"That servant is very familiar with the concierge," he muttered; "if I were Madame Mignon, I would keep an eye on her.—And that cab doesn't come! It seems as if everything was against me!—But what's all this noise in the house? One would think there was a row on every floor. Gad! I wish I were a long way from here!"

There was, in fact, a great shouting on the second floor, a quarrel on the third, and a lively exchange of insulting epithets on the fourth. One would have thought that the house was given over to pillage; all the tenants were in the halls, the uproar increased momentarily and seemed to approach the concierge's lodge. Soon the voices became distinct; everybody seemed to be coming downstairs. Some persons went out; but the tenants collected in front of the concierge's window and began to abuse him.

Next came a lady's maid in a frenzy.

"I," said a man, "asked him ten times if Mademoiselle Crémailly had come back from the country; he finally said yes, so I went up to the fourth floor—and when one's lame, it isn't pleasant to go up four flights of stairs—and I found nobody but the cook, breakfasting with a soldier. Very pretty, on my word! I'll let Mademoiselle Crémailly know about it."

"I was breakfasting with my cousin, monsieur; that ain't a crime. He was on duty last night at the Opéra, and he looked in this morning to say good-day; where's the harm? I asked him to breakfast with me—just a boiled egg—there's no need of making a long story out of that. You can tell Mademoiselle Crémailly if you want to. I'm not afraid of her discharging me for such a little thing as that. This concierge hasn't got two sous' worth of common sense, to tell you mademoiselle had come back from the country, when she's going to be there at least two weeks longer! He must have had too much white wine this morning."

A lady enveloped in a simple peignoir cried even louder than the others:

All these clamors and upbraidings assailed Chamoureau's ears without inducing him to turn his head; on the contrary, he slunk down still deeper into his chair and tried to show nothing but his cap. But the obstinate silence of the person whom they all supposed to be the concierge simply intensified the general indignation. They shouted at him:

"What have you to say to all this?"

"Come, speak!"

"Tell us why you did it."

"Monsieur doesn't even condescend to answer us."

"Don't you hear us, concierge? have you suddenly gone deaf?"

"Can it be that he's still asleep?"

"That isn't possible; we've made noise enough to wake the dead."

"This silence isn't natural!"

"He doesn't move; can he have had a stroke of apoplexy?"

"We must find out what the matter is. The poor fellow! here we are abusing him, and perhaps he is dead!"

Meanwhile someone had opened the door, and several persons rushed in at the same moment. They ran to the easy-chair and began by turning it round so that they could see the person seated in it; whereupon there were exclamations of surprise on every side.

"It isn't Père Mignon!"

"It isn't the concierge!"

"It's a false concierge!"

"Just look at the costume; it's a Spaniard of the time of Louis XIII."

"It's a masker."

"He isn't masked."

"It's a masker, all the same; that's what they call people disguised."

"It's a thief who broke into the lodge while the concierge was away."

"He's taken his cap already."

Chamoureau decided to rise; he tossed the concierge's cap aside, resumed his own cap with the plumes, and replied, affecting a dignified air:

"In the first place, messieurs and mesdames, I am not a thief and you will soon have proof that I am not. I am waiting for the concierge to return; he has gone to get me a cab, for you will understand that I could not go home on foot in this disguise."

"But you don't belong in the house. Why did you come here?"

"I came here, intending to go to the apartment of my intimate friend Freluchon, on the fourth floor, opposite Mademoiselle Crémailly, because my clothes are there and I expected to put them on. But Freluchon did not come home, which was very wrong on his part, as he has my clothes."

"Oh! it very often happens that he doesn't come home at night," murmured the young servant who came for the newspaper, smiling as she said it.

"You understand now, messieurs and mesdames, why I let everybody go up; Père Mignon did not tell me his orders, he didn't have time; besides, even if he had, I should probably have made mistakes, for I am beginning to realize that the trade of concierge demands strict attention as well as memory."

"Mon Dieu! my husband has been changed! Who in the world is this Spaniard? What's happened to Mignon? I want my husband! He's never been to Spain!"

They strove to pacify the concierge's wife by repeating what Chamoureau had just told them, but she refused to credit the Spaniard's story and continued to cry:

"That ain't true, I say. Mignon wouldn't have left his post for this disguised man that nobody knows. He took Mignon's place; what's he done with him? If my husband don't return soon, I'll have this carnivalizer arrested!"

But the concierge's return put an end to his wife's shrieks and to the tenants' suspicions.

"Faith, monsieur," he said, going up to Chamoureau, "I had lots of trouble finding a cab for you; I went to at least four stands, and not a cab to be seen! I met an empty one at last, on Rue de Provence a minute ago, and brought it here. But if I'd known I should be away so long, I certainly wouldn't have done your errand for you!"

"Especially as your substitute does such nice things!" cried Madame Duponceau's maid.

"Let me hear no more of all that nonsense!" said Chamoureau, leaving the room.—"Your husband isn't lost, you see, Madame Mignon.—Messieurs and mesdames, you must be convinced now that I am not a thief. I have the honor to salute you."

