"'How will you go to work to find out?' someone asked Madame Droguet—'As the owner of the Tower avoids everybody, as he only goes where nobody else goes, how do you expect to talk with him?'
"'That's my affair, I shall find a way! you know that what a woman wants always comes to pass in time.'
"Madame Droguet is a woman who has no doubt of her ability to do anything, and who fears nothing. There are some people hereabout who declare that she was a vivandière in her youth, and that she served in Africa; that is a statement hardly worth repeating.
"And so this lady, who, as I have had the honor to tell you, had carefully observed what roads the master of the Tower frequented, concealed herself in a dense thicket at the corner of one of those roads. For four days in succession she had the resolution to station herself there and to wait several hours for the gentleman to pass. I presume that she carried her knitting; one can knit anywhere, even in a thicket. But the man with the dog did not pass. On the fifth day, however, her patience was rewarded; she saw the hunter coming along a path, and when he was within ten yards of her, she quickly stepped from her thicket, so that she was directly in front of him, in a path so narrow that it was impossible to avoid the meeting. The gentleman, amazed to see a lady suddenly appear in front of him, stopped and seemed disposed to turn back; but he concluded to step aside so as to allow Madame Droguet to pass, while his dog glared at her as if he longed to ask her what she was doing there.
"But, instead of passing the hunter, Madame Droguet halted directly in front of him, made a low curtsy, and said:
"'I believe that I have the pleasure of addressing the new owner of the Tower? I am charmed that chance affords me the pleasure of making his acquaintance. I am a land-owner at Chelles; I receive all the best people in the province, and if monsieur will deign to do me the honor to come to see me——'
"But at that point the hunter abruptly interrupted the lady and said to her in a sharp and none too courteous tone:
"'I go nowhere, madame, and I do not desire to make any new acquaintances!'
"With that, he just touched his hand to his cap, which he did not even raise from his head, and strode away, followed by his huge dog.
"Ah! if you could have seen Madame Droguet when she got home! She was perfectly furious! She ran about to all her acquaintances, saying: 'I know the owner of the Tower now! he's a boor, a clown, a man of no breeding whatever! He didn't even raise his cap to me! He must be a mere nobody who has made money, no one knows how. I'll wager that he doesn't know how to read or write, and if he avoids society, it's because he realizes that he would be out of place therein, and wouldn't know how to behave himself! Thanks! I shan't undertake his education; it would be too hard work to grub up that fellow.'
"For some time people talked of nothing but Madame Droguet's interview with the newcomer, and the whole district knew that that gentleman needed a thorough grubbing up; Madame Droguet's expression was a great success; she often makes some very remarkable ones. After all, when a person talks a great deal and says whatever comes into his head, it isn't surprising that in the vast output of words there should be a few clever ones—they may occasionally fall from the dullest person's lips.
"Several months passed and the proprietor of the Tower continued to follow the same line of conduct.
"One morning, Monsieur Luminot, formerly a wholesale dealer in wines, who is very well-to-do, and has a fine house and a good deal of land in this region—Monsieur Luminot, I say, took it into his head to make this Monsieur Paul's acquaintance.
"I must tell you, mesdames, that Monsieur Luminot is a lively old fellow, a bon vivant and wag, who often gives dinners and entertains handsomely. He is highly esteemed all about here.
"He said to himself: 'The master of the Tower probably divined that Madame Droguet had hidden in a clump of bushes in order to pop out in front of him, and he didn't like it. I can understand that; men don't like to have traps laid for them, or to be watched for and spied upon. I'll go about it in an entirely different way; I'll go straight to this gentleman and tell him that I have come as a neighbor, to call on him, and I will invite him to dinner. He will say at all events: "Here's a man who acts honestly, and doesn't lie in wait for me in the bushes."—I feel sure that he will welcome me more courteously than he did Madame Droguet.'
"And one fine day, after his breakfast, Monsieur Luminot bent his steps toward the Tower. He rang the bell at the main gate which was always kept locked, saying to himself that if Mère Lucas should answer the bell, he would ask her to take him to her master. But it was not the old peasant who opened the gate, it was the master of the house himself; he stared at Monsieur Luminot with an air of amazement, and said in his hoarse voice, not even allowing him to enter his premises:
"'What do you want, monsieur?'
"Our quondam wine merchant, who is not easily abashed, began to laugh as he replied:
"'Pardieu! it is you I want, neighbor, for I am sure that you are the master of the house. I am Luminot, a land-owner at Chelles, a bon vivant, always staunch at the table, always ready to let my friends taste my wine, which is not bad, I flatter myself. You don't go to see anybody, you keep yourself shut up here like a bear in his den; that's not the way to enjoy yourself! and I have come to ask you to dine with me to-morrow.'
"'I thank you, monsieur,' replied the man with the dog, 'but, as I entertain no one here, I do not go to other people's houses.'—And with that he shut the gate in his face.
"Then it became Monsieur Luminot's turn to feel angry; he came home shouting as loudly as Madame Droguet had:
"'Who in the devil is this fellow that's bought the Tower? The man's worse than a savage! I undertake to be polite to him, to invite him to dinner, and he shuts the door in my face without letting me cross the threshold, without even asking me to sit down and take something! I could have forgiven him for declining my invitation, but he might at least have given me a taste of his wine! Decidedly he's a devilish mean kind of a neighbor.'
"This, mesdames, is the way that people learned to know this eccentric personage; it only remains for me to tell you of my personal experience.
"A year had passed since these incidents, and people were beginning to talk a little less about the proprietor of the Tower—for we become accustomed to everything, and by dint of discussing any one person there comes a time when we have nothing more to say—when, as I was returning one day from Gournay, where I had been to see a patient, I met Mère Lucas, the old woman who composed the whole of Monsieur Paul's establishment. I was passing her without stopping, but she accosted me, saying:
"'Oh! I am glad I met you, Monsieur le Docteur Antoine Beaubichon; it's as if Providence sent you on purpose, for I was just thinking that I'd have to go to your house.'
"'Do you want to consult me, Mère Lucas?' said I; 'are you sick? what's the matter with you?'
"'No, monsieur le docteur, I'm not sick; to be sure I'm not very strong, but the cracked pots last longer than the new ones sometimes, you know. It isn't for myself that I was going to see you, but for my master, Monsieur Paul; he's sick, hasn't left his bed for two whole weeks, and he must be feeling very bad, for he's a man that don't take any care of himself, and I had hard work to get him to drink some herb tea.'
"'Ah! the owner of the Tower is sick, is he? Did he tell you to summon a doctor?'
"'No, indeed he didn't! on the contrary, every time I say to him: "You ought to have a doctor, monsieur, and if you say so I'll go and call the doctor at Chelles, Monsieur Beaubichon, who's very learned and very skilful," he says: "Let me alone, Mère Lucas! I don't need a doctor, I won't have one; if I have got to die, I can die without doctors, and if it is the will of heaven that I live, they won't be the ones to cure me; nature will come to my assistance."'
