"Three o'clock to-morrow. The devil! I wanted to go to Rue de Ponthieu to-morrow; she won't always be out."
Edmond trod on Chamoureau's foot and whispered to him:
"Hold your tongue! don't mention the name of a Thélénie before these ladies!" Then he added, turning to Honorine: "I will call for Chamoureau myself, madame, and take him to the notary's. In that way I can answer for his punctuality."
"That, monsieur, will put the finishing touch to your kindness, for Monsieur Chamoureau seems to us very absent-minded."
"Pray excuse me, madame; I am in fact very busy concerning—er—it's all Freluchon's fault!"
"Come, Chamoureau, let us be off."
And Edmond took the agent away.
The next day, thanks to the young man's activity, all the parties met at the appointed time at the notary's office, and Madame Dalmont became the owner of the little house at Chelles.
A glance from Agathe amply rewarded Edmond for all the trouble he had taken to bring the affair to a speedy conclusion. And Honorine added to his happiness by saying again:
"You will be welcome, monsieur, at that house of which I am now the owner, thanks to your efforts and your kindness."
The fair Thélénie returned to her apartment, accompanied by her friend Héloïse, about an hour after Chamoureau had taken his leave under Monsieur Beauregard's escort. As she entered the room she tossed aside shawl, hat, gloves and the rest, with the angry gesture characteristic of her. Then she threw herself on a couch, while her friend Héloïse picked up the hat and gloves from the floor, saying:
"You must admit that you take very little care of your things. Such a pretty hat, almost new! and that's the way you treat it! Why, I would make this hat last till June. Bless me! I haven't the means to buy them as often as you do! How much did this one cost? At least fifty-five francs, I'll bet; milliners are getting to be out of reach. Did I guess right?"
"For heaven's sake! Héloïse, let me alone; you must see that I'm out of humor."
"Oh! you're always out of humor now; you make a great mistake to torment yourself all the time;—it will change your whole appearance, it will make your complexion yellow. If you want to remain pretty, you must never lose your temper. A medical student told me that. He ought to know a lot, for he attended lectures ten years. He also told me that if I wanted to be well, I must be gay; for there's nothing that's so healthy as gayety."
"Every ten years' student ought to know that gayety can't be administered at pleasure, like a syrup or a drug. To tell a person to be gay is as foolish as to tell him not to have a headache! However, I know perfectly well that I am not sensible; but when I saw Edmond drive by in a cab with his new passion, I could not restrain a spasm of anger."
"Yes, and you nearly caused us to be run over by a coupé."
"But that little flower-maker is a horrid-looking creature; it makes one ashamed to be deserted for such a fright."
"Horrid-looking! oh! that's nonsense. She has a cunning little way with her, and a saucy face such as men like."
"She is as common as one can imagine. If Edmond had left me for a very pretty woman, I would forgive him."
"That is not true; you would be even more put out. Oh! I know all about that; it's always some little compensation to be able to say to yourself: 'I am certainly prettier than she is, and his new love won't last long.'"
Thélénie rang for her maid and Mademoiselle Mélie appeared.
"Has anybody been here while I have been out?"
"Yes, madame, that gentleman who came a few days ago, and who was so amusing when he went away; who had torn his coat, and—another part of his clothes."
"Ah! Monsieur Chamoureau?"
"That's the name, madame: Monsieur Chamoureau."
"What did he want?"
"Why, to see madame; he seemed very much disappointed not to find her and asked me if madame would be out long; he wanted to wait."
"The idiot! does he propose to wear me out with his calls; however, as soon as he bores me too much, I shall have no hesitation in forbidding him my door. Very well; leave me."
"He is the Spaniard of the Opéra ball who kept pulling up his boots, isn't he?" said Mademoiselle Héloïse, when the maid had left the room.
"Yes, and the great clown, whom I instructed to tell me everything that happened at a certain supper after the ball,—I knew that he was to sup with Edmond and his friends and their ladies. What do you suppose Monsieur Chamoureau did? he went to sleep in the middle of supper, and when he woke, everybody had gone!"
"He was drunk, probably!"
"And then he comes to see me, and makes me an impassioned declaration of love!"
"Accompanied by diamonds or a cashmere shawl?"
"By nothing whatever! What do you suppose he proposed to me? Oh! it's enough to make one die of laughter!"
"To mend his linen?"
"To marry him—to become Madame Chamoureau!"
"Well! you want a position in society."
"A pretty position that would be! My gentleman makes four thousand francs with his office; and as I have ten thousand francs a year, I should be the one to enrich him. Fancy me making Monsieur Chamoureau's fortune!"
"But in that case the fellow isn't as stupid as he looks."
"Oh! he has no selfish designs. He is really very much in love with me—according to what he says, at least.—Madame Chamoureau! what an absurd name!"
"Well, I am not so particular as you are; if he wants to marry me, I'll take him. I am not such a bad writer, I'll be a clerk in his office."
"I had an idea that you weren't very strong in spelling. One day you wrote me, being short of money: 'Are you in funds? can I go to your cash-box?' And you spelt cash with a q."
"Well! what difference does it make whether it's a c or a q so long as the pronunciation's the same? Besides, I've heard it said that nowadays people write as they choose, and that it's much more comme il faut not to bother about spelling, because in old times the great nobles didn't know anything about it."