"Why, concierge," he cried, in dire distress, "I asked you to get a closed cab, so that I couldn't be seen."

"Go and get one for yourself and leave us in peace!" exclaimed Madame Mignon, who was still in a bad humor.

Chamoureau made the best of it, jumped into the milord, gave the driver his address, and throughout the journey held his cap in front of his face, like a fan.

Chamoureau occupied a very comfortable apartment on what is called the Carré Saint-Martin, that is to say, the junction of Rue Saint-Martin and the boulevard. There he carried on the profession of business agent; he undertook the purchase or sale of houses, the investment of funds, the recovery of old debts, in short, everything which business agents—hommes d'affaires—generally undertake; most of them having passed the examination for admission to the roll of advocates, and some having even assumed that title, they are generally familiar with the laws and with all the tricks of the profession.

Several persons had already called to confer with the business agent on the morning following the Opéra ball. They had found no one but the woman employed to do his housework, who always found the key at the concierge's lodge. Not finding Chamoureau, she assumed that he had gone out very early on business.

At eight o'clock, a man from the country made his appearance. He seemed to be half-bourgeois, half-peasant; he was about fifty years of age, short and thickset; his head was set low between his shoulders; his features were ugly and without distinction, their only expression being that distrust so customary among country people, who are always suspicious of those who live in cities and believe that they are always trying to cheat them; probably because when they themselves are at home they have no scruples about cheating city folk.

This man asked the concierge if Monsieur Chamoureau, business agent, was at home, and the concierge replied:

"He must be; I haven't seen him go out;" the fact being that he had not seen him come in; but concierges do not always notice the goings and comings of their tenants.

"I say—between you and me—this Monsieur Chamoureau who keeps a real estate office—can I trust him? is he a good business man? You see how it is—I'm from the country, but I don't want to get cheated here in Paris! And, you see, I've heard as how your business agents was as likely as not to be thieves who did their business at the expense of the poor devils who put theirs in their hands."

"Oh! monsieur, you needn't have any fear about Monsieur Chamoureau; he's a very square man! nobody's ever said a word against his honesty. He pays everybody cash—even his baker; he don't owe the least bit of a debt in the quarter!"

"Well, well! that's good enough! and he ain't a woman's man—a rake—a spendthrift?"

"Not at all; he leads a very quiet life and don't put on any airs; he don't stay out too late—always comes home when the theatre's out, when he goes there. To be sure, the theatres keep it up nowadays till an hour that makes it unpleasant for concierges—but still, that ain't Monsieur Chamoureau's fault."

"That's good too! and is he married? has he got a wife and children?"

"No; he was married, but he's been a widower a short time; and he keeps up his regret for his wife, which is very noble on his part; he can't talk about her without crying."

"You can, monsieur; you needn't have any fear."

"In that case, I'll go up. Good-day, monsieur le concierge."

The little man arrived at Chamoureau's door on the second floor.

"Monsieur went out early," said the charwoman, "but he'll certainly be back soon; if you'd like to wait, please take a seat."

"I'll wait as long as I've come; I'd rather wait than go back."

The countryman sat down in a sort of reception room lined with shelves which were filled with boxes, all of which gave the room a sort of resemblance to a solicitor's office; only the clerks were lacking. But the sight of boxes and of docketed files of papers always produces a great effect on clients of the type of the little thickset man. He looked around, evidently impressed, and said to himself:

"Yes, yes! this must be a famous business agent; there's lots of papers in them boxes!"

This gentleman, who was dressed all in black, with a white cravat, which did not prevent his having a decidedly dirty look, entered the room with his head in the air, saying:

"I wish to speak at once with Monsieur Chamoureau, business agent; announce me, servant; I am Aimé-Désiré-Jules Beaubichon, professor of bookkeeping; however, your master knows me; I have seen him twice—in this domicile,—concerning the delicate affair, the purport of which I have succinctly laid before him. It relates to the subject of marriage; he has told me of a young woman whose virtue and morals he will answer for; and I am most particular touching those qualifications, provided that a suitable dowry be added to them, the face and form being in my eyes mere superfluities of little importance to a housewife in watching her soup-kettle!—I am disposed to take upon myself the bonds of matrimony once more if all the conditions are in accord with my social position, which, I venture to say, is as honorable as it is lucrative; fifteen hundred francs a year, without counting gifts from pupils—when they make any!"

"Monsieur Chamoureau went out early; he's sure to be back soon; if you'd like to wait—monsieur here has been waiting a quarter of an hour."

Monsieur Beaubichon cast a sidelong glance at the man from the country, who put his hand to his hat; whereupon the professor concluded to touch his own slightly and to address his companion.

"Is monsieur also awaiting Monsieur Chamoureau?"

"Yes, monsieur, with your permission."

"I have no intention of objecting. Would monsieur care to learn bookkeeping, double or single entry?"

"Me! learn bookkeeping! God bless me! what for?"

"What for? why, in order to know it."

"And what use would it be to me?"

"Why, to keep your books; to have everything down in black and white!"

"In the first place, I haven't got any books—oh, yes! except the Country Cook for the women, and fairy stories for the young ones, and their catechism for 'em to learn their lesson out of; but all of them keep themselves in a closet; there ain't no need for us to learn to keep 'em."

