“If I cannot get a house, I will be content with a room—at some farmer’s; I am not hard to suit, I simply want to be in the country air.”
“If monsieur ain’t hard to suit, we can find that, I guess. Pardi! a room—why I’ve got one myself I could let you have. I could sleep in my loft—it’s all one to me.”
“Well, Père Ledrux, we will look at your room; but show me first the house of these ‘fine folks,’ who give a party this evening.”
“In a minute, monsieur; we go this way.”
As Beauregard and the old peasant were starting, Monsieur Jarnouillard appeared at a bend in the road, shouting:
“Five sous more, Père Ledrux; come, I’ll give you thirty-five sous for your hen.”
“Not likely!” retorted the gardener with a shrug. “You wouldn’t take her for four francs just now! I’m glad you didn’t! it will teach you to haggle.”
XVII
RECOGNITION
On that same morning preceding the fête she was to give, Thélénie, desirous to escape for a moment the turmoil that reigned in her house, and still anxious to learn whom the dog belonged to who had defended the little boy when she attempted to chastise him, had ordered her horse saddled, and, leaping upon him with the fearless grace of a circus rider, galloped away in the direction of the Tower.
In a very short time the intrepid equestrian reached her destination. She skirted the park walls, then slackened her horse’s pace in order to examine the house, of which she could see the turret.
“How old and gloomy the place looks!” she said to herself. “The man who lives here must, in fact, be nothing better than a bear, a person who has no friends to entertain—for no one would ever come to see him. He is probably some old miser, or some newly-rich tradesman who knows nothing of society. But whoever he may be, I propose to inform the owner of this place that he has a very badly bred dog, that bites horses; and that, if he doesn’t muzzle him, I will have him shot the first time I fall in with him. I am curious to see what answer this man will make, who, they say, is such a savage. Such manners don’t frighten me.—Mon Dieu! is there no end to this park? Ah! there’s a gate, at last!”
Thélénie dismounted and rang a loud peal at the gate. An old, decrepit peasant woman answered the bell and asked her what she wanted.
“Is the owner of this place at home?”
“Monsieur Paul?”
“Paul or Pierre; I don’t know his name, but I presume he has some other than that. But no matter, is this gentleman at home?”
“Yes, madame; he has just come back from a visit to Paris.”
“I wish to speak with him; take me to him.”
“Bless me! you see, I don’t know whether monsieur will want to see you; he doesn’t like visits.”
“You’re a fool! I tell you that I have something to say to your master, that I want to see him. I am not a person to be kept waiting. Come, off you go!”
Old Mère Lucas was hesitating when Ami suddenly appeared in the courtyard and planted himself, growling, in front of Thélénie, as if to bar her passage.
“That dog again, that infernal dog! It’s he that I came to complain about. Call him away, old woman; you see that he prevents me from passing.”
“Come, good Loulou, come, my boy; come with me and don’t stand in front of madame like that.”
But Ami paid no heed to what Mère Lucas said. He continued to block the amazon’s path, and began to bark at her.
“Look you, servant, I advise you to call your dog away; if he doesn’t get out of the way I’ll curry him with my crop, after a fashion he won’t like!”
“Don’t do that, madame, or you’ll be sorry for it; the dog isn’t ugly, but if anybody besides his master should strike him—and his master never strikes him—why, then he’d bite you, he’d throw himself on you.”
“But you see that he won’t let me pass; that he stands in front of me all the time.”
The master’s arrival put an end to this scene.
Paul had come from the house, surprised to hear his dog bark so persistently.
“What’s the matter?” he said, coming forward; “what’s going on here? whom are you barking at, Ami?”
Thélénie had taken two or three steps toward Paul; when she heard his voice, she looked at him a moment, then stopped; she seemed like one stupefied; she turned deathly pale and fixed her eyes on the ground.
Paul meanwhile had scanned the features of the woman before him, and started back as if he had seen a serpent. The dog became somewhat calmer at sight of his master, but he took his stand between him and the visitor, and fixed his intelligent eyes upon her, as if to say:
“You shall not come near him!”
Thélénie soon recovered from the first paroxysm of dismay, and faltered:
“What! is it you, Monsieur Duronceray? here, in this solitude, living like a hermit! I confess that I hardly expected this meeting.”
“I can well believe, madame, that you would not have come here if you had expected to find me. For my part, I hoped that this spot would not be sullied by your presence.”
“Monsieur! this insult——”
“I do not insult you; indeed, you are well aware that there are people whom it is impossible to insult. But you know also that I am justified in speaking to you as I am doing.”