"'Well,' I said to the old peasant, 'as this gentleman doesn't want a doctor, why were you coming to fetch me?'
"'Why, monsieur, as if we ought to listen to sick folks, especially when they're so peculiar as my master! He don't get any better since he said that; on the contrary, he is much weaker since yesterday, and he seems to be suffering more. So it's my duty to take care of him in spite of him; and as it's your business to cure people, monsieur le docteur, you can't refuse to prescribe for my master.'
"I reflected for some time; I am certainly not so inquisitive as Madame Droguet, and I am not the man to crouch in the bushes for five days in succession watching for a man I don't know. And yet I was not sorry to obtain a nearer view of that strange man who avoided everybody, and to be able to judge for myself whether Madame Droguet and neighbor Luminot had not been a little severe on him. To make a long story short, as the old servant still begged me to go with her to the Tower, I said to myself: 'I may as well go; the man is sick; I am asked to go to see a sick man, and it's my duty to go; that's my profession.'
"So I started off with Mère Lucas. On the way, I ventured to ask a few questions about the proprietor.
"The old peasant's constant refrain was:
"'Oh! he's a very nice man! an excellent man!'
"As the woman is deaf, I concluded that she didn't hear my questions and that she naturally answered at random.
"We reached the Tower in due time, and I entered the house, which, although well furnished—richly furnished indeed—seemed to me wretchedly kept. I passed through several rooms and at last reached a door which the peasant motioned to me to open, saying:
"'This is the master's room; you don't need me to talk to him.'
"And she vanished. I glanced at my clothes to see if I was presentable, and was brushing a speck of dust off my trousers, when I heard a dull but prolonged groan.
"'The devil!' thought I; 'can it be my patient groaning like that? The man is sicker than he thinks.'
"But the groaning seemed to come nearer; suddenly it changed into a loud barking, and an enormous dog rushed from the room I was about to enter, planted his front paws on my chest, and glared at me with eyes that were far from gentle! I confess, mesdames, that at the first shock I could not control my alarm! As he stood, the dog was taller than I!"
Honorine and Agathe could not restrain a smile at this portion of the doctor's narrative.
"Almost immediately," he continued, "a voice called: 'who is there? there's someone there; who is it, Ami?'
"'Yes, monsieur,' said I in a trembling voice, 'it is a friend—ami—who has come to see you.'—I unconsciously made a pun, for I soon discovered that the Newfoundland's name was Ami, and that it was he to whom the gentleman was speaking. I must say, for the dog's justification, that he did not keep his paws on me long, and that, after contemplating me for a few moments, he walked away from me as from a person who was not at all dangerous.
"As there was no further obstacle to my passage, I entered the sick man's room at last. I saw a man, still young, lying in bed; he was very pale, with a very forbidding expression; and as he wore a full beard and enormous moustaches, together with a great quantity of brown hair which lay in disorder about his forehead, he really was not unlike a man of the woods or an orang-outang of the larger species."
"So this man is very ugly, very repulsive to look at?" inquired Honorine.
"It is not so much that he is positively ugly, madame, but that savage look—you know. However, he did not give me much time to examine him, for I had hardly reached the middle of the room when he cried:
"'Who are you, monsieur, and what do you want?'
"'Monsieur,' said I, bowing politely, 'I am Doctor Antoine Beaubichon, long a resident of Chelles, and favorably known hereabout, I venture to say. I attend the whole neighborhood, even a long way beyond the Marne.'
"'Well, what difference does it make to me whether you attend the whole neighborhood?' retorted the sick man in an impatient tone. 'Why have you come to my house? I didn't send for you, I don't need a doctor.'
"'Monsieur,' I said, 'I took the liberty of coming here only because I was requested to do so, requested most urgently.'
"'By whom?'
"'Mère Lucas, your servant, who is much concerned about your health, and who realizes that you are sicker than you think.'
"'Mère Lucas is meddling in something that doesn't concern her. I know my own business best. I tell you again, monsieur, that I do not need a doctor, and that you may go.'
"As you can imagine, mesdames, not being accustomed to that sort of reception, I was already near the door, ready to take my leave and sorely vexed that I had put myself out for such a boor, when I heard him calling to me:
"'Monsieur! monsieur! one moment!'
"'Aha!' thought I, 'he thinks better of it; he is in pain, no doubt, and realizes that there is nobody but myself who can relieve him. I will go back, for we must be indulgent to invalids.'
"I turned back toward the bed; the bearded man was sitting up, and his great dog was beside him, also sitting on his haunches. I was preparing to feel the invalid's pulse, when he abruptly drew his arm away, and said:
"'It isn't for myself, monsieur. My dog here hurt his shoulder some time ago passing through a holly bush, and he still suffers from it. What ought we to put on the wound?'
"When I found that it was for his Newfoundland that he had called me back, I drew myself up to my full height and said to the unmannerly fellow:
"'Let me tell you, monsieur, that I am no dog doctor! If you called me back on this animal's account, you might have saved yourself the trouble.'
"'Why are you unwilling to prescribe for my dog, pray?' he rejoined in a savage tone; 'your visits will be paid for as generously as if you came for me.'
"'I repeat, monsieur, that I attend men, not beasts!'
"Would you believe that he had the impertinence to reply:
"'In most cases, monsieur, men are the beasts, and dogs are much better than they are!'
"Faith! mesdames, I had no desire to hear any more, so I put on my hat and left the Tower, vowing never to put my foot inside its doors again so long as this Monsieur Paul should be the owner."
"For all that," said Père Ledrux, who had returned to the door of the salon, "if he had asked me for a receipt to cure his dog, I'd have given him one, and a good one, too. Still, his Newfoundland got well by himself, and so did his master, too! Ha! ha! You can't deny that they didn't need you for that, monsieur le docteur!"
"What does that prove, Père Ledrux? simply that nature is sometimes as powerful as science."
"Oh, yes! and if science had taken a hand in it, perhaps the two invalids wouldn't be so smart to-day."
"So you don't believe in medicine, Père Ledrux?"
"I don't say that. I believe in anything you want; but I say just this, that medicine sometimes makes mistakes, but nature—oh! she never makes a mistake!"
"Now, mesdames, from these facts you may form your own opinion of the proprietor of the Tower, and judge whether he is unjustly called a bear and a disagreeable neighbor."
"It is evident, monsieur, that he avoids society," said Honorine; "probably he has reasons for that. Doubtless he has had much to complain of at its hands. But, nevertheless, his old servant said that he was an excellent man."
"Mère Lucas is very hard of hearing; she often hears wrong.—However, in addition to what happened to me and to Madame Droguet and Monsieur Luminot, we have had many other opportunities for judging this gentleman. On several occasions he has shown that he is really malicious. Once, Jaquette, Catherine the laundress's daughter, a child of nine, went home crying with her little sister; one cheek was bright red. They asked her what the matter was, and she replied:
"'I met the man with the dog and he slapped my face hard because he said I made faces at him.'