"Dense ignorance!" muttered Monsieur Beaubichon, shrugging his shoulders.—"Then you are not in business, monsieur?" he continued, aloud.

"Oh, yes! I sell wine from my own vines, and fruit from the orchard when there's a good crop!"

"It ain't worth while, for I almost always sell for cash, and then, if anyone does owe me money, why, there ain't no danger of my forgetting it before he pays me."

The professor gave another shrug and began to pace the floor.

"And people say that we are going forward, they declare that our progress is constant! But where is this boasted progress, I pray to know, when this countryman has no ledger wherein to keep a running account with his apricots and his pears!—Servant, your master does not return; a pupil awaits me; I go to place my learning at his service, to instil my knowledge into him. I will return. Beg Monsieur Chamoureau to wait for me, and may he be pregnant with information concerning the marriageable young lady!"

The gentleman in black having retired, the countryman said to the charwoman:

The servant continued to dust the furniture, nodding her head approvingly.

"I'd like to know if your master, Monsieur Cha—Chabouleau puts on airs and eyes country folks like that crow that just went out; because if he does, why, I wouldn't give him any business of mine, d'ye see."

"No, monsieur, no; never fear. Monsieur Chamoureau is too well-bred not to be polite to everybody, especially his clients. He'd take off his hat to a child two years old, if the child should give him his business."

"All right! but seemin' to me your bourgeois is staying out a long while."

"In Paris, monsieur, one can never be sure how long it will take to do an errand."

"That's so; because there's so many carriages passing—that delays you. Well, here it is raining now!"

"And monsieur didn't bring his umbrella."

"They told me nobody used umbrellas in Paris now, as there's so many busses that folks never walk."

"That's an exaggeration, monsieur; people still go on foot when they prefer to walk."

Twenty minutes more had passed, when there was a great uproar in the street; hoots and shouts of laughter, and yells from the street urchins. The servant opened a window on that side to ascertain the cause of the tumult.

The milord containing our widower had stopped in front of the house, and before he had had time to alight, a crowd had collected round the cab, because its occupant was in plain sight.

Shouts of "à la chienlit!" went up on all sides. The concierge stood in his doorway, looking on with the rest. Chamoureau, having paid his driver, could hardly force his way through the crowd, which yelled at him:

"Oh! you Spaniard!"

"Just look at him! ain't he dazzling with his spangles!"

"He's a Spaniard—he's a regular sun!"

"But he'll lose his boots; he's treading on 'em!"

At last, by dint of pushing this way and that, Chamoureau reached the door; he tried to enter in a hurry, but the concierge barred the way, saying with an air of importance:

"What do you want? where are you going?"

"What's that? where am I going? Why, to my rooms, parbleu!"

"You have evidently made a mistake; we don't let rooms to buffoons!"

The concierge was stupefied; he could not believe his eyes and his ears; he could not conceive that that sedate and orderly tenant, who always wept when his wife was mentioned, could come home at ten o'clock in the morning, dressed as a Spaniard.

But Chamoureau left him to digest his amazement and hurried upstairs. The servant, who had not recognized her master, had just left the window, saying:

"It's a masker coming home from the ball! The deuce! he has made a night of it and no mistake! this is none too early to come home!"

"Do you mean to say that balls last till the next forenoon?" asked the countryman.

"No, monsieur, they end at daybreak, but after that the maskers go to supper and raise the deuce at wine-shops; three-quarters of 'em get tight and don't go home till they haven't got another sou to spend, like this fellow who's just come into the house, I suppose. I'd like to know who he is. He must be a regular loose fish, to come home from the ball after ten o'clock in the morning. I'll ask the concierge who he is."

The bell rang and the woman ran to open the door.

"This time it's monsieur, sure!" she said.

But seeing before her a man in fancy costume, she was about to prevent his entrance, as the concierge had done. But Chamoureau pushed her aside with some force.

He fell into a chair, snatched off his cap, unbuckled his cloak, and shook his feet to rid himself of his top-boots, and as they were far too large, he sent one in the face of the countryman who had been waiting so long for him, and whom, in his hurried home-coming, he had not noticed.

The little thickset man, who was staring at Chamoureau with wide-open eyes, like a fisherman who thinks that he sees something at the end of his line, seemed far from pleased at receiving the Louis XIII boot in his face, and cried out:

"Well, look here, you—Carnival—do you take my face for a boot-jack? What sort of an animal is this, anyway?"

Thereupon the business agent, perceiving that there was a man seated in one corner of the room, made him a low bow.

"I beg pardon, monsieur, a thousand pardons; I didn't see you.—Madame Monin, my slippers, at once. What does monsieur wish?"

"What I wish is to speak to the master of the house, the business man—because I have business—and it ain't a small matter either—to put in his hands."

"I, monsieur, am the master of the house, Chamoureau,—at your service. We will step into my office, when I have my slippers and dressing gown.—Come, Madame Monin."

"What's that! is that the truth? you're the business agent?" said the countryman, scrutinizing Chamoureau from head to foot.