“Take care, monsieur! I am married now!”
“You are married! Who, then, is the unhappy wretch who has given you his name? an idiot or a knave—it must be one or the other!”
Thélénie bit savagely at the head of her crop, but she tried in vain to recover her usual self-possession.
“Come, madame,” continued Paul, “tell me why you came here. Tell me at once and let us hasten to put an end to an interview which, I trust, will never be repeated.”
“Monsieur, I came—your infernal dog is the cause of my coming. If he hadn’t thrown himself at me—at my horse—not long ago, to defend a little boy who was throwing stones at me, I shouldn’t have tried to find out to whom he belonged.”
“Doubtless Ami recognized you, madame; he has a better memory than you; he always recognizes my friends, and my enemies as well.”
“What! is this that great gaunt creature that you used to have? He has grown so big and strong! I confess that I didn’t recognize him; I thought at first that he belonged to a lady who foolishly took sides with the little good-for-nothing.”
“So you are Madame de Belleville, are you?” cried Paul, to whom Honorine had described her adventure with the handsome equestrian.
“To be sure! does that surprise you?”
“Nothing could astonish me on your part.”
“Yes, monsieur, I have married Monsieur de Belleville, a very worthy man, a young man—in good society. I have nearly forty thousand francs a year, I have my own carriage, and not long ago we bought a beautiful estate in Chelles.”
“What! you were not afraid to buy a house in this neighborhood?”
“Pray, monsieur, why should I be afraid of this neighborhood? Please tell me what I have to dread here?”
“Oh! nothing! such a woman as you never feels remorse.”
“Remorse! because I left you when I had ceased to love you! Ha! ha! Really, monsieur, anyone can see that you no longer go into society, that you live like a wolf! You seem to have forgotten entirely what is a daily occurrence in society. Two people form a liaison, they adore each other for a while; but there comes a day when one of them ceases to love the other, and then——”
“And then, madame, that one says so frankly, and does not continue to feign love for the man she is deceiving.”
“Mon Dieu! messieurs, if we were always perfectly frank with you, you would cut a sorry figure too often! I believe that most men would rather be deceived than know what there is in the bottom of our hearts; and they are wise! for they would make such painful discoveries!”
“A truce to your jests, madame! If you had done nothing more than deceive me, than feign a love which you no longer felt, when no sacrifice was too great for me to give you pleasure, when I balked at nothing to prove my love for you, I should have no reproaches for you! Indeed, I should be very foolish to complain, for your conduct would have differed in no respect from that of those women who pride themselves on paying for every benefaction by an infidelity.—Don’t be alarmed; that was not my reason for becoming a hermit!—But you were more than unfaithful to me—you were cowardly, inhuman. In order to conceal from me the identity of your real lover, you had the cunning to make me suspect, accuse, insult a young man who was not thinking of you, but whom, by some fatality, or rather by means of some perfidious scheme prepared beforehand, I found alone with you when I was seeking your lover. When you heard me, in my blind jealousy, accuse and challenge Comte Adhémar de Hautmont, you could with a word have put an end to my error. You had only to say to me: ‘It is not this gentleman who is your rival, but Beauregard, your dear friend Beauregard, your intimate, inseparable friend!’ Far from that, you did your utmost to make my misunderstanding complete! Nor did Comte Adhémar, when I insulted him, try to undeceive me; he had received one of those affronts which a gallant man does not forgive; he demanded prompt, immediate satisfaction, and I, for my part, wanted nothing better than to fight. You saw us go out together, without seconds, without attendants, from that fatal house at Couberon, where I found the count with you. You saw us both, frantic with rage, armed with pistols; you knew that we were going to fight, and you did not try to prevent that fatal duel; yes, fatal, in very truth, for I was unfortunate enough to be the victor. The ill-fated Adhémar, mortally wounded, told me the whole truth.
“He had received an urgent invitation from you to come to your country house at Couberon; but it had never occurred to him to make love to you, for he loved another woman, he had a child, a daughter whom he adored; his death was certain to drive to despair a young woman to whom he expected soon to be married! Those two beloved beings had no one but him to depend upon; he was on the point of naming them to me, of telling me his last wishes, when death closed his lips; and he left no paper, no sign to enable me to discover those unfortunate creatures whose lives I had wrecked! Thanks to you, to your atrocious treachery, I had killed a young man who had done me no wrong; and with the same shot I deprived a child of its father, a mother of her husband!—That, madame, that is what I have never forgiven myself: that I became a criminal for you—for a Thélénie!”