"For my part, I don't consider it good form to make blunders in speaking."
"Why, did you have such a very fine education, Thélénie? I thought you'd never been to school; I had an idea that your mother sold cooked sausages in a shop where there was always a long line of people waiting; there was a stove——"
The lovely brunette flashed a savage glance at Héloïse and replied, smiling bitterly:
"Ah! so you propose to be nasty too, do you? Be careful, my poor Héloïse, you won't have much chance with me."
"I have no intention of saying anything nasty! Between ourselves, you can't make me believe that you're a duchess's daughter. I have been told that your mother sold sausages fried on a stove, but I don't see any harm in it. It's as good a trade as another."
"And you threw that at me because I told you that you spelt cash with a q."
"Oh! nonsense! what do you suppose I care for a q more or less! what a fuss about nothing! I assure you, Thélénie, that I hadn't the slightest intention of making you angry; that would be very stupid on my part. You take me to the theatre and to drive with you, and sometimes you lend me money when I haven't any; so why should I try to get up a quarrel with you?"
"Then try to curb your tongue, Héloïse, for you may happen to say before witnesses something that I would never forgive. Between ourselves, I certainly do not undertake to make myself any better than I am; my birth was very humble, I don't deny it; but as I grew up, and especially when I began to know well-bred men, with gentlemanly manners, I realized that if I wanted to arrive, I must first of all put myself in a position to hold my own with them. So I hired teachers and studied; I was determined to know my own language. I also learned a little English and Italian, and I assure you that then I felt much more at my ease in the society of men of the world, who are very glad to take a pretty, fashionably-dressed woman to drive in a calèche, but who blush for her when she uses bad grammar before their friends and acquaintances.—What is it, Mélie? what do you want of us now?"
"I beg pardon, madame," replied the maid, who had just entered. "I forgot to tell madame that another gentleman came almost at the same time as Monsieur Chamoureau."
"Who was it?"
"Monsieur Beauregard."
At the name of Beauregard, Thélénie's brow grew dark and she made an impatient gesture, muttering:
"Aha! Monsieur Beauregard! Well, what did he want of me? what did he say to you?"
"The gentleman seemed doubtful at first whether madame had really gone out; he was about to come in without listening to me; but when I told him that he could look into the salon and madame's bedroom, he didn't come in, but went away, leaving word that he would come again."
"That person seems to be very unceremonious!" exclaimed Héloïse; "the idea of his having the face to enter your apartment to see if you were really there!"
"Oh! he's a very old acquaintance—an eccentric fellow; but he would do well to spare me his visits; I confess that I hardly enjoy them. I had not seen him for several years; I don't know what has possessed him lately, and why he has taken to coming again.—Didn't he say anything else, Mélie?"
"No, madame; he went away at the same time that Monsieur Chamoureau did, and I saw them from the window walking away together and talking."
"Beauregard talking with Chamoureau?"
"Yes, madame."
"That is very strange; but after all, it makes no difference to me!—Ah! someone is ringing, I believe."
"Perhaps one of those gentlemen has come back. Shall I say that madame is in and admit him?"
"Yes, if it's Monsieur Beauregard."
"And if it is Monsieur Chamoureau?"
Thélénie had not decided what reply to make when the bell rang again, with great violence.
"The devil! this one's in a big hurry!" said Héloïse.
"I am quite sure that it is not Monsieur Chamoureau who rings like that," said Thélénie. "Go and look, Mélie, and tell me who it is."
The maid opened the door; she was amazed, almost terrified at the aspect of the personage who stood there.
It was a man perhaps forty years old; but his repulsive appearance and dilapidated costume made it difficult to judge of his age. He was of medium height, thin of body and fleshless of face. His small, sunken eyes, rimmed with red, had a very bold and cynical expression, mingled at times with a threatening ferocity. His nose was long and thin and slightly curved like a bird's beak; his mouth, almost without teeth, was pinched and retreating, and the lips were hardly visible; thick eyebrows, red like his hair, bristled over his eyes. His forehead was low and sloping. He had a great abundance of badly combed, or rather uncombed, hair, which fell at random over his shoulders and his forehead; and although he wore a full beard and moustaches, a large scar was visible at the base of his left cheek.
This villainous-looking person was dressed in a long coat which had once been nut-brown, but of which it was now very difficult to distinguish the color. The coat lacked several buttons; it was worn through at the elbows, covered with spots and torn in several places; olive-green trousers, horribly soiled and ragged at the bottom, were in perfect harmony with the coat. A red handkerchief, twisted rope-fashion, served as a cravat; his footgear consisted of immense shoes, covered with mud, one of which was tied with twine and the other not at all. Lastly, on his head he wore one of those shocking low-crowned hats to which one may give any conceivable shape, because they have no shape.
"Cré nom d'un bouffarde! my beauty! you take your time about opening the door! Are your stumps asleep?"
As he spoke thus to the lady's maid, the visitor twirled in his hand a stout blackthorn stick, which he handled with the dexterity of a drum-major.
"What do you want, monsieur? You have probably made a mistake; I am very sure that it wasn't our door that the concierge pointed out to you."