"To be sure, monsieur, I am the man."

"Are you always dressed like this—with spangles all over you, and such a funny-looking cravat?"

"No, monsieur, this is a disguise which I assumed, contrary to my custom; it must not be regarded as establishing a precedent."

"Ah! so you spent the night at the masquerade, and then you went round drinking at wine-shops—raising the devil, as your servant said just now!"

"You are mistaken, monsieur; a man may go to the ball by chance—there's no law against it—but that is no reason why he should visit wine-shops and raise the devil afterward."

"Well then, as your fandangoes end at daylight, what have you been doing since then that makes you come home so late, if you haven't been the rounds of the wine-shops?"

"It seems to me that these are rather unusual questions, monsieur."

And the countryman rose and prepared to leave the room.

Chamoureau, who was very uncomfortable because he had taken off his boots and had not received his slippers, none the less ran after the client who was about to escape him, and seized his arm, saying:

"For heaven's sake, monsieur, don't judge by appearances; I am not a frequenter of balls. Besides, here in Paris a man may amuse himself a little and still attend to his business; indeed, it often happens that you meet at a ball or at the theatre the very persons you want to see.—Madame Monin! sapristi! my slippers!"

"Tell me, then, where you hid them, monsieur."

"Look under my bed.—Entrust your business to me, monsieur, and rest assured that I will look after it with all the zeal that I always display in behalf of my clients, who, I venture to say, have never had occasion thus far to do anything but congratulate themselves on having placed their interests in my hands."

"Ouiche! that's all very fine talk! but I believe what I see.—They told me that Monsieur Chamoureau was a widower, but that he still cried for his wife."

"That's the truth, monsieur, the exact truth.—O Eléonore! why are you not here to defend your husband!"

"Look in my somno.—Yes, monsieur, I mourn for my wife! If she were alive, she'd have found my slippers before this!"

"When a man mourns for his dead wife, he don't go masquerading round the streets in broad daylight! No, no! I don't trust you!"

At that moment they heard loud talking on the stairs. The door, which was not locked, was thrown open with violence, and the professor of bookkeeping rushed into the room, shouting at the top of his voice:

"What have I learned? Great God! He has worn a disguise, attended public balls, and carried disregard of propriety so far as to appear in broad daylight and in his own neighborhood, dressed in a costume to which it is impossible to give a name.—Yes! it is not a falsehood, a fable, a false rumor; here he is, still in that absurd costume! and he, a man who keeps a business office, abandons himself to such libertinage—and without his shoes!—What a shocking disguise!"

"Ah! good-morning, Monsieur Beaubichon, I am at your service in one moment.—Come, Madame Monin, will you give me my slippers or not?"

"They ain't in your somno either, monsieur."

"I do the same, monsieur," said the countryman; "I withdraw my confidence from him; to be sure, I hadn't given it to him, but I withdraw it all the same. I was going to give him my power of attorney. But nay, nay, Lisette! he won't have a chance to throw my money away at balls!"

"He was employed to find me a spouse, monsieur; but where would he go to find one? to Valentino, or the Salle-Barthélemy? For me, who desire good morals and virginity before all things! He would arrange a marriage for me with one of those little women whom all Paris knows, a girl of marble, monsieur; when I say marble, I use a theatrical form of expression—do you understand?"

"Faith, no!"

"I am not surprised."

"Observe, monsieur, observe the results of dissipation! A man who should be as serious as the law itself, is obliged to crawl around his room on all fours, in search of objects which should be at his hand!—I go, and never in my life will I set foot inside this office! Keep your marriageable women, monsieur, or marry them to your clients—this professor of bookkeeping will not endorse them. Good-day!"

"I follow your lead, monsieur; I'll keep my power of attorney and try to find a business agent who won't fling yellow boots in my face. Good-day!"

"Go to the devil! and leave me in peace! for I'm sick of you both!" retorted Chamoureau; and, weary of his unsuccessful search, he sat on the floor in the middle of the room. But at that moment the servant returned with a victorious air, holding the slippers in her hand.

Chamoureau thrust his feet into his slippers, then ran to his office, which was also his bedroom, and made haste to divest himself of his Spanish costume, saying to himself:

"That infernal disguise has cost me dear! it has already caused me to lose two clients, and I shall have to grease my concierge's paw to keep from telling all over the neighborhood that I came home this morning in Carnival costume after passing the night away from the house!—And then he'll promise not to talk, and he'll tell everybody! Anyway, all the neighbors saw me—the fruitwoman and the grocer.—Ah! this will be a very bad thing for my business.—That was a vile trick for you to play on me, Freluchon! Still, it is possible that he didn't do it purposely. In his Pompadour's company, he probably forgot that he had his key in his pocket. Now I have got to send all this stuff back to the costumer; another messenger to pay! Gad! I spent a lot of money last night!"