“Monsieur!”
“Hush, wretched creature! and since you have had the audacity to return to this neighborhood to live, go to a spot close by, in the ravine near the Noisy road; it was there that Adhémar and I fought on leaving your house. It was there that the unfortunate man fell, dying, at my feet. Poor fellow! with his last breath he forgave me; he gave me his hand; but those two poor creatures whom he loved so dearly, and with whom he begged me to replace him—that woman and that child; he was on the point of telling me their names, and where I could find them; but he could not! To no purpose did I resort to the most minute and painful search; I discovered nothing; I could never learn the whereabouts of those two, to whom I would gladly have offered my whole fortune, in compensation for the injury I had done them.
“Then I was overwhelmed with shame; I conceived a horror of that society, where, under the mask of love and friendship, I had found nothing but falseness and perfidy. But I wished to be able to weep over my victim’s grave, to be where I could go every day to beg his forgiveness for that terrible mistake which has left me a prey to everlasting remorse. That is why I bought this estate. I returned to this part of the country, not to cut a dash and give great parties, but to be near the unfortunate Adhémar’s grave.”
Thélénie listened to these last words without wincing, without the least trace of emotion. Her contracted eyebrows and the disdainful expression of her mouth alone disclosed the secret wrath which agitated her heart.
But when his master ceased to speak, Ami stepped nearer to the visitor and showed his teeth.
“My dog recognized you,” continued Paul; “he is able to distinguish unerringly between my friends and my enemies; he was always hostile to you, and I might have learned from him your real sentiments toward me. He is just the same to-day to you. Dogs do not change; they set a useful example to men; and that is the reason, I presume, why the latter beat them so often; they are humiliated to find in a beast virtues which they do not possess.—Now, madame, I fancy that you have nothing more to say to me, and I am glad to believe that you have no further business here.”
With that, Paul turned his back on Thélénie and walked away, motioning to his dog to follow him, which he did not do until he had walked around the amazon several times, growling most significantly.
Thélénie was furious; her pride was irritated by Monsieur Duronceray’s outspoken contempt. She had been so long accustomed to be flattered and adulated, that she longed to crush the man who had treated her so disdainfully.
Finding that she was alone in the courtyard, for Mère Lucas had retired long before, the magnificent creature struck with her crop everything within her reach; but her wrath expended itself on a few boxes of flowers and empty pots.
At last she left the place, returned to her horse which was tied to the gate, sprang to the saddle, gave him the rein and galloped away along the first road that she spied. That road was broad and smooth at first, but soon narrowed and became stony. On both sides rose hills in which the road was boxed, as it were; on these hills were trees whose shade imparted a gloomier and more melancholy aspect to the road.
“What a horrible path I chose!” said Thélénie to herself, with an indefinable feeling of alarm. “No one seems to be passing; I have lost my way; I certainly did not come this way. Come, Brillant! let us make haste to get out of here.—Well! what’s the matter with the beast? he won’t go forward a step! What are you afraid of, coward? Oh! I tell you that you’ve got to go on.”
As she spoke, she dealt the horse a violent blow on the side with her crop. But he, instead of going forward, jumped like a sheep, then shied so violently that, an excellent rider though she was, Thélénie lost her balance, fell backward and rolled on the ground at the foot of a cross standing by the roadside. It was that cross that had frightened her horse.
Although slightly bruised by her fall, Thélénie rose and looked about her, and her eyes fell on the wooden cross on its little mound of earth. She realized that she had fallen on a grave, and after examining the place more carefully, she faltered:
“Mon Dieu! this solitary path, this ravine—this is where they fought, and beneath this cross lies the body of Comte Adhémar! What fatality brought me here? If he had seen me, he would say that it was Providence!”
Summoning all her strength, Thélénie hurried away from the scene of her fall. Her horse was waiting for her some thirty yards away. She mounted again, much less proudly than before; the accident which had happened to her had calmed her rage very sensibly.
XVIII
THE BEGINNING OF A FÊTE
As she approached the village, Thélénie’s terror rapidly vanished and her schemes of vengeance acquired new force in her mind.
“How that man treated me!” she thought; “how contemptuously he drove me from his presence! Ah! if I ever have an opportunity to show him how I hate him, I will not let it slip.—Shall I mention this meeting to Croque? No! He would be afraid of dog and master alike, and would be quite capable of flying the country on the instant; I must, on the contrary, conceal from him the fact that Duronceray lives in the neighborhood.”