While speaking, the maid held the door only half open, as if to prevent the man from entering. But he replied with a smile peculiar to himself, which made his face even more repulsive:
"No, no! I ain't mistaken in the door, larbine! otherwise called servant! This is the place where Madame Sainte-Suzanne lives, isn't it?"
"Yes, this is the place."
"Well, then! don't make so much fuss and feathers! Madame Sainte-Suzanne is the one I want to speak to."
"You, monsieur?"
"Yes, me! What in the devil's the matter with the girl that she makes eyes at me like a cat that's been taking physic!"
"What can you have to say to my mistress?"
"What have I to say to her? Look you, my love, that don't concern anybody but her and me, and I won't let my words fly till we are together in the closest possible confinement, as the president of the criminal court says."
"My mistress only receives people she knows, monsieur; and as she certainly doesn't know you, she won't receive you."
"You're crazy, my girl! You stand there chattering like a magpie and you don't know what you're saying. Your mistress knows me and knows me well, too, I flatter myself; consequently she will receive me; and I don't advise her to refuse to see me, for then there'd be a row at papa's!"
As he spoke, the man pushed the lady's maid before him little by little; and she, being afraid of him, had allowed him to reach the middle of the reception room. There he stopped and glanced about, saying:
"Bigre! it's rather neat here! it's bang up! They didn't deceive me when they said there was fat times at Madame Sainte-Suzanne's. So much the better! this suits me! I love luxury and style, I do!"
"One would hardly think so to look at you," said the maid.
"That proves, my beauty, that you mustn't judge by appearances.—Just go and tell your mistress that I want to talk with her a bit; and to make sure that she won't refuse to see me, you may tell her it's Croque who has looked in on her to bid her good-day as he passed."
"What name did you say, monsieur?"
"I said Croque."
"Is that your name?"
"It seems to be!"
"I am very sure that madame won't receive you. Whom do you come from?"
"Whom do I come from? why from myself, and that's enough. Come, come! do what I tell you, girl; and if we are satisfied with you, we'll give you a kiss."
The maid hastily left the room to tell her mistress.
Thélénie was beginning to be impatient because she had not learned who had ventured to ring her bell with such violence as to break the cord; the alarmed expression of her servant redoubled her curiosity.
"Well! who was it? why were you so long about coming to tell me?"
"Oh! madame, it is—if you knew! I am all upset."
"Explain yourself, I say."
"There's a man there, who looks just like a thief; I believe he is one; he has every appearance of it. Oh! what a horrid man! he frightens me to death! He has on a long coat with holes in the elbows, and a face—an expression——"
"Well! what does this man want?"
"He wants to speak to madame—in private; and if you knew how insolently he talks; one would say that he thought he was in his own house."
"Send the man away; it must be some beggar who has come to ask alms; I don't see such people; send him away."
"And quickly, too," suggested Mademoiselle Héloïse, "for he is capable of stealing something in your reception room. I shouldn't suppose your concierge would let poor people come upstairs. Is the man a dumb idiot?"
"I don't know if the man will go away," said Mélie. "'You will tell your mistress,' he says, 'that it's Croque who wants to speak to her.'"
When she heard that name, Thélénie turned ghastly pale; she was evidently deeply agitated; her features contracted; she seemed completely crushed, and muttered between her teeth:
"Oh! mon Dieu! he is still alive! I hoped that he was dead!"
"Croque! what a name!" exclaimed Héloïse; "why not Croque-Mitaine and be done with it? Then we should know at all events that he doesn't mean to scare anyone but children!"
"I will go and tell the horrid man to go away, that madame refuses to receive him," said Mélie.
But Thélénie hurriedly arrested the maid, crying:
"No, no; don't do that, Mélie; on the contrary, go to this—this gentleman, and show him in. I am curious to know what he has to say to me.—Do you, Héloïse, step into the salon a moment."
"What! you propose to receive this man? You are not afraid to be left alone with him?"
"No, I am not afraid; do what I tell you; and you, Mélie, go and bring this stranger to me."
The maid obeyed, not trying to conceal her amazement at her mistress's sudden change of front; and Mademoiselle Héloïse walked toward the salon, remarking as she went:
"Keep your eye on the mantel all the time, and look out that your friend don't pinch something."
When the wretchedly-dressed personage was ushered into Thélénie's bedroom, he bowed to her most respectfully; she motioned to her maid and to Héloïse to leave them, then carefully closed and locked all the doors. Thereupon Monsieur Croque dropped carelessly upon a couch and tossed his hat on the floor, saying:
"Damn my eyes! my dear love, it takes a lot of trouble to reach you! it's worse than it is at a minister's office! What a get-up! what style! what a dust!"
The beautiful brunette gazed loweringly at the person before her, and said at last in a faltering tone:
"What! is it you? I thought——"
"You thought I'd kicked the bucket, didn't you? and I'll bet you didn't weep very much over me. But no, the little man's still alive; and he hasn't the slightest inclination to die. What a pity it would be! at forty years! just the prime of life for a man!"
"But what has become of you these five years past? for it is fully five years since I last saw or heard of you.—Mon Dieu! what do you look like!—how can you possibly show yourself dressed like this?"
"Why, I have to do it when I haven't anything else to put on my back, and not a sign of anything to buy duds with."