"I am an ungrateful wretch to curse this costume. Even if it has caused me the loss of Monsieur Beaubichon's confidence—a trivial loss, for the fellow would give me only twenty-five francs to arrange a good marriage for him!—to make up for that, do I not owe to it the conquest of that magnificent brunette—a fascinating woman! fine figure, fine waist—and such features! She wasn't afraid to show me her face! I am very seriously in love with her.—Madame de Sainte-Suzanne! She must be a great lady! What a pity that I am not of noble birth; but love knows no distances, and the proof of it is that she urged me to come to see her. Let's see where she lives: Rue de Ponthieu, Champs-Elysées quarter—the swell quarter! the most comme il faut quarter of Paris!—Freluchon and Edmond laughed at me; but they would have liked right well to know my conquest's name. I swore to be close-mouthed; that's a pity, for when one has a beautiful mistress, she does me credit; but I promised. To-morrow, about three o'clock, I will call on Madame de Sainte-Suzanne; I will be careful about my dress. By the way, I hope Freluchon will send back my clothes, he has my new coat.—Ah! I wish it were to-morrow now!"

The ringing of the door-bell roused the business agent. He remembered that he had sent his servant on an errand, and that there was no one to open the door. Making up his mind regretfully to leave his chair, Chamoureau went to the door and instantly became wide awake when he saw two ladies of most respectable appearance, and both very good-looking. The elder lady, who seemed to be twenty-seven or eight years of age, was of medium height, slender, perhaps a little thin, but exceedingly graceful. Although her face was not very pretty, it was charming; her blue eyes were at once soft and intelligent, her nose, slightly retroussé, gave a touch of archness to her expression; her mouth was not small, but it was not stupid either; her chestnut hair, which was combed smooth and with care, formed a suitable frame for the face, which was slightly pale and seemed to indicate delicate health.

They were not mother and daughter, for there was only ten years' difference between them; but the elder was evidently a sincere and beloved friend, and the younger almost a cherished daughter.

Chamoureau bowed very low, and the elder lady said to him:

"Is this the office of Monsieur Chamoureau, business agent?"

"Yes, madame, I am Chamoureau. Won't you be kind enough to step inside?"

The two ladies were ushered into the office, where Chamoureau offered them chairs, and the elder continued:

"A person for whom you have done some business, monsieur, told me that through your agency I might be able to find a small country house for sale. I know that they are to be found in the Petites-Affiches; but I thought that by applying to you, monsieur, I could obtain more precise and definite information, and that you would undertake all the necessary negotiations, which a woman does not understand."

"No, monsieur, no, I do not wish to purchase a fine house; my means will not permit it. I want a modest, unpretentious place, but as attractive as possible, where we shall have everything that is necessary when one lives in the country all the year round; for it is with that purpose that I am looking for a house for my friend and myself, at some distance from Paris."

"Ah! you intend to leave Paris altogether! Are you not afraid of ennui?"

"Oh, no! far from it, monsieur! we don't care at all for Paris, do we, Agathe?"

"For my part, my dear friend, you know that I look forward with pleasure to living in the country! to have a garden, flowers to care for, and birds and hens—oh! it will be such fun!"

"I have two reasons for wishing to live in the country, monsieur: first, my health, which is not very good, and the doctors say that the pure country air will cure me entirely."

"I trust so, my child; at all events, we must always hope for what will make us happy; the happiness we have in anticipation is sometimes the only happiness we have at all.—But I haven't told you my second reason, monsieur. Unfortunately it is one of those to which everything must give way. It concerns the state of my purse. My means are very modest, monsieur, and in order that they may be sufficient for our needs, that we may have to undergo fewer privations, it is most important that we should leave Paris, where it costs so much to live in these days!"

"Dear Honorine, if you didn't have me with you, if you lived alone, you would be very comfortable, and you could have a lot of things which you deny yourself in order to give them to me!"

The young woman's eyes were wet with tears. Agathe threw her arms about her neck and kissed her again and again.

"Ah! I was wrong, I was wrong!" she cried. "Forgive me, Honorine; you know that I don't know what I am saying, that I speak without thinking, I won't do it any more! Why, I know well enough that it would be as impossible for you to part with me as for me to live away from you."

"Well, it's all over now; let us forget it and apologize to monsieur, for we are wasting his time by forcing him to witness a scene which can hardly interest him."

The young woman was very generous to apologize to Chamoureau, for he had been paying no attention to their conversation for some time. He was thinking only of his clothes,—of the new coat left at Freluchon's, which Madame Monin did not bring back.

"I must have my coat to call on Madame de Sainte-Suzanne," he was saying to himself; "for I certainly will not appear there in a sack-coat."

"Well, monsieur, let us come down to business," continued the young woman. "Do you know of any modest house for sale in the outskirts of Paris?"

"There are plenty of them, madame; but first of all, in what part of the suburbs do you wish to live?"

"It makes no difference, monsieur."

"That will simplify matters."

"I understand; in that case, madame would not care to purchase at Passy, Auteuil, or Enghien?"

"No, too many people go there."

"And the distance—is that a matter of indifference to you, also?"

"Yes, although I should not want to be too far from Paris; I may have business there occasionally; and then, ladies must keep abreast of the fashions, and if it were a long journey it would be tiresome and expensive."

"Wait, madame; I believe that I have just what you want."