"Another time it was Thomas Riteux's son—a little boy of eleven, and a very sly rascal—whom my gentleman kicked more than once in—somewhere—because he happened to be in his way."
"Oh! that is very bad!" cried Agathe. "It seems that he detests children then."
"Did the parents complain?"
"Nonsense!" said the gardener; "what's the sense of believing everything this one or the other one says! There's people who heard Jaquette's little sister say that Jaquette was beating her and eating her cherries, and that was why he came up and slapped her. And as for Thomas Riteux's son, he's a little devil. So far as he could see Monsieur Paul's dog, he began to throw stones at him. Monsieur Paul saw it and told him not to throw any more stones at his dog, because the beast didn't like it. The little scamp is obstinate, and he began again when he thought he wouldn't be seen. But the dog ran at him, and faith! he had him by the breeches and things looked bad for the boy when Monsieur Paul ran up and made him let go. That was when he kicked the boy and said: 'You oughtn't to get off so cheap!'"
"But this puts an entirely different face on the matter," said Honorine. "Don't you agree with me, monsieur le docteur?"
"It is possible, mesdames; I know that children sometimes tell false stories; but I persist none the less in my opinion concerning the owner of the Tower. He's a low fellow, whom I believe to be entirely uninformed and uneducated. And as Madame Droguet—a very bright woman, by the way—well said:
"'That man shuns society because he realizes that he would be out of place in society.'
"I trust, mesdames, that this will not have any influence upon your decision with regard to this house. Thank heaven, this Monsieur Paul will hardly be what is called a neighbor to you, for it is fully half a league from here to his place; and I venture to believe that you will find in Chelles ample compensation. Society here is numerous but select. You will find material for a game of whist or of Pope Joan. Of late, too, we have taken up bézique. Madame Droguet gives receptions which all the notabilities attend; sometimes there is dancing; she has a piano, and when Monsieur Luminot brings his flageolet, there is a complete orchestra. Recently they have tried the Lancers quadrille; they haven't succeeded in dancing it through, but they will in time, especially as Monsieur Droguet is passionately fond of dancing."
Honorine rose, as did her companion. The young woman thanked the doctor for all the information he had been obliging enough to give them, assuring him that it had only confirmed her in the plan she had formed of purchasing Monsieur Courtivaux's estate.
Then the ladies left the house, to return to the railway station, saying to the gardener:
"To-morrow morning we shall see the agent, and doubtless the bargain will soon be concluded."
"Very good!" said Père Ledrux, "and meanwhile, as I told you, you know, I won't show the house to anyone, because sometimes it happens—Well! someone who happened to want it would only have to offer a little more than you. Men never think of anything but their own interests, you know; and it would slip out of your hands. But the way I'm going to do, there's no danger; it's just between you and me. And then I'm going to keep on with the garden, and I'll keep an eye on the hens; there's one black one that fights the others; hum! I'll watch her! You see, she might keep 'em from laying!"
Chamoureau was in an execrable humor when he left Madame Sainte-Suzanne's. As he could not walk home with his coat all open behind, he had to take a cab, and when he stepped in, the accident that had befallen his trousers was so aggravated that when it was time to alight he was reduced to the necessity of taking off his hat and holding it glued to the unfortunate garment in front.
His concierge, who passed a large part of his time in his doorway, stared with all his eyes again when the tenant of the second floor appeared, this time holding his hat in front of his trousers instead of wearing it on his head.
In fact, even Madame Monin, his servant, seeing her master return with his clothes torn from his head to his heels, said to herself:
"In God's name, what kind of a life is Monsieur Chamoureau leading now, to come home in this state? The man is getting to be very dissipated!"
"She refuses to be my mistress!" reflected our widower, as he changed his clothes. "And she won't be my wife either! In that case, what does she propose to be to me? And why did she speak to me at the Opéra ball? Why did she herself urge me to call? She gives me permission to be her friend—much obliged! At thirty-five years of age, and with a volcanic temperament like mine, a man isn't content to be the friend of a fascinating woman! Besides, I love the woman. I adore her, since I saw her in her lovely velvet robe de chambre—or was it plush? I am not quite sure, but it doesn't matter. I feel that my passion has taken a new flight. It is all over with me; the image of that lovely brunette is here—engraved on my heart; it has replaced Eléonore's.—Poor Eléonore! If I should want to weep for her now, I could not. That is some compensation. But what am I to do? I am going to be very wretched now. She has ten thousand francs a year, so of course I am not a very good match for her. But if she adored me! Sapristi! if Freluchon were in Paris, I would go to him and ask his advice; nobody but he can tell me how I ought to act now toward Madame de Sainte-Suzanne."
That evening, Chamoureau did not fail to call at Freluchon's house, to inquire if he had returned. But his dear friend was still at Rouen.
The next day Honorine and Agathe called early at the agent's office.
"We have been to Chelles," said the young woman, "we have seen Monsieur Courtivaux's house and we like it very much. Be good enough to arrange the matter as quickly as possible, monsieur; we would like to be living there already."
"Very well, madame. You know that he asks twenty thousand francs?"
"I am ready to give that, monsieur."
"Yes, but perhaps he would take something off; you pay cash, which is a consideration. Then there are the expenses, the deeds and so forth; they will amount to at least a thousand francs, and are ordinarily paid by the purchaser. If we could induce the vendor to pay them at least——"
"Well, monsieur, do the best you can; I leave it to you."
"Never fear, madame. I will go to see Monsieur Courtivaux to-day; then I will call on you with his answer. I have your address—Madame Dalmont, Rue des Martyrs."
"But do not forget us, monsieur."
"I will devote my whole time to you, mesdames."
But when the two friends had gone, Chamoureau, after sitting for some time lost in thought, suddenly struck his forehead and exclaimed:
"I will see Monsieur Edmond Didier; he's a very enterprising young man with the fair sex! In the absence of that villain Freluchon, who confiscates my clothes, he will give me some advice—most excellent advice."
The agent was really enamored of Thélénie; the lovely brunette's great black eyes had turned his head; he did not cease for an instant to think of her whom he had hoped for a brief moment that he had captivated, and that passion caused him to forget absolutely the business which his clients placed in his hands.
But Edmond Didier was rarely at home. Chamoureau was no more fortunate in that direction than in respect to Freluchon. Thrice during the day he went to Edmond's rooms and failed to find him.