"How did you ever allow yourself to fall to such a low condition?"
"How did I allow myself to fall! ah! that's a good one, little sister! the dear sister, who don't throw her arms round her dear brother's neck. Look you, that isn't pretty of you; for, after all, I'm your brother, my dear love, and what's more, your senior, which gives me something very like the rights of a father or an uncle over you!"
"You have rights over me! I don't advise you to repeat that."
"Come, come, let's not get waxy, Titine—for your name used to be Titine, you know; you twisted that into Thélénie, and you did well, for Thélénie's more melodious, it sounds better to the ear. You see that if I had a swell apartment, like you, and a bully lot of togs, instead of calling myself just Croque, I'd take the name of Croquinosky or Croquignolle; but unluckily I haven't got so far as that. You ask me what I've been doing these five years. Bless my soul! my dear love, I couldn't come out, I was in the background."
"Ah! you have been in prison?"
"Something very like it."
"For debt?"
"A little for debt, and for something else too—an unfortunate affair—a theft of shirts in which I was mixed up, although I was most innocent."
"Innocent! you! that is hardly probable."
"Ah! you are as amiable as ever! you doubt your little brother's probity!"
"Because I know what you are capable of!"
"You know—or you don't know; that's a question. I don't say that I won't put you in a way to solve it some day; that will depend on the way you behave toward Bibi!"
"What do you mean? Is that a threat?"
"Oh, no! I never threaten. Come, come! a fellow laughs and jests a bit, and you flare up right away! I should have supposed that wealth would make people more amiable."
"Wealth! why, I have no wealth; I have enough to live on and no more."
"Oh! I expected that; you haven't got any money, and you live in a magnificent apartment, you have splendid furniture and servants at your beck and call, you're dressed like a stage princess."
"What does all that prove? You know well enough that in Paris a person can make a great show without being rich; that sometimes all this display serves simply to cover up debts and straitened circumstances."
"Yes, yes; and another thing I know is that this is no furnished lodging house, and, that being so, you have your own furniture; that everything I see is yours; and look—with nothing but that clock and those candelabra on the mantelpiece, I could get enough to fit myself out new and go on a good long spree."
Thélénie contracted her black eyebrows and made an impatient gesture.
"Come," she cried, "tell me what you want of me? Why have you come here?"
Monsieur Croque lounged easily on the couch and replied, smoothing his beard:
"Oh! you have a shrewd idea, little sister; I won't insult you by thinking that you haven't guessed. After all, isn't it perfectly natural? Your brother is unlucky, he hasn't a sou, he's wretchedly dressed, as you justly observed just now, and it's hard on one's self-esteem to go out in the street like this! But this brother has a sister who is in very happy, fortunate circumstances. I don't say she's a millionaire; dear me, no! that would be too grand! but she has enough to dress very stylishly. Well, then; she can't let her brother go in rags. Of course not! that wouldn't be decent! And so this brother goes to see his sister and says to her: 'You've got money, and I haven't; give me some of what you have; I won't give you any of what I have because I have nothing, but I'll bear your image in my heart.'—How's that? do you get my meaning now?"
"Oh, yes! I knew well enough that it was money you wanted."
"If you knew it, what made you ask me what I came here for? You wanted to make me laugh a bit, you rogue!"
"It was money that you came for five years ago, and then you were to obtain employment, to reform and behave yourself."
"Bah! my dear love, are we able to direct events to suit our pleasure? Certain things happened which disarranged the course I had marked out for myself—that's the whole story."
"Nine years and a half, almost ten years ago, I found a suitable place for you; how did you lose it?"
"Oh! you mean the place of secretary to Monsieur Duronceray?"
"It was a pleasant place; you wrote very well, and that was all that was necessary; you had very little to do and a salary of fifteen hundred francs."
"Magnificent!—I aimed higher, I was ambitious."
"And to gratify your passions, you dared to rob——"
"Enough! enough! that affair happened a long while ago, and it's no use to talk about it now; besides, I have something to remind me of it that will never disappear, I'm afraid!"
As he said this, Thélénie's brother put his hand to his left cheek, where the scar was; then he continued:
"However, then as now, nobody knew I was your brother; you had recommended me to that gentleman as a protégé of yours."
"Thank heaven!"
"By the way, what has become of that Monsieur Duronceray?"
"I have no idea."
"Do you never see him now?"
"No, not for a long time."
"Do you know whether he's in Paris at present?"
"I tell you that I know absolutely nothing about him. Why do you ask me all these questions?"
"Oh! because I am not at all anxious to meet that gentleman—although he probably wouldn't recognize me, misfortune has changed my features so! But he had a certain animal that might recognize me.—Ah! that infernal dog!"
And again Monsieur Croque put his hand to his left cheek.
"The villain! if ever I get a chance to settle his hash! But perhaps he's dead! I should like it as well if he was dead. Ever since then I've had a horror of dogs.—But never mind all that; the present business is to provide for the little brother; that's the most urgent thing; do you understand, little sister?"
The beautiful brunette was silent for some time; at last she muttered:
"To be economical, to take the pains to save enough to live on, by depriving oneself, and then to have that money squandered by lazy vagabonds, by people who do not know what decent behavior is—do you know that that is decidedly unpleasant?"