Chamoureau took down a pasteboard box, looked over some papers, and read:

"'A pretty country house for sale on easy terms, at Créteil, on the bank of the river.'"

"Oh! my dear friend, the bank of the river!—that's lovely!"

"Yes, but it isn't healthy."

"'Large house, six bedrooms——'"

"Oh! we don't need so many, monsieur!"

"'Billiard-room, stable, poultry yard, a garden of an acre——'"

"But the price, monsieur, the price?"

"That is too dear for me; I can hardly afford more than twenty thousand."

"Let us see if we can find something else then. Ah! it just occurs to me that a client of mine, who has just made a large amount of money on the Bourse, is looking for a small château now, and told me to sell a country estate of his a few leagues from the city, which is too modest for his present circumstances. Let us see if that would suit you; I imagine that we could get it at a bargain. I have a little memorandum here that he gave me—yes, here it is; listen, madame.

"'A small house at Chelles, six leagues from Paris, near the main street and just on the outskirts of the town. Ground floor, first floor and attics; four rooms on each floor. A nice lawn in front, and yard behind, with hencoop, pump and a large shed; a pretty garden entirely planted, and a wall around the whole place.'"

"A garden all planted! Then we should have fruit. Honorine, I will be the one to take care of the garden. Chelles—in which direction is that?"

"That place might suit us, but the price——"

"I beg pardon, madame, I have not read it all.—'The house is all furnished, and the owner desires to sell it in that condition. Whoever wishes to see it may apply to Père Ledrux, gardener and florist, who lives nearby and has the keys; he is instructed to show the place. Père Ledrux is well known in the town and anybody will point out his house. The place will be sold for twenty thousand francs.'"

"Twenty thousand francs and all furnished. Why, that is just what you wanted, Honorine!"

"I must say that it does not seem to me a high price. I know Montfermeil—it's a delightful country."

"As I told you, mesdames, this is a rare chance. Do you pay cash?"

"Yes, monsieur, the whole amount in cash."

"Oh well! in that case perhaps we may be able to obtain a reduction in the price; my client is very good-natured since he made a fortune, wherein he doesn't resemble the majority of new-rich people."

"The next thing is to find out whether the house will suit me; you will understand, monsieur, that I don't wish to buy it until I have seen it and found out whether it is pleasantly situated, not too lonely, and whether it has a good view."

"Yes, yes, that's right; let us go to Chelles, Honorine, and see the house. If you like it, we will buy it immediately."

"The weather isn't very inviting for a trip to the country; no matter—if it's fine to-morrow, we will go there; and if the house suits us, we will return, monsieur, and arrange about the purchase."

"If madame will kindly leave me her address, I shall have the honor to call and thus save her the trouble of returning."

"Here is my address, monsieur; but if we see the house to-morrow, we may not wait for you to call; especially if we like it, for we shall be in a hurry to conclude the bargain, and we shall come to see you at once."

"As you please, madame; I shall always be at your service. Would you like me to write the names for you—Ledrux and Courtivaux?"

"It's not necessary, monsieur; we have good memories."

Chamoureau escorted his new client to the stairs. When he returned to his room he looked at the card she had handed him and read:

"Madame Dalmont, 40 Rue des Martyrs."

The servant returned without a sign of a bundle. Her master began at once to question her.

"Well, Madame Monin?"

"I did your errands, monsieur; I carried the Spanish costume back to the costumer, who said that monsieur had lost lots of spangles off the cloak."

"Indeed! he proposes to count the spangles, does he? Skip the details. Freluchon hasn't gone home, I suppose, as you haven't my clothes?"

"I beg your pardon, monsieur, your friend has been home, but he didn't stay long; he just changed his clothes, and then went right away again, saying to the concierge: 'I'm going to Rouen; I'll be back in four days.'"

"What! he's gone to Rouen? that's a good one! But didn't the concierge tell him that I had been there to get my clothes?"

"On my soul! this is too much! Freluchon is a villain! If I only had him here! Of course I have other clothes, but as one rarely has occasion to wear a frock coat, I have only one; that's quite enough; and now, thanks to Freluchon, I haven't that! I can't go to Rouen to ask him for his key, especially as I shouldn't know where to look for him in Rouen. Didn't he leave his key with the concierge?"

"No, monsieur, he didn't leave anything."

"A tailor will never have time to make me another coat for to-morrow; he might promise it, but he wouldn't give it to me. What am I to do? To call on that lady in a sack coat or an overcoat would be much too unceremonious, especially for a first call! it would give her a very poor opinion of my breeding. Well, there's only one thing for me to do—go to a ready-made clothing house and buy a frock coat there. I trust that I may find one that fits! It's an absolutely unnecessary expense especially as I am still in mourning and shall have to get another black one. Two black frock coats! how stupid! But a glance from my charmer's eyes will recompense me; still, it's an infernally mean trick for Freluchon to play me all the same."

In a handsome apartment on Rue de Ponthieu a lady was putting the finishing touches to one of those coquettish morning toilets which are called négligé, but which are the object of quite as much art and painstaking as full evening dress. Why should not ladies be as assiduous to please in their own homes as in society? For my part, I believe that that is their aim at all times, even when they expect no visitors; for even then they seek to please themselves by looking into their mirrors.