Many people from Paris, who had been invited for the whole day, had already arrived at Goldfish Villa. Mademoiselle Héloïse was of the number, as well as several others of Thélénie’s old friends, before whom she was very glad to parade her new splendor.
Chamoureau, who was unacquainted with most of his wife’s guests, was greatly embarrassed in doing the honors of his house to so many people, and was impatiently awaiting Thélénie’s return.
At last the majestic equestrian appeared and her husband ran to meet her, crying:
“Hurry, hurry, my dear love! More than twenty people have come already, and I don’t know any of them, except Mademoiselle Héloïse, whom I know a little. I have no idea how to entertain so many people.”
“Why, monsieur, you must tell everyone to do what he pleases; no sort of restraint; that’s how people amuse themselves in the country. Isn’t the baron here, to help you to do the honors?”
“Monsieur de Schtapelmerg is playing, madame; he’s an indefatigable gambler, you know. Whenever he can get hold of anybody to play with him, he goes at it. At this moment he is at a game of billiards with Monsieur Luminot, who has just arrived; and the baron is making some magnificent shots.”
“I hope, monsieur, that you won’t both drink too much to-day as you did yesterday; I understand that the baron fell into a mud-hole.”
“Not at all; he slipped, made a misstep; that may happen to anybody.”
“For shame, monsieur! the idea of a man who has a fine house, and horses and carriages, getting tipsy like any porter!”
“I swear, madame——”
“If the baron doesn’t behave better, I’ll turn him out of doors.”
“Turn Monsieur de Schtapelmerg, your old friend, out of doors!”
“Well, well! I must go and dress. Send Héloïse to me.”
“What! my dear love, aren’t you coming to the salon to receive your guests?”
“The idea of my appearing in this costume! that would be very nice.”
“Ah, yes! that’s true; you are in your riding habit. Why, your back’s all covered with dirt! did you fall?”
“I never fall from my horse; I leave that for you to do! Have Monsieur Edmond and Monsieur Freluchon arrived?”
“Not yet; I imagine that they won’t come till evening. By the way, my dear love, I have something to tell you that will please you.”
“Later, monsieur; I haven’t time to listen to you at this moment.”
And Thélénie went up to her apartment, while Chamoureau said to himself:
“I’ll tell her that by-and-by, at table; at the same time that I tell her of my invention, my marvellous invention for ascertaining the age of trees.—Ah! that will confer honor on me, and will cause my name to be handed down to posterity!”
Chamoureau returned to the salon rubbing his hands, and with such a self-satisfied air, that Doctor Antoine, who had just arrived, and who had his share of curiosity, at once went up to him and asked him the reason.
“You have received some pleasant news, I’ll be bound, Monsieur de Belleville,” he said; “rubbing one’s hands is always a sign of satisfaction, unless it means that one is cold. But as this is August and the weather is fine, it can hardly be the last reason that makes you rub yours.—Some little surprise you are arranging for the fête, eh? Tell me what it is; I won’t breathe a word to anyone.”
“My dear doctor, I am in truth rather well pleased with myself; but my satisfaction has nothing to do with our fête; I have two reasons for it, in fact, I may say three. In the first place, after long and fatiguing studies, I have succeeded in making a discovery which will be of great benefit to science.”
“What! are you interested in science, Monsieur de Belleville?”
“I am interested in everything, doctor; I am always meditating, although I may not have that appearance.”
“Really! And this scientific discovery has a bearing upon hygiene?”
“What did you say?”
“I asked you if it related to hygiene, to therapeutics—in short, if it is a discovery of interest to the medical profession?”
“Oh! not at all, doctor; there’s not the least bit of medicine in my discovery. It is—you won’t mention it to anybody yet?”
“I will be dumb.”
“It’s a method of ascertaining, the moment you look at a tree, how old it is.”
“Oho! one can tell pretty nearly now, by observing the size of the trunk and the lines of the bark; but one can never be quite sure; it is only probable.”
“Well, thanks to me, doctor, there will be no more doubt, no more guessing; we can be absolutely sure of not making a mistake of a month, or even of a day!”
“This strikes me as a very interesting thing; how in the devil do you go to work to determine it with such certainty?”
“Ah! that is my secret, but I will disclose it at dinner; I am keeping it for dessert, as well as a pleasant surprise I am arranging for my wife.”
“You might tell me now.”
“No; I want the effect I produce to be universal.—But excuse me; I see Monsieur and Madame Droguet, I must go to receive them.—Ah! there’s Freluchon too. This is very good of him; he didn’t promise to come to dinner. When I say that it’s good of him, I mean, if he doesn’t call me Chamoureau!”