"What is the use of friends?" thought our widower in despair; "they're never at home when you want to consult 'em! What on earth do these fellows do? What good does it do them to have a home? One's at Rouen, the other goes out before ten in the morning and hasn't returned at eleven in the evening! No matter! To-morrow will be the third day since I called at Madame de Sainte-Suzanne's. I'll go again to-morrow—in a redingote! One is not obliged to wear full dress all the time. She doesn't want me to talk to her about love; I'll talk about the Boulevard de Sébastopol which is being built—that can't offend her. But for lack of words I'll try to make my eyes terribly eloquent; she can't prevent my having love in my eyes."
And the next day, instead of going to see Monsieur Courtivaux and attending to the business with which Madame Dalmont had entrusted him, Chamoureau passed an hour at his toilet. He tried to scatter over his forehead the tuft of hair that still embellished the back of his head, and having assured himself that he had hair enough for a single man, he perfumed his handkerchief with essence of Portugal and went to Rue de Ponthieu.
When he reached Madame Sainte-Suzanne's residence, our widower, who had been thinking all the way what he could say to the lady to account for calling again so soon, and had found nothing satisfactory, walked quickly through the hall, saying to himself:
"Never mind! I'll offer to take her to the theatre—whichever she pleases—that can't offend her."
And he ran up the two flights without even speaking to the concierge. He rang at Thélénie's door. The maid answered the bell, and could not help smiling when she recognized the gentleman who had left her mistress in such piteous guise, and torn in several places.
But our widower, who felt quite safe in his redingote and had no straps to his trousers, walked with an exceedingly unconcerned air and held his head erect with much dignity as he asked if Madame de Sainte-Suzanne were visible.
"My mistress has gone out," replied Mademoiselle Mélie, with the pert air which servants love to assume before courteous strangers.
"What! Madame de Sainte-Suzanne is not in?" exclaimed Chamoureau, in a despairing tone.
"No, monsieur; madame has gone out; what is there strange in that?"
"I don't say that I think it strange; but it annoys me exceedingly."
"Had madame made an appointment with monsieur?"
"No; certainly she hadn't made an appointment with me; I did not presume to say anything of the sort."
"Well then, monsieur could not be sure of finding madame, especially as madame often goes out."
"Ah! she often goes out! then it isn't strange that I don't find her in. But will she return soon? If so, I might wait for her."
"When madame goes out, she never says whether she will stay out long. And then I must tell monsieur that she doesn't like to have anybody wait for her; she doesn't want anybody to make himself at home in her apartment when she isn't here."
Chamoureau bit his lip and stepped back.
"That makes a difference!" he murmured; "now that I know that it would vex Madame de Sainte-Suzanne, I will not wait for her; but you will be good enough to tell her that Monsieur Chamoureau came to pay his respects to her. Sapristi! I regret that I did not bring a bouquet—I would have left it. Will you remember my name—Chamoureau?"
"Never fear! If I should forget it, I would say: 'The gentleman who tore himself from head to foot the other day called again.'"
"It seems to me quite unnecessary to recall that unpleasant incident. I prefer that you should simply mention my name—Chamoureau."
"Yes, Monsieur—Chameau."
"Fichtre! pray be careful! I didn't say Chameau; you must not confound me with that beast of the desert with two humps. For I flatter myself that I have never had one—although I am a widower."
"Monsieur is quite capable of it; but still a man sometimes wears one without knowing it."
"Do you think so, mademoiselle? If that had happened to me, my wife would have told me; she had no secrets from me!"[I]
"Oh! that makes a difference!"
"Understand, mademoiselle—Chamoureau, not Chameau."
"I will remember, monsieur."
And the maid, laughing in the gentleman's face, because he seemed to her excessively foolish, was in the act of closing the door, when another person appeared and hastily opened it again; then, elbowing aside Chamoureau, who was still standing on the mat, he entered the reception-room with the air of a master, and said abruptly:
"Is Thélénie here? I want to speak to her."
The agent raised his eyes to look at the person who had pushed him aside so unceremoniously. He scrutinized him with the greatest attention when he heard him ask for "Thélénie" simply, and not Madame de Sainte-Suzanne. Such familiarity was most offensive to Chamoureau, and when he saw that the man who indulged in it was fashionably dressed, he was more incensed than ever.
We will not draw the portrait of the newcomer, as we have already seen him at the Opéra, in the box of the lady whom he now asked to see. It was Monsieur Beauregard who had applied to the lady's maid, and she, suddenly become respectful, because he spoke to her in an arrogant tone, hastened to reply:
"Madame is not in, monsieur; she went out about an hour ago with her friend Mademoiselle Héloïse. I do not think that she will return to dinner."
Beauregard walked about the reception-room, then looked the maid in the eyes as he asked:
"Is it true that your mistress has gone out?"
"Yes, monsieur, it's the truth. But if monsieur wishes to go into the salon and madame's bedroom, he will see that I have not lied to him."
"No, it's all right; as she has gone out, I'll be off."
"Will monsieur give me any message for madame?"
"No, what I have to say to her cannot be said by anybody else. I will see her another time."
"If monsieur will tell me what day he will come, so that madame may wait for him——"
"It's not necessary. I do not know myself when I shall come again."
And the gentleman with the yellow complexion, turning toward the door, was about to leave the room, when he saw the business agent, who had remained standing, like a milestone, on the mat, and was scrutinizing him with an expression of mingled amazement and curiosity.
"Who's that?" Beauregard asked the maid, pointing to Chamoureau. And she replied with a smile:
"It's a gentleman who came to see madame."
Thereupon Beauregard examined more carefully the individual on the mat, and soon exclaimed:
"Ah! I recognize him; I know him now! He's the Spaniard of the Opéra ball, who kept pulling up his long boots. Exactly! yes! that's just who it is!"
Chamoureau overheard all this; but uncertain how to behave before that person who had been eying him for several moments in a most impertinent way, he decided to leave the mat and beat a retreat. He had already gone downstairs, and was leaving the house, boiling over with wrath, when the gentleman whom he had left on the second floor, and who had descended the stairs behind him, appeared at his side.
Our widower had a very great desire to know who the man was who entered Madame de Sainte-Suzanne's apartment so unceremoniously, and asked for her by her Christian name simply. When he saw him so near, he ventured to bow. Beauregard returned his salutation with an air of mockery, saying:
"Your servant, monsieur!"
"Monsieur, like myself, has just come from Madame de Sainte-Suzanne's, I believe?"
"Yes, monsieur, I have come from Thélénie's. The lady's name is Thélénie."
"It is her Christian name, then?"
"As you say, it is her Christian name; didn't you know it?"
"No, monsieur; but, having known Madame de Sainte-Suzanne only a very short time, that is not surprising."
"Why do you call her de Sainte-Suzanne? She never had a sign of a de before her name."
"Oh! I thought that she was of noble birth."
"You are very much mistaken. In fact, I don't think she is much of a saint either! So she ought to be called plain Suzanne; but that isn't sonorous enough for her; so give her the de if it gives you any pleasure. I have no objection!"
"Has monsieur known the lady a long while?"
"Oh! yes, monsieur, a very long while."