In their own homes, you will say, they are not subjected to the fire of a hundred glances, they receive only a few privileged friends; but these latter, seeing their hostess at closer quarters, are able to examine her in detail and at their leisure. So I say that much more care, much greater attention to every detail of the toilet is necessary to produce as much effect in the boudoir in the morning, as at a ball or the theatre.

"That is all right, Mélie, I don't need you any more."

"Will not madame put something in her hair—not a single flower?"

"No, it's not necessary; I am well enough as I am, for the person I expect."

"Oh! madame certainly does not need flowers to make her beautiful. When one has such lovely hair as madame's, it is the loveliest of head-dresses; but as madame sometimes wears a pomegranate flower or a poppy——"

"I tell you that I want nothing more; leave me."

The maid left the room, and the fair Thélénie paced the floor a few moments, then paused in front of a mirror, talking to herself all the while.

The door-bell rang; a moment later the maid appeared.

"A gentleman wishes to see madame."

"Did he give his name?"

"Monsieur Cha—Chamoureau."

"Very well; show him in."

In this costume he had driven to Rue de Ponthieu in a cab, for he did not propose that his clothes should be marred by the slightest speck of mud.

"Madame de Sainte-Suzanne?" he said to the concierge with a self-assured air; and as he went up to the second floor by a handsome staircase, he said to himself:

"I must present myself with ease of manner; I must not be timid; women like men with plenty of self-possession. Now, as this lady herself invited me to call on her, it must be that she was pleased with me; consequently, that being so, I can afford to be enterprising; she will certainly forgive me. Damnation! this coat is infernally tight under the arms; the dealer assured me that it would be all right, and it fits me perfectly everywhere else. The waistband of the trousers rather takes my breath away, and when I sit down, they're too tight; but I am much thinner; the straps suit me better; I have almost no stomach at all. How stupid it is to have a stomach at thirty-eight! I shall have to take white mustard seed; they tell me that that makes you thin or fat, just as you choose. Ah! this must be the door! My tie isn't rumpled; good!"

"I made no mistake; she's a great lady—a person of the highest station. The devil! I mustn't be enterprising at the start; this is no grisette; I must proceed in due form."

Thélénie wore a sort of blouse of lilac plush, with a girdle about her shapely waist. With that négligé costume, she wore no hoops, and the soft, yielding fabric of the blouse seemed at times to be glued to her beautiful hips, as if to disclose their perfect symmetry. Thus it was easy to see that nature had favored her in every way, and she was a hundred times more seductive than in one of those gowns which, being worn over extravagantly large skirts, make a woman resemble a balloon. The hoopskirt must surely have been invented by women with bad figures, for those who have shapely forms lose far more than they gain by them.

Chamoureau stood speechless with admiration before Thélénie; she seemed to him even lovelier than at the ball, and in his enthusiasm he bowed so low that he caused his coat to split in the back.

He drew himself up in haste, sorely perturbed by the sound, but afraid to put his hand behind him to ascertain what had happened to his coat. Besides, he was obliged to answer the lady, who said to him:

"Oh! madame! forget to come to you! to seize an opportunity to see you once more! That would be like forgetting to be happy."

And Chamoureau, well pleased with his reply, ventured to explore the back of his coat with his right hand; but he had to cut short his exploration, for Thélénie seated herself on a couch and motioned to him to sit by her side.

"Won't you sit here, monsieur?"

"With the greatest pleasure, madame, if it will not incommode you."

"But I ask you to."

Chamoureau placed his hat on a table, taking care not to turn his back, so that Thélénie might not see the accident which must, he knew, have happened to the back of his coat. Then he took his seat beside her on the couch, thinking what gallant speech he should make to her. Now, when a man tries to think what he shall say, he usually says nothing. But the beautiful brunette came to the assistance of the visitor who was at such a loss for language.

"Well, monsieur, how did you wind up the night before last? did you stay much longer at the ball?"

"At the Opéra? Oh, no! madame, I didn't stay long; what pleasure could I have had there when I could no longer see you? And as you forbade me to follow you, I didn't follow you, despite my longing to do so; for I did long to, terribly!"

"My friends—yes; first I found Freluchon, who was looking for me; I confess that I was not looking for him; I had no thought for anything but the delightful conversation I had just had with you, and the remembrance of your face."

"Well, you went to supper with those gentlemen. Was there a large party?"

"There were five men—Freluchon, Edmond Didier, and two friends of theirs; but there were only four ladies, for I didn't take one; you had refused to sup with me, and what other woman could have taken your place? There were not two like you at the ball—I would lay my life on it! And when one has had the happiness of seeing you——"

"So each of those gentlemen took his mistress?"

"His mistress, if you choose. As for me, I don't call that a mistress; if I had a mistress, I would devote all my thoughts to her, every moment of leisure that I could spare from my toilet-room—I mean my office; I am so confused, so happy with you, that I cannot think of even the most common words."

"Pull yourself together, monsieur; really, I don't see what there is to confuse you."