Monsieur Croque swayed to and fro on his couch, singing between his teeth:
"A man says to himself when he has a relation with some little means: 'I don't need to work; I'm a great fool to bother my head about the future; when I am out of funds, I'll go to see my sister, I'll appear before her, covered with dirt and dressed in rags, with a long beard—in fact, in a state to arouse compassion; and then I'll tell her that I've been unfortunate, through no fault of my own, and that she must come to my aid.'—That's about what you said to yourself, isn't it?—But suppose this sister should get tired of always coming to the aid of a man whom she has tried more than once to lead back to a decent mode of life; suppose she should say to him: 'I don't propose to have my savings wasted by you again; I won't give you anything!'"
Croque rose and, walking toward Thélénie with a threatening air, cried as loud as his hoarse, rough voice permitted:
"If you should do that, Titine, why, I would go through your apartment, through the hall, and through the courtyard, shouting at the top of my voice that you are my sister; everybody should know it: the neighbors, your concierge, your servants——"
"Enough, Croque, enough! not so loud!"
"I would add that I haven't anything to eat, and that you refuse me a piece of bread."
"Hush! hush, I say!"
"And I would follow you through the streets, and say to everybody: 'Do you see that beautiful lady covered with silk and velvet; the one who has jewels on her neck, ears, arms, everywhere? Well, that's my sister, and she lets me go barefoot!'"
"Once more, monsieur, hush! and tell me what you need, how much you want."
"Good! well said! Now we are getting to be agreeable again; and that's the way I love you; for I do love you, I feel that nature appeals to me in your behalf, and that the same blood flows in our veins. Would you like to embrace me?"
Thélénie hastily drew back and repeated her question:
"Tell me how much you need?"
"Bless my soul! my dear love, in my present plight, you understand, I need everything; I must get an entire new outfit, and then I must have time to find lucrative employment. I have several things in view, however; but still you wouldn't want me to be obliged to come back in a fortnight and tell you that I have nothing left."
"No, indeed! I want you to promise to leave me in peace hereafter."
"Well then, I won't beat about the bush, but I'll tell you at once that you must part with a thousand-franc note! because with that I shall have plenty of time to turn round and start an industrial enterprise, in shares,—with or without a premium; I haven't decided yet; that will depend."
Thélénie put her hand to her forehead; but at last she made up her mind, opened her desk and then the drawer which she used as a cash-box. She took out a thousand-franc note, saying to her brother:
"This is the only one, monsieur; you may look and satisfy yourself."
But Croque rejoined with a smile:
"When a woman is as pretty as you are, my dear love, you shouldn't worry; when you have no money, there's plenty more to come."
"Here—take this, and forget me from this moment."
"Thanks a thousand times, beloved sister! If you should ever need me for—no matter what—I am game for anything; remember that I am devoted to you, and that I shall be very glad to do you a favor in my turn."
As he spoke, the fellow took the bank-note and bestowed it with care in a pocket of his coat, then picked up his hat, opened the door and went out.
Thélénie followed him, keeping her eye upon him; but, in the maid's presence, he assumed a respectful demeanor, bowed to the floor, and said to his sister:
"Accept once more, madame, the assurance of my profound respect and gratitude."
"At last he has gone!" said Thélénie to herself when the door had closed upon her brother. "The wretch!—But he will come again before long! It will be useless for me to change my residence, he will always succeed in finding me. What can I do to throw him off my track?—Luckily no one knows that he is my brother!"
"No one but me!" muttered Héloïse, who, with her ear glued to the door, had listened to what was said in the bedroom.
Honorine and Agathe returned from the notary's well content and very happy. The pretty house at Chelles had become their property. They were at liberty to make plans for the future without fear of being unable to realize them.
"Now that the house is ours," said Madame Dalmont to her young friend, "we must go there again to-morrow, to inspect it more carefully, from top to bottom. I will examine the furniture and see what part of it I can keep and what I must bring from Paris."
"Yes, my dear."
"Then we will come back here; I will sell all I do not need to keep, and we will pack up, leave Paris for good, and settle down in our own home. Oh! how lovely it is to be able to speak of home! I can understand already the love of the soil."
"Yes; we can arrange and disarrange our furniture without fear that we shall be found fault with.—By the way, my dear, I fancy that, but for that young man, Monsieur Edmond Didier, the transaction wouldn't have been concluded so quickly."
"I agree with you; especially as that Monsieur Chamoureau, the agent, doesn't seem to listen to anything one says to him. I am very glad to have done with him. However, his charges are not high; he refused to accept any fee, saying: 'We will let it go in with something else.' But as I have no desire to employ him for anything else, I paid him.—Besides, one doesn't buy a house every day."
"He certainly didn't exert himself very much about this affair; Monsieur Edmond was the one who did everything; it was very lucky that he happened to be at Monsieur Chamoureau's the last time we went there; and it was very funny that he should have put himself out as he did, on the instant, to be useful to us; for he didn't know us, he had never seen us.—Had you ever seen him before, dear?"
"No indeed! Where do you suppose I could have seen him? Don't you go everywhere with me?"
"Yes, of course; and I should have seen him too. Everybody isn't as obliging as he is; for he threw over his own engagements; he was to go to the Bois de Boulogne, and he dropped everything to be of service to us."