Chamoureau hesitated awhile, but at last decided to falter:
"And monsieur is—er—intimately acquainted with—er—Madame de—Madame Sainte—er—Madame Suzanne?"
Beauregard laughed heartily as he replied in the satirical tone habitual to him:
"Do you know, monsieur, that your question is just the least bit indiscreet?"
"I beg pardon, monsieur; if it offends you, I withdraw it. I asked it as I might have asked: 'Do you smoke?'"
"Oh! not at all, monsieur; and it's of no use for you to try to conceal your cunning beneath that affable air. You asked me that because you are in love with Thélénie, and because you are afraid of finding a rival in me! Is not that the truth?"
"Faith! monsieur, you are so good at guessing that I see that it would be useless to try to dissemble with you.—I confess that I consider that lady enchanting, adorable!"
"You made her acquaintance at the Opéra ball, at Mi-Carême, did you not?"
"Yes, that is so; I was disguised as a Spaniard."
"Oh! I know it; I saw you pass with Thélénie on your arm. But how in the devil did you go about it to induce her to accept your arm? that is what I can't comprehend."
"The lady herself offered to walk with me; she spoke to me first in the foyer, calling me by my name, which surprised me greatly as I had never seen her before."
"It is very strange; she certainly did not accost you without some reason."
"Why, the reason was that it gave her pleasure, presumably."
Beauregard laughed ironically as he rejoined:
"Oh, yes! it gave her pleasure; and there was another reason too, I'll wager! Did you go to the ball alone?"
"No, I went with two friends of mine—Freluchon and Edmond Didier."
"Edmond Didier! good! now we are on the track; I understand it all now."
"What! what track are you on?"
"I'll stake my head that Thélénie questioned you closely on the subject of Monsieur Edmond."
"Why, yes; she asked me very often whom he was with, if his mistress was pretty——"
"That's it; and she forbade you to mention her to those gentlemen?"
"Really, it is extraordinary how you guess everything, monsieur; how you read Madame Sainte-Suzanne's thoughts!"
"It's because I've known her a long while, as I told you just now! I have been in a position to study her character, her sentiments and her mind. You asked me if I were intimately acquainted with this lady—Well, my dear monsieur—I beg pardon, but I don't know your name."
"Chamoureau—Sigismond Chamoureau."
"Well, my dear Monsieur Sigismond Chamoureau, I will tell you that I was once, but that I have not been for a long time."
The agent's face brightened, and he cried:
"As you no longer are, it's just as if you had never been."
"It isn't altogether the same thing, but I congratulate you on being so philosophical."
"In that case, monsieur, you don't bear me a grudge for being in love with Madame Sainte-Suzanne, and I need no longer look upon you as a rival?"
"I, bear you a grudge! oh! not the least in the world! I should have had my hands very full if I had been the rival of all those whom that lady's fine eyes have bewitched!"
"She has fine eyes, hasn't she?"
"Magnificent; and they have made many victims!"
"And will make many more; she is in all the bloom of her beauty!"
"Ah! if you had seen her nine years ago! that was a different matter!"
"Great God! what was she then?—For my part, I flattered myself too soon on having made a conquest of the lady; she was very stern with me when I had the good fortune to see her at her home; she even forbade me to speak of my love. I will confess to you, monsieur, that that drove me to despair."
"Ha! ha! poor Monsieur Chamoureau!"
"Not speak to her of love! Of what shall I speak to her, pray, that she may listen with pleasure?"
"Pardieu! speak of Edmond Didier, who is her lover! whom she loves to madness—for the moment. That is why she wanted to converse with you at the Opéra ball,—Ha! ha! ha! Do you see now?"
Chamoureau turned pale; he halted in the middle of the gutter, crying:
"Oh! monsieur, what are you saying? What! Edmond Didier?"
"I am telling you the truth; I am opening your eyes; I am doing you a service."
"It's a service which causes me a great deal of pain, then."
"What difference does it make to you whether she loves that young man or another, so long as she doesn't love you?"
"But I hoped that she would love me, monsieur."
"If that's your hope, don't despair; who knows? women are so strange, they have such surprising caprices; it is quite possible that she won't always spurn you.—By the way, pardon the question, but are you rich, monsieur?"
"Not very; I make four or five thousand francs a year."
"In that case, my dear monsieur, you have no great chance of succeeding with Thélénie; and if you are wise enough to follow some good advice, you will forget her and cease to bother your head about her.—But, excuse me—I go in this direction. Good-day, monsieur."
"A thousand pardons, monsieur, but it would be a great pleasure to me to know with whom I have had the honor of conversing."
"Here is my card, monsieur."
"And here is mine, monsieur; I have a real estate office, and if you should ever have any business that hangs fire——"
"Be assured, monsieur, that I shall remember you."
Beauregard walked away, while Chamoureau read the card he held in his hand, saying to himself:
"He was once Madame Sainte-Suzanne's lover! and Edmond is now! and I am nothing at all! I have acted as an information machine, that is all!—Ah! I am not surprised that she expressly forbade me to mention her name. Well! all this doesn't prevent my adoring her. Monsieur Beauregard advises me not to think of her any more; but perhaps he still thinks of her himself; if he doesn't, why does he go to see her? That is something he would have found it difficult to explain, I fancy. Perhaps what he told me about Edmond isn't true. That man has a sardonic expression; I think that I shall do well to be suspicious of him.—O Eléonore! I am grieved that I no longer weep for you!"
Chamoureau went home completely overwhelmed by what he had learned in his interview with Monsieur Beauregard. He thought of nothing else all the rest of the day, the result being that it did not occur to him to go to Monsieur Courtivaux and conclude the negotiation that Madame Dalmont had entrusted to him. He asked himself every moment whether he should try once more to see Edmond, and question him on the subject of his liaison with Madame Sainte-Suzanne; but he remembered that she had expressly forbidden him to mention her name to anyone.
"To be sure," he said to himself, "I have already broken my promise by talking about her with this Monsieur Beauregard; but that wasn't my fault. That man caught me in Madame Sainte-Suzanne's reception-room, so I could not deny that I knew her; and the familiar way in which he asked for her proved conclusively that he knew her very well indeed!"
On the following day our widower was still undecided, hesitating whether he ought or ought not to talk to Edmond about the lady with the beautiful black eyes.
Hesitating people often pass whole days unable to decide what to do, and when, after mature consideration, they say to themselves: "I will decide on this course," you see them suddenly change their minds and pause just as they are about to act. Such characters generally fail in whatever they undertake, because they never do it in time.
In a business agent, this failing is even more dangerous than in anybody else. The agent with whom we have to do had two reasons for not attending to the business placed in his hands: in addition to his habitual indecision, he was in love, passionately in love, with a woman with whom he had no hope of success, which fact necessarily increased his love. It is always the thing that we cannot have for which we crave.