"You do not see! Ah! madame, if you would but condescend to read in the depths of my heart you would see there the flame which——"

Chamoureau began to be conscious that the lovely brunette cut him short whenever he attempted to speak of his love for her. These interruptions annoyed him, and he put his left hand behind his back, saying to himself:

"Where in the devil did that split?"

"Well, monsieur, you don't answer. I asked you if that little Amélia seemed to you as piquant as Monsieur Edmond described her?"

"Little Amélia? who is she, madame?"

"Why, Monsieur Edmond's mistress; you know perfectly well, you told me it yourself at the ball. You are very absent-minded, aren't you, monsieur?"

"Absent-minded!—why, that is natural enough when you talk of any other person than yourself; for I think of you, of you alone."

Thélénie made an impatient gesture and moved to the extreme end of the couch. But Chamoureau interpreted that pantomime as a proof of intense agitation on the part of the lovely brunette, who evidently feared to yield too quickly to the man who attracted her. Thereupon, determined to take advantage of that agitation, our amorous swain threw himself at the lady's feet, crying:

"Ah! madame, I can no longer restrain——"

Our widower was stricken with consternation. Thélénie roared with laughter as she looked at him on his knees; and he, fearing that the noise occasioned by the accident might be interpreted in a way even more humiliating to him than the reality, made haste to say:

"My trousers have split, madame, that's all."

"Mon Dieu! I had no doubt of that, monsieur."

"It's the first time I ever wore them; they have straps under the feet, and they're a little tight; that is why, when I stooped—you understand."

"Perfectly, monsieur; pray rise."

"I believe that the same thing has happened to the back of my coat; it's the first time I have worn that, too. It is all Freluchon's fault; he has a black coat and trousers of mine in his room, and he has gone off to Rouen without sending them back to me."

"These are trivial annoyances not worth a thought, monsieur. Rise, I beg; what on earth induced you to throw yourself at my feet like that? Rise, monsieur, I insist."

Chamoureau decided to rise, putting one hand over the place where his trousers had torn. But he was covered with confusion by what had happened, and he did not know how to resume his declaration.

"The girl in a débardeur's costume? she is rather attractive—one of those roguish grisette faces. There are some better-looking ones among young women of her class, but there are many inferior to her."

"Tell me what happened at your supper. Did you laugh much? did you have much sport? Was Monsieur Edmond very devoted to his little flower-maker?"

"The supper, madame; you persist in wanting to talk about the supper—after the ball!"

"Well, yes, monsieur, I do. Sometimes I am very curious; where's the harm?"

"I see none, madame; but I must admit that I am hardly able to satisfy your curiosity."

"Why so, monsieur, as you were with your friends?"

"I was there, madame, it is true, but it was almost as if I were not there. I don't know how it happened, but after the oysters I felt very dizzy; I suppose the wine was not pure! In fact, while my friends were chatting with the ladies, I, who did not take the slightest interest in what they said, as I could think of nothing but you—I fell asleep, yes, sound asleep."

"Indeed! you fell asleep thinking of me; that is very flattering!"

"That proves, belle dame, that your image transports me from the earth, that I dream, and——"

"When I woke, they had all gone; which was the more unkind of Freluchon, because he had my clothes at his rooms! You cannot imagine all the annoyance that has caused me—to say nothing of the embarrassing plight in which I find myself at this moment."

For several seconds Thélénie had not been listening to Chamoureau. Her brow had become grave, her features expressed dissatisfaction. She rose and paced the floor, apparently quite oblivious of her guest's presence. For his part, Chamoureau was no better pleased with his tête-à-tête. She seemed unwilling that he should talk to her of love; she questioned him concerning things which did not interest him in the least, and now she left him alone on the couch and strode about the room regardless of him. He said to himself that if he had torn his coat and trousers simply to obtain that result, it was not worth while to go to so much expense. He was strongly tempted to rise in his turn and walk beside his hostess, who seemed to have the fidgets in her legs; but he feared that if he did so he might add to the rents that he had already made in his garments, and that fear cast him into the most painful perplexity.

At last Thélénie seemed suddenly to remember that she was not alone. She halted in front of him, then resumed her seat on the couch, saying:

"You are forgiven, belle dame; indeed, I myself have moments when I am downright stupid! Really, I don't know how to explain it."

"And then I will admit that I am angry with you for falling asleep at that supper after the ball. I had asked you to report to me all that you heard. If that is the way you perform commissions that are entrusted to you——"

"Forgive me, madame; in future I will keep awake, if that will give you pleasure; and it will be all the easier for me, because I feel that you have robbed me of repose forever!"

Thélénie looked at him severely, and said:

"So you absolutely persist in talking to me about love, do you, monsieur?"

"Insist upon it! Why, madame, I came here for no other purpose."

"Ah! that is true frankness! I am going to be as frank with you, monsieur: perhaps you hope to make me your mistress?"

"Oh! madame, I dare not say that I hope it, but I may at least confess that it would be to me the height of felicity! And if the purest love, the most immovable constancy will avail me anything, put me to the test."

"I had an idea that you were in mourning, monsieur. Yes, there is a band on your hat. You are in mourning for your wife, are you not?"