Freluchon had arrived among the first, because he was very curious to see the company that assembled at his old friend’s house since he had married the fair Thélénie. The specimen that he had met the preceding evening, in the person of the Baron von Schtapelmerg, had simply redoubled his curiosity; moreover, he had determined to keep an eye upon that gentleman, of whose titles of nobility he was exceedingly suspicious.
As for Croque, he had been severely reprimanded by his sister for getting drunk the night before, and had promised to be abstemious, to watch himself closely, to refrain from swearing and to let his cane alone. On these conditions, plus an irreproachable costume, she gave him permission to play; she even gave him carte blanche if he should happen to play with Edmond. But he was expressly forbidden to cheat with any other of the guests.
All the large landowners and all the leading inhabitants of the neighborhood were assembled in the salons of Goldfish Villa. They awaited impatiently the appearance of Madame de Belleville, who had not yet completed her toilet. To pass the time they talked and criticised their neighbors, according to immemorial usage. The guests who had come from Paris made sport of the figures, the costumes and the bonnets of the local celebrities; the latter whispered together and agreed that the tone and manners and language of the ladies from Paris were decidedly free.
However, as almost all of these last had inserted a de in their names, and as their dresses were in the extreme of fashion, these remarks were made in very low tones and did not prevent a profusion of curtsies and profound reverences on both sides.
“How are you, my dear fellow!” cried Freluchon, shaking Chamoureau’s hand; “the devil! but this is simply gorgeous! These salons are magnificent, and the furniture in the best taste! To be sure, I see some amusing faces. Oh I what a queer lot! I think we shall have some sport!”
“Freluchon, I beg you, don’t make fun of anyone!”
“You are delightful, really! What difference does it make to you, if I have a little fun at the expense of that yellow, wizened-up old fellow in the corner, or of that bulky dame yonder, provided that they don’t detect it? Don’t you know that one-half of the world makes sport of the other half?”
“I have never made sport of anybody.”
“Yes, you have; you made sport of us when you pretended to weep for Eléonore.”
“It seems to me, Freluchon, that the time is ill chosen to remind me of the past!”
“Then let me laugh at the present. By the way, I recognize the stout party yonder; it was she who shut her door in my face one night when I went there to ask for Edmond.”
“That is Madame Droguet, a person in very comfortable circumstances.”
“She doesn’t look as if she were comfortable in her corsets! Poor soul! she has tried to make her waist small! Who’s that little fellow behind her, standing on one leg the way canaries do when they sleep?”
“That is her husband; he is crazy over dancing.”
“It will give me pleasure to see him dance.—But where’s your wife?”
“She is dressing; she spends a long time at her toilet; she keeps people waiting a good while.”
“Because she wants to produce a great effect when she finally appears.—And the baron of last evening, Monsieur de Schtapelmerg?”
“He is playing billiards.”
“Is he drunk again as he was yesterday?—You were both pretty bad.”
“Oh! Freluchon, don’t go back to that, I beg you!”
“If you refuse to let me laugh, I’ll call you Chamoureau.—Come, come, be calm, my friend; I don’t mean to make you wretched—I will leave that to your stunning spouse.—I am going to join Monsieur Thousand Sauerkrauts; that is a man I am most desirous to know more intimately.”
While Freluchon betook himself to the billiard room, Doctor Antoine went from one to another of the persons whom he knew, and whispered:
“Monsieur de Belleville has a surprise in store for the dinner.”
“What is it, doctor?”
“I can’t tell; he has discovered a method of telling the exact age of a tree simply by examining the trunk.”
“Really! how on earth does he do it?”
“Ah! that is what he is going to tell us at dinner.”
“Why at dinner, pray? are we going to have trees for dessert?”
“I have told you all I know.”
“I would never have believed that Monsieur de Belleville would discover anything.”
“It seems that he isn’t such a fool as he looks.”
These last reflections came from the groups formed by the guests from Paris. Meanwhile the report that the master of the house had made an interesting discovery quickly spread through all the rooms, and reached the ears of Freluchon, who had renewed his acquaintance with the Baron von Schtapelmerg.
It was Monsieur Jarnouillard who said to them:
“It seems that Monsieur de Belleville is a man of great talent—a profound student, deeply versed in the abstract sciences!”
“Whom are you talking about?” cried Freluchon.
“Of our host, Monsieur de Belleville.”