Chamoureau then was at home, saying to himself:
"I think I will go to Edmond Didier and tell him the whole truth; or rather, tell him nothing, but question him shrewdly. I will lead him on to talk of his love-affairs. He will begin about little Amélia, and then I will say: 'No, it's not that one, but another—a very beautiful brunette—that I want to talk to you about.'
"Yes, but then he will reply: 'How do you know that I ever knew a very beautiful brunette? Do you know her yourself?'—Damnation! it's terribly embarrassing!"
At that moment the doorbell rang and shortly after, Edmond Didier entered the office.
"My dear Monsieur Chamoureau," he said, "I understand that you have been to my room several times to see me; I have come to find out what you had to say to me and in what way I can be of service to you?"
Chamoureau was stupefied when he saw Edmond; he recovered himself, however, and composed his features.
"Ah! good morning, Monsieur Edmond; I am very glad to see you; it gives me great pleasure. You are well, I hope?"
"Very well. But I fancy that it wasn't to inquire for my health that you came to see me three times in one day?"
"No, of course not, although I take great interest in it. But Freluchon—have you seen Freluchon lately?"
"He started for Rouen and may have gone as far as Havre, to treat his little Pompadour to fresh oysters; for you know that his taking her to Normandie was the result of a bet that his latest conquest won at that supper of ours, by smoking through her nose."
"I know—or, rather, I don't know—for you must remember that I dozed a little toward the end of the supper."
"Ah, yes! that is true; I had forgotten."
"And that little woman in the Pompadour costume smokes through her nose, does she?"
"That is to say, she holds the cigar in her mouth, like everybody else, but she discharges the smoke through her nostrils; which is rather strong for a woman."
"It is, indeed; I wouldn't do it myself, although I smoke a little. How accomplished women are in this age! If this goes on, I should not be surprised to see them chewing tobacco in time."
"Oh! Monsieur Chamoureau, what are you saying!"
"Bless me! I keep track of the progress of mankind. In the old days, ladies wouldn't allow smoking in their presence; to-day they smoke themselves. From that to chewing tobacco in the shape of pastilles of mint or cachou isn't a very long road to travel."
"Well, let us come to what you had to say to me. I am in more or less of a hurry. It's a fine day, and I promised Amélia to take her to the Bois this morning. We may go as far as Ville d'Avray."
"Amélia! what? the young flower-maker who was at the supper, dressed as a débardeur?"
"Herself; I have made up with her; she is amusing and quite bright; on the whole, I like her very well."
"You really like her, eh? And you have no other mistress?"
"Faith, no! not for the moment, at all events."
"Dear Monsieur Edmond! You see, I have been told that you adored a magnificent brunette—a tall, handsome woman, with a fine figure——"
"Ah! you mean Thélénie."
Chamoureau changed color as he stammered:
"Yes, that's the name—Thélénie; that's the name I heard; or Madame—Madame——"
"Sainte-Suzanne?"
"Exactly—Sainte-Suzanne. Then I was not misinformed: you have been—you are that lady's lover?"
"I am not now; I have broken with her; I have entirely ceased to visit her."
The business agent leaped on the young man's neck and embraced him, crying:
"Is it possible? Dear Edmond! You no longer love her; you have broken with her completely! In that case, you are not my rival!"
"Well, well! what then, is the matter with you, Monsieur Chamoureau? what has taken hold of you? whence this outburst of joy? Can it be that you are in love with Thélénie?"
"I—no; I didn't say that; or, at all events, I ought not to say it; it's an impenetrable mystery. But still, if it were true, my dear friend—if I were secretly nourishing that passion in my heart—it would not make you angry with me?"
"I should think not! on the contrary, I would wish you all sorts of good luck in your love-affairs. Ah! I remember now what you said at the supper; that matchless creature, that woman who eclipsed all other women but who did not wish to be known, was she."
"Well, yes, it was she; but she had made me swear not to say that I knew her. I am a wretch, a traitor! I break all my oaths!"
"Bah! in love, you know, that doesn't do any harm."
"Say nothing about it to Freluchon, I entreat you."
"I will be dumb, since that is your wish!"
"Excellent Edmond! Your hand! I congratulate myself on being your friend."
"And I, my dear Monsieur Chamoureau, in the capacity of friend, will venture to give you a little advice,—with which you will do what people generally do with advice—disregard it."
"What is it?"
"Well, it is this: to be a little distrustful of your new conquest. Between us, Madame Sainte-Suzanne is a dangerous woman."
"Really? she is dangerous, you say? In what respect? Does she carry a stiletto about her, like the Italian women?"
"That is not what I mean. But she is very jealous. However, after all, I don't mean to speak ill of a woman who has shown me nothing but kindness; that would be ungrateful.—Au revoir, my dear Chamoureau; I must go to meet Amélia."
"But first, my dear friend, I would like to ask your advice."
"Some other time; I haven't time to-day."
Edmond was about leaving the agent's office, when two ladies entered. They were Madame Dalmont and her young friend, and they had called to ascertain whether Chamoureau had arranged for them the purchase of the little house at Chelles.
The young man courteously stepped aside to allow the ladies to enter, and he had an opportunity to examine them at his ease. He noticed that Honorine was a very attractive person, without being exactly pretty; but when his eyes rested on Agathe, he did not consider her beauty, he did not analyze each of her features; but he was conscious of a sudden thrill of emotion, and discovered instantly in the girl's face an indefinable charm which enraptured him, dazzled him and brought about something very like a revolution in his whole being. He stood as if rooted to the spot, and did not think of going away.
"Monsieur," said Honorine to Chamoureau, who gazed at her with a stupid air, "we have heard nothing from you for three days, and I have come to find out why it is. Does Monsieur Courtivaux no longer wish to sell his house?"
"Oh! pardon, madame, a thousand pardons! Yes, yes! the little house at Chelles; I remember now."
"What! you remember now? Then you had forgotten the matter, had you?"
"I had not exactly forgotten it; but there was another matter which took all my time, and——"
"What, monsieur! you have not been to see the owner of the house? when we said that we were in such haste to conclude the purchase, and that we would like to be settled in the country even now?"
"I was going there this morning, mesdames."
"Oh! it wasn't kind of you, monsieur, to neglect this business," said Agathe, blushing a little, because she saw that the young man, who was still present, kept his eyes fixed on her. "My dear friend and I think about that house every minute in the day; and then they say that this is just the time to plant seeds and set out flowers. If it should be sold to anybody else, I shouldn't get over it."
"How is this, my dear Chamoureau?" interposed Edmond; "you have the good fortune to be the man of business of these ladies, and you forget the commissions with which they entrust you. Upon my word, you are unpardonable."
"It isn't forgetfulness, Monsieur Edmond; it's that other matter—you know, on Rue de Ponthieu—that is forever in my head."