"That proves that he is very polite."
"It does, indeed; don't you consider it rather extraordinary, Honorine?"
"Why, no; God be praised! there are still some men who take pleasure in rendering a service to ladies! They are becoming rather scarce, especially since men think of nothing but smoking; for courtesy and tobacco do not go well together! but still, you see that one sometimes meets such a man."
"And perhaps Monsieur Edmond doesn't smoke."
"Come, let's make a list of the furniture that I care most for and that I intend to take into the country. I will call it off, while you write, Agathe."
"Yes, my dear."
Mademoiselle Agathe procured writing materials, but she did not choose to drop the previous subject of conversation.
"Honorine, that gentleman is musical."
"What gentleman?"
"Monsieur Edmond Didier."
"Indeed! do you think so?"
"I am sure of it. Why, don't you remember that he told us that he sang?"
"No, I didn't notice."
"Yes, yes, he sings; I feel confident that he has a nice voice."
"What makes you think that, pray?"
"Why, because—because he has a very sweet speaking voice."
"That is no reason; there are people whose speaking voices are very harsh, but who sing very pleasantly."
"Oh, yes! but when one's voice is sweet to begin with——"
"Come, write; are you ready?"
"To be sure."
"First of all, this little mahogany cradle—the one my poor little boy slept in. Ah! I shall never part with this cradle!—Next, the little desk, with drawers, downstairs; I shall keep that, too."
"And the piano, dear; we mustn't forget the piano."
"That goes without saying; for we shall not find one there."
"And we will play a great deal, for music must be even more agreeable in the country than in Paris."
"Why so?"
"Because, in the first place, we can hear each other better."
"This old easy-chair—what they call a ganache; it's very convenient when one isn't feeling very well; you can sleep very comfortably in it."
"We will carry all the music. What do you think about buying some new songs, Honorine?"
"We have quite enough."
"But we haven't the new ones."
"This somno, which can be used as a table if necessary."
"To be sure, we don't know what the prettiest ones are."
"And my whole library—all my books! One never has too many of them!"
"But then Monsieur Edmond can tell us, as he is coming to see us. Oh! you did well to ask him to Chelles; for it wouldn't have been polite not to invite him after all the trouble he took for us."
"I did what courtesy required. Now, the young man may come or may not; we need not worry about that."
"Oh! he will come, my dear; I am very sure that he will come."
"Why are you so sure of it, pray? what makes you think so?"
"Why—because he looked so happy when you invited him to come; his eyes expressed such pleasure!"
"Very well! if he comes, we will receive him.—Have you put down my library?"
"Yes, it's all down. He has a very courteous manner."
"My étagère."
"And very comme il faut!"
"The small dining-table; we may need it."
"He expresses himself very well."
"And this desk, this blotting-pad."
"How old should you say he was?"
"My blotting-pad?"
"Why, no; Monsieur Edmond Didier."
Madame Dalmont's expression was almost stern as she said:
"My dear girl, don't you propose to think of anything but Monsieur Edmond?"
"I! Why do you ask me that?"
"Because ever since we came back from the notary's, I suppose you are not conscious of it, but you have talked of nothing but him; you are thinking of him all the time."
Agathe blushed to the whites of her eyes and stammered:
"Mon Dieu! if I have talked about that young man, it is only because he was so obliging to—you, that it seemed to me quite natural to be grateful to him. But if it displeases you, that is enough; I won't mention him again."
"Let us not exaggerate things, my dear love; the thing that might displease me would be to see you thinking too much of a person whom we hardly know; who showed himself most willing to be of service to us, it is true; but who is none the less a stranger to us."
"A stranger! why he told us all about his family and his means, and what he did."
"Yes, that is true; and I noticed that the first use he made of the sixty thousand francs left him by an uncle, was to leave his place."
"Because he does business on the Bourse now."
"It would have been much wiser of him to keep the place he had.—But after all, my dear girl, this doesn't concern us. In my judgment, we have had quite enough to say about this gentleman, and I ask you now whether you will or will not help me to prepare an inventory of the furniture I propose to keep?"
"Am I not writing what you tell me to? I am waiting for you to dictate to me. I won't say another word."
Mademoiselle Agathe had assumed a little pout which made Honorine smile.
They went on with the inventory without a word on any other subject; and during the rest of the day Edmond's name was not mentioned; but it was easy to see that Agathe checked herself sometimes as she was on the point of speaking, probably because it was about him.
Early the next morning the two friends went to the station where they took the train for Chelles. It was not a long journey, but they had plenty of time to talk. It was not difficult to discover that the girl was burning to talk about Edmond, but she dared not; and Honorine, who could easily read the thoughts of her whom she had almost reared, made a point of avoiding everything that might lead the conversation to the young man who had been so obliging to them.
But at sixteen years, a girl has much difficulty in concealing what she feels, in holding back what she is burning to say. She has not yet acquired that habit of dissimulation which is the result of experience and of familiarity with the world.
Agathe, consumed with the longing to recur to her favorite subject, said abruptly to her companion:
"Do you know, my dear, I believe that I have guessed why Monsieur Edmond Didier suddenly showed so much zeal in making himself useful to us?"