“You call Chamoureau a learned man?”
“Who is Chamoureau? where do you find a Chamoureau?”
“I find him here; that is Monsieur de Belleville’s former name.”
“Ah! I didn’t know that circumstance.”
“It makes no difference.—Why do you say that he’s a profound student?”
“Because he has discovered the secret of telling the age of a tree simply by looking at the trunk.”
“So! he has discovered that, has he? But look you; when he says to a tree: ‘Your age is thus and so,’ the tree can’t contradict him.”
“True! I hadn’t thought of that.”
“So you see that there’s no great merit in that; but you are mistaken—it’s not the age of trees, but the age of women that the master of this house has the knack of guessing at first sight.”
“By examining the trunk?”
“Oh! I don’t say what he examines; but if by the trunk you mean the torso, it may be that.”
“Oh! that is much more amusing! And he never gets a year out of the way?”
“Not a week!”
“Pardieu! that is likely to lead to some very amusing revelations! What in the devil did Doctor Antoine mean by telling us that it was a matter of trees?”
“He must have heard wrong.”
“I must go at once to the ladies and correct his mistake.”
Monsieur Jarnouillard instantly sought his wife, who was talking with Mesdames Remplumé and Droguet, and said to them:
“It isn’t trees that Monsieur de Belleville tells the age of without ever making a mistake, just by examining the trunk; it’s women.—So beware, mesdames! I felt I ought to warn you; he is never a week wrong!”
“What is Monsieur Jarnouillard talking about?” exclaimed Madame Droguet; “Monsieur de Belleville tells our age by examining what?”
“He says the trunk.”
“What is the meaning of such indecency? Just let him try examining anything of mine and telling me how old I am—he’ll get a warm welcome!”
“If I was certain that that’s what we were invited here for,” said Madame Remplumé, “I would go away this minute!”
“Tell us our ages! the impertinent fellow! It would be very smart of him, for I don’t know my own age.”
“Nor I either, my dear friend! As if a woman ever needed to know her age! Nobody but a concierge ever does, and that depends on the neighborhood.”
The arrival of the mistress of the house put an end to all this tittle-tattle.
Thélénie was superb; her dress was gorgeous; her novel, original method of arranging her beautiful black hair was voted admirable, especially as some beautiful pearls and diamonds were scattered through it and produced a marvellously brilliant effect.
Never had her lovely black eyes shone with a brighter gleam, never had her smile embodied more seduction; and so, when she appeared in the salon, a concert of eulogistic remarks arose on all sides, and even Freluchon himself could not help thinking:
“She is a magnificent creature, and no mistake: fine figure, fine costume, fine face! What a pity that her heart doesn’t correspond! I know that that is of no consequence in the eyes of many people, who care for nothing in a woman except what excites their senses and flatters their self-esteem. But when one has studied them a little, one knows all the harm that a woman can do to whom nature has given everything except a heart! Their power is immense! To be sure it lasts but one season; but that season is long enough for them to do much harm—and sometimes, from caprice, a little good.”
Thélénie had a smile for all, an affable glance for this one, a compliment for that one; upon her arrival in the midst of her guests, her salons were transformed, and gayety and animation superseded the ennui which had begun to make headway. One bright woman is enough to effect such a miracle.
Madame de Belleville proposed a walk in the garden, where divers games had been arranged for the amusement of the company; and she set the example by leading the ladies thither. The ex-vivandière seized the opportunity to say to her hostess in an undertone:
“My dear and lovely Madame de Belleville, is it true that your husband has discovered the secret of divining a woman’s age and telling it at once, simply by examining her corsets?”
“Oh! madame, who can have told you such a thing?” said Thélénie, laughing heartily; “and how could you believe it? Who has been telling you this fairy tale?”
“Monsieur Jarnouillard told it to us as a positive fact; Monsieur de Belleville is to make his experiments during dinner.”
“Ha! ha! what an excellent joke!”
“Jarnouillard!—Come here a moment. From whom did you get this story concerning Monsieur de Belleville’s secret relative to women’s ages?”
The lank, yellow, ugly miser looked around and pointed to Freluchon, crying:
“From that young man from Paris over there.”
“Oh! then I am not surprised,” said Thélénie; “that is Monsieur Freluchon; his one delight is to laugh and make jokes.”
“I call it very ridiculous!” said Madame Droguet.
Thélénie went up to the diminutive young man and bestowed a gracious smile on him.
“You caused those ladies a terrible fright, Monsieur Freluchon!” she said.
“I, madame? how so?”