"Hush! it is inexcusable. If I had it in my power to render these ladies the slightest service, I should esteem myself too fortunate."
"Really, you are very kind, monsieur," said Honorine, "but you will be of great service to us if you remind your friend that he ought to conclude this affair."
"Not only will I remind him of it, madame, but I undertake not to lose sight of him until he has taken all the necessary steps to conclude it.—You desire to purchase a house in the country, madame?"
"Yes, monsieur, and the price is satisfactory to me."
"The owner's name is Courtivaux?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"And this Courtivaux lives in Paris, does he, Chamoureau?"
"To be sure; on Rue Jacob, Faubourg Saint-Germain."
"Very good. We will take my cab and go at once to see this gentleman; from there we will go to the notary to fix a time for passing the papers; and from there to tell madame what day is appointed."
Agathe clapped her hands and cried:
"Ah! that is good! it will soon be done then! Ah! monsieur, how——"
The girl had the word charming on the tip of her tongue, but she checked herself, realizing that it would hardly be proper to use that expression to a person whom she did not know. She lowered her eyes and glanced at her friend, who hastened to say:
"We are very grateful, monsieur, for the interest which you are good enough to take in our affairs, especially as you do not know us."
"Mon Dieu! madame, my interest is quite natural; as soon as one has the pleasure of seeing you, one feels eager—one desires—to be of some service to you."
Edmond also realized that he was getting confused, and that the eyes of young Agathe, which were then fixed upon him, disturbed him to such an extent as to take away his usual self-confidence. To conceal his embarrassment, he turned to Chamoureau.
"Come, my dear fellow, didn't you hear what I promised these ladies? Let us be off at once! We shall find my cab at the door and we will drive straight to the vendor's house."
"What! do you really mean to go to Monsieur Courtivaux's with me?"
"I have told these ladies that I would not leave you until we have completed their transaction, or at least appointed a time with the notary for having the documents settled."
"But I thought that you had an appointment this morning. Just now you were in great haste to leave me in order to go to the Bois de Boulogne."
"If you have other engagements, monsieur," said Honorine to Edmond, "we should be very sorry to have you neglect them on our account."
"No, madame, no, I assure you that I have no other important engagement for to-day. I was going to drive in the Bois; but one always has time for that."
"Oh, yes!" cried Agathe; "besides, I think it will be fine all day."
And the girl smiled at Edmond, to thank him for persisting in his plan of accompanying the agent.
"But the person who is waiting for you," muttered Chamoureau, as he looked for his hat. "You told me that——"
"It's of no consequence. It's a friend of mine, an idler like myself, and it makes no difference to him whether he goes to the Bois to-day or to-morrow.—Come, are you ready? How slow you are in finding your hat!"
"You don't give me time to breathe. I can't go to see Monsieur Courtivaux in a skull-cap."
At last, thanks to Edmond, Chamoureau was ready to start. They all left the office together. The young man would have been glad to offer his hand to Agathe to escort her downstairs; but she was as light and active as a doe, and was at the bottom long before the others.
Edmond had come in a milord, which was waiting for him at the door; he bade Chamoureau step in, saying:
"Do you know the address of these ladies?"
"Yes, certainly; I must know it."
But Agathe, fearing that their agent might have forgotten their address as well, hastened to say to Edmond:
"Madame Dalmont, Rue des Martyrs, 40."
"Very good, mademoiselle. I shall not forget, you may be sure. Mesdames, you shall have news of your business before night."
"We do not know how to thank you, monsieur."
"I am too happy to be able to serve you. Driver, Rue Jacob, Faubourg Saint-Germain!"
"I say! what about Mademoiselle Amélia, whom you promised to take to drive this morning?" said Chamoureau as they rolled along.
"What do I care for Amélia? Do you suppose that I am going to put myself out for a paltry flower-maker, when I have an opportunity to be of service to such charming women! for they are charming, those two! Tell me, Chamoureau, how long have they been clients of yours? They can't be mother and daughter! Are they sisters, I wonder? Yes, in all probability. And yet they don't at all resemble each other! One of them is married; what does her husband do? do you know him too?"
"Sapristi! Monsieur Edmond, you bewilder me with your questions! I don't know which one to answer.—I have known these ladies a very short time. They came to my office—ah! I remember only too well it was the day after Mi-Carême! I had just come home in my Spanish costume, thanks to that scamp of a Freluchon. For you know that my brand-new black coat and trousers are at his rooms! and heaven knows whether he will ever come back; once at Havre, he's quite capable of starting for America. If he should do that I'd have his door opened by the police."
"What in the devil are you talking about?—I didn't ask you about your clothes; I asked you who those two pretty women are that I saw at your office just now? The younger one, especially. She must be unmarried; I'll wager that she's hardly sixteen. What a fascinating face! What a sweet expression in her eyes! There is modesty, playfulness, kindliness in her expression. I have never met such a charming young woman! What is her name? The elder lady's name is Dalmont, I know; but the young lady? tell me—you must know her name."
"Her name is Thélénie de Sainte-Suzanne; you know it well enough, having been so intimate with her; having had that felicity!"
"Come, come, Chamoureau, pay a little more attention to what I say. I am not talking about Thélénie; she has nothing in common with the girl I met just now at your office, thank God!"
"Madame Sainte-Suzanne is much more beautiful. She's a grown woman, just in her prime!"
"We won't quarrel about our tastes. Adore Thélénie, my dear Monsieur Chamoureau, it is your right! but tell me the name of the charming girl who was with Madame Dalmont."
"Her name! how should I know it? Oh, yes! I remember now that her friend called her Agathe several times."
"Agathe! her name is Agathe, you say! What a sweet name!"
"Thélénie is a much more distinguished name; and the proof is that it isn't to be found in the Saints' Calendar!"
"Then that lady is her friend, her kinswoman, her cousin perhaps. Is she rich?"
"No, her means are very modest."
"What does the husband do?"
"There isn't one; the lady is a widow."
"No husband; so much the better!"
"Why so much the better? Do you propose to marry the widow?"
"I don't say that. But when there is no man in a house——"
"It is easier to get in, you think, eh?"
"Oh, no! just the opposite; for it is almost always the husband who takes his friends to his house."
"There's no man at Madame Sainte-Suzanne's, but that doesn't prevent her receiving men. She received me, indeed she herself invited me to come to see her."
"For God's sake, Monsieur Chamoureau, let us drop Thélénie!"
"I am in love with her, monsieur, I am passionately in love with her!"
"So it would seem, as your passion made you forget the business Madame Dalmont placed in your hands.—Ah! that was very bad!"
"Here is Monsieur Courtivaux's house; are you going up with me?"
"I should say so! you are quite capable of talking to him of nothing but Thélénie!"