"Ah! you have guessed why it was? Well, what motives impelled him, do you think?"
"Why, I think that it was probably because he had fallen in love with you."
Madame Dalmont turned toward the girl and looked her straight in the eye.
"Agathe," she said, "you don't mean a word of what you are saying; and it is not kind to lie to your friend in the hope of concealing your real thought from her. Instead of that, why not tell her frankly—what I noticed clearly enough, by the way—that that young man looked at you a great deal, that his expression seemed to imply that he thought you pretty, and that you were flattered by it; indeed that it turned your head a little, so that you have thought of nothing but Monsieur Edmond from that moment? Come, don't tell me any more falsehoods—have I not guessed right?"
Agathe quickly hung her head and took her protectress's hand in hers; and tears began to fall from her eyes. Honorine saw the tears and kissed the girl affectionately, saying:
"Come, this is all mere childishness, let's say no more about it. You will readily understand that a young man may show great alacrity in obliging a person who is most attractive, and the next day forget that person entirely, because he meets others who fascinate him no less; that happens every day; and the young person in question would be very foolish to burden her mind with something which is of no consequence whatever. But my little Agathe must never again conceal her real thoughts from her friend by pretending to have other thoughts.—Now let us think of nothing but the pleasure we are going to have in the country; and here we are at Chelles already!"
As they were now familiar with the road, they went at once to the village and to Père Ledrux's.
"My word! I was looking for you," he cried when he saw them, "and it's well for you that you've come. There's been lots of people to see the house, everybody wants to buy it; but as I promised you, I haven't shown it to anybody. I told 'em all sorts of fibs: that it was almost sold, and this and that; I even refused a good pourboire from a man who wanted to go over the house; but, I says to myself: 'Those ladies will make up to me for it.'"
"Hereafter, Monsieur Ledrux, you will not lie when you say that the house is sold, for the transaction is completed; the house is ours, and here is a letter from Monsieur Courtivaux, informing you of the fact and authorizing you to give us the keys; read it."
"Oho! so it's all fixed, is it? Well, my word! I'm mighty glad to hear it! it makes me feel good. So you've bought it, have you?"
"And paid cash, without even waiting for the mortgages to be discharged; the notary assured me that I needn't worry about that. But read the letter."
"Oh! it ain't worth while; I'll trust you. Still, I may as well read it; it don't cost any more. Yes, yes—that's what it says: 'You will hand the keys to Madame Dalmont, the new owner.'—And you're Madame Dalmont, are you?"
"To be sure."
"Then I'll go and get you the keys right away."
"And if you haven't time to come with us this morning, Père Ledrux, we know the way now, and we can go alone."
"Oh! yes, I can go with you all right; I've nothing pressing to do, and then, now that the thing's settled and the house is yours, I might as well take the rabbits right away; then you'll be rid of 'em. Tutu—tuturlututu."
They soon reached the house they had bought, and already they viewed it with more pleasure than before.
While the gardener went to take a look at the rabbits and hens, the two young women entered the house, went through all the rooms, opened the shutters, looked out of the windows, and began to discuss where they would place the furniture they were to bring from Paris.
Then Agathe ran into the garden; she examined it more carefully than before; she called the gardener and made him tell her the name of each tree and each flower; then she went back to Honorine.
"My dear," she said, "we have peaches, apricots, plums, cherries, grapes and gooseberries."
"Yes, yes," said Père Ledrux, "you have 'em when they grow, and they grow when they're well taken care of, well kept, well trimmed. Bless me! a garden requires care. You'll have string beans too if you plant 'em, and now's the time, just the right time to plant, if you want radishes—to tone up the salad—and artichokes."
"Very well; you must plant them, Père Ledrux. You can tell us what we must buy at Paris and we'll bring you the seeds."
"That ain't worth while; I've got all those things at home or right in the neighborhood; I'll supply you with what you want, and they'll be better than you'd get in Paris; because we fellows, you understand, know more about such things than you do; it's our business. Have you come to-day for good?"
"No, not yet; we have many things to do in Paris."
"When are you coming?"
"I hope that in a week, at the latest, we shall arrive, with such furniture as we shall bring from Paris."
"You're going to bring furniture, when it's here already?"
"That makes no difference."
"The devil! the house will be well furnished, in that case."
"But the mere having furniture isn't everything; we need something else that we can't do without; for the house is quite large."
"What is it?"
"A maid, a servant to keep our house clean and to cook for us."
"Ah! you want a maid who can cook?"
"Who can do everything, if possible."
"Do you want a first-class cook, like Madame Droguet's, who's a—a blue ribbon, so they say, and makes soufflés and omelettes as big as balloons?"
"No, no, Père Ledrux, we don't ask for such talent as that; just find us a smart young girl, who likes to work and can sew a little. As for the rest, I will teach her what she doesn't know; with the desire to learn, one soon learns whatever one chooses. Let her be honest and virtuous—those are the principal points."
"Well—wait—I believe Poucette would just suit you."
"Who is Poucette?"
"She's Poucet's daughter, who used to work in the quarry and was killed in a cave-in three years ago; her mother died the year before, so the girl lives with her uncle, who's a farmer; but he has children enough of his own, and Poucette would be very glad to get a place."