Edmond accompanied the agent to the apartment of the owner of the house at Chelles. He was very accommodating; he was anxious to get rid of his little country estate, and thanks to the eloquence of Edmond, who impressed it upon him that the purchaser was a young widow of small means, he consented to pay the expenses of the transaction. He gave them his notary's address, and suggested that they meet there at three o'clock on the following day. Edmond declared that Madame Dalmont would be there punctually, and informed Monsieur Courtivaux that he would go at once to advise the notary.
While the young man hastily made this arrangement, Chamoureau stood in rapt contemplation before a woman's portrait, and whispered in Edmond's ear:
"Don't you think it looks like her?"
"Like whom?"
"Her!"
"Mademoiselle Agathe?"
"No, the superb Sainte-Suzanne!"
"Not in the least. But let us be off. We must go to the notary."
"What! has Monsieur Courtivaux said that he would be there?"
"It's all settled, all arranged; the day and hour were fixed while you were sighing in front of that portrait. Really, it's very lucky for those ladies that I came with you! Let us go."
Edmond took Chamoureau to see the notary. The young man had now become the agent; he made all the arrangements. Chamoureau's only function seemed to be to sigh.
From the notary's they set off in their cab to go to Madame Dalmont's. As they drew nearer to her abode, Edmond became more thoughtful and silent; he even went so far as to sigh, like his companion.
"I am going to that lady's house," he thought. "She will learn that she is under some obligation to me, since I hastened forward the conclusion of the transaction. She will thank me; but will she ask me to come again? That is doubtful, for she has known me only since this morning. However, I shall no longer be a stranger to them; that is a point gained."
"Is this the place?" he inquired, pointing to a house.
"I haven't the slightest idea."
"Do you mean that you have never been to see those ladies?"
"Never. But they told us number 40, so this must be the house.—Are you going up with me?"
"Am I going up with you! That's a pretty question! Why, I settled the business almost unaided; and do you think I am not going to tell them about it?"
"Bless my soul! it makes no difference to me; I had no special object in view in asking you that question."
Agathe opened the door and uttered a cry of joy when she saw Edmond, for there was something in the young man's expression that announced the successful result of the steps he had taken.
In a few words he informed Madame Dalmont that the business was concluded, that Monsieur Courtivaux agreed to assume the expenses, and that the next day, at three o'clock, she was expected at the notary's whose address he gave her.
Honorine expressed to the young man the gratitude which the zeal he had shown in her service had merited. While her friend was speaking, Agathe said nothing; but it is probable that she too thanked Edmond with her eyes, for he was radiant with joy.
When the ladies had also said a few words to Chamoureau, who acted as if he had no idea what it was all about, Edmond said to Honorine:
"As soon as the deeds are signed, madame, you will be entitled to go with mademoiselle and take possession of your estate, where, I presume, you propose to pass the summer."
"Summer and winter too, monsieur. I have bought the house with the intention of secluding myself there altogether."
"What, madame! you are leaving Paris for good? you do not expect to return for the winter?"
"No, monsieur, I shall pass the whole year at Chelles."
"And mademoiselle also?"
"As if I could live apart from my dear friend!" replied Agathe with a smile. "As if I could ever leave her! Where she is, I shall always be. And then, I do not care for Paris, and I look forward with delight to living in the country."
Edmond's face darkened; he already regretted that he had shown so much zeal in facilitating their speedy departure. There is always more or less selfishness in the zeal we display in serving other people. In Paris he thought that it would be easy for him to see Agathe again, to meet her, even if he were obliged to pass a large part of the day on the street where she lived. But he must needs abandon that hope, if she ceased to live in Paris.
"Are you not afraid, mesdames, of suffering from ennui in the winter, in a village?" murmured Edmond at last, looking at Agathe with a melancholy expression.
"One does not suffer from ennui, monsieur," replied Honorine, "with plenty of occupation for one's time. Women always have something to overlook, some work to do in a house. In the country, there are a thousand additional duties to be attended to—a garden, a poultry-yard—And then, for diversion, we have reading and music."
"Ah! are you ladies musical?"
"A little, monsieur. I expect to sell part of my furniture before moving, as the house I am buying is furnished; but I certainly shall not dispose of my piano, our faithful friend; isn't it, Agathe?"
"Oh! if we hadn't the piano, then we should be bored, and no mistake. My dear friend plays very well indeed, monsieur; and she has taught me what I know."
"Do not listen to her, monsieur; I can play accompaniments fairly well, that's all."
"I too am fond of music; I sing a little; and if you ladies had remained in Paris, I should have been very happy if—if—if I——"
Edmond dared not finish the sentence, but it was easy to guess the rest of it.
Honorine could not restrain a smile as she said:
"Since this morning, monsieur, you have placed us under great obligations; you have attended to our business with more zeal than—Dear me! is Monsieur Chamoureau asleep?"
"No, madame, do not mind him; he has something on his mind which engrosses him completely; you must excuse him."
"In fact, monsieur, but for you, nothing would have yet been done toward purchasing Monsieur Courtivaux's house; you will not think it surprising, I trust, that I am anxious to know to whom I am so obliged."
"That is quite natural, madame, and I should have told you before this. My name is Edmond Didier; my father was formerly a clerk in the Treasury and has now retired on his pension, and with my mother is living at his native place, Nancy in Lorraine. They have sufficient means to live modestly, and they are happy. I remained in Paris and had entered a banking house, when an uncle on my mother's side was good enough to leave me sixty thousand francs."
"With your salary, then, you are very comfortably situated."
"I have to confess, madame, that when I found myself in possession of that unexpected wealth, I began by leaving my place; I have invested part of my funds, and I do a little business—not like Chamoureau, I have no office—but I trade a little on the Bourse, and try to speculate on the rise or fall of stocks.—That, madame, is my whole biography, and Monsieur Chamoureau here will bear witness to its accuracy."
"What? what's that? accuracy of what?" exclaimed Chamoureau, who was thinking what he could do to make himself agreeable to Madame Sainte-Suzanne, and who suddenly discovered that he was at Madame Dalmont's.
"Nothing, my dear fellow, except that I was telling these ladies who I am, so that they may not look upon me as a schemer or a nobody."
"We should never have thought that of you, monsieur, but you cannot blame two ladies, who live alone, for desiring to know something concerning the persons whom they receive. Now, monsieur, if the desire for country air should ever lead you in the direction of Chelles, come to our modest abode and rest a moment; we shall be delighted to make you welcome to the house which you have assisted us to purchase."
"Oh, yes! monsieur," cried Agathe, "it will give us great pleasure to——"
Honorine pulled her young friend's dress, whereupon she corrected herself and continued:
"And then you will see the house, which is very pretty, and the garden, of which I mean to take excellent care."
"Your invitation is too kind for me to forget it, madame; and since you give me your permission, I shall have the honor of paying my respects to you at Chelles.—Now, my dear Chamoureau, let us not take any more of the time of these ladies, whom, you remember, you are to meet at three o'clock to-morrow at Monsieur Courtivaux's notary's."