"Very well; if she's a good girl, I will take her."
"As for being good, I'll answer for that; but when it comes to knowing how to cook, I won't answer for her."
"That makes no difference, I tell you; she will learn. How old is she?"
"Well! she might be about eighteen; but she's strong and solid; she'd make two of you."
"So much the better. With a strong girl in the house, we shall not be afraid if we are attacked. Tell me, Père Ledrux, do you think that she will be able to come to us as soon as we come back? I would like to have her, for then she could help us to clean house and put everything to rights. And then, I admit that, for the first few days, I shall be a little timid if we two are alone."
"Ah! my dear! it seems that I am to be the sensible one here!"
"Oh! don't you pretend to be brave; you're afraid of mice!"
"That's very different; mice climb everywhere."
"Tell me, Père Ledrux, can we count upon this girl for the day of our arrival?"
"Why, you see, I can't answer as if I was her, or as if I was her uncle; but I'll tell you what you can do: while you're here, just go and talk to Poucette; then you'll know what to expect, and whether you can count on her."
"You are right; that's the better way. But where shall we find this Poucette?"
"Pardi! at her uncle's, her aunt's husband's. It ain't very far out in the country; I'll show you the way if you want me to."
"I should be very glad; I like above all things to settle matters on the spot.—Come, Agathe, let us go to see Mademoiselle Poucette; at the same time we shall see a little of the country where we are soon to live."
Honorine and Agathe followed the gardener, who walked a few paces in front of them, constantly humming his little song:
"Tutu—tuturlututu."
They walked for some distance; the peasant stopped from time to time to point out some pretty house, saying:
"That's where monsieur le maire lives. That's Monsieur le Docteur Antoine Beaubichon's house; it ain't very large, but he has a nice vineyard behind—and such pear trees! Well! they bear the finest pears you ever saw—as big as melons! He gives them to the people he takes care of. In fact, they came near killing Monsieur Jarnouillard! but you may say he made a fool of himself, he ate too many of 'em. And deuce take it! pears are cold for the stomach, especially the grand duchess!—That's Madame Droguet's house—a fine house—two wings! Oh! it's a valuable place, I tell you! and kept up! You ought to see it! There's carpets everywhere, even on the stairs; and everything rubbed till it shines like a mirror; estatues in the courtyard, vases of flowers, and a garden, with paths as straight as a string can make 'em; the box is trimmed so that never a branch sticks out by another. And there's a fine clump of chestnuts, where you can stand without fear of the rain; and a basin with a fountain that plays Sundays! Oh! it's magnificent! One of the finest places anywhere about. But then Madame Droguet's one of the swells."
"Isn't she the lady," queried Agathe, "who had the resolution to hide five days in succession among the bushes, to get a close view of the owner of the Tower?"
"Bah! it was the doctor who told you that. Well, yes, they did say at the time that she did that; but I didn't see her. Suppose she did: she was at liberty to hide in the bushes if it amused her; she don't have anything else to do."
"True; but one must be very inquisitive to pass five days in succession in the bushes, watching for someone."
"Bless me! she's rich—she can afford to be inquisitive."
"Has the lady a husband?"
"Oh, yes! a little bit of a man. When he's alongside of his wife, you can't see him, because Madame Droguet's a splendid woman; she's a good five feet five, and strong in proportion; what you might call a fine woman!"
"Isn't she supposed to have been a vivandière formerly?"
"Oh! there's another one of the doctor's tales. You know, they say a lot of things like that in the country,—because Madame Droguet's a little quick, and when she first came here to live she used to give her servants a slap now and then; and they never failed to say that she boxed her husband's ears too, and kicked him in the rump, saving your presence, when he undertook to oppose her wishes; but that's all fiddle-faddle!—People saw that she was the mistress in her own house, that nothing was done there except by her orders, so they said: 'She must have been a vivandière, she leads her husband about to the beat of the drum.'—This much is certain, that she's the one that runs the house and says what's to be done and undone, built and pulled down; the husband don't meddle in anything. That's why you hear people say 'Madame Droguet,' and never 'Monsieur Droguet!' But that just suits him; he seems to be satisfied so long as he can dance."
"Ah! so Monsieur Droguet is fond of dancing? How old is he, pray?"
"I guess he's close on to fifty-five; and his wife, too—she must be as old as he is, at least."
"Then she gives balls so that her husband may dance?"
"I don't know whether she gives balls, but she gives dinner-parties and she has lots of company. It seems that they live pretty well there. But she's sure to invite you; she invites all the swell people in the neighborhood."
"I don't know whether she will invite us," said Honorine with a smile; "but it would be a waste of time; for we do not dine out."
"Oh, well! if that's your idea, it's all right. If she invited me, I'd go; but I ain't enough of a bigwig."
"Are we almost there, Père Ledrux?"
"It's just a little farther; Guillot's house—he's Poucette's uncle—is on the other side of the river. But this walk shows you something of Chelles."
"Do we pass the ruins of the Abbey?"
"No, they ain't on our road; after all, you don't see anything of the Abbey; it's been made into a farm-house, and there isn't anything very interesting about it; there's only a few old walls left. But we're going to pass Monsieur Luminot's house. That's another nice one, I tell you; not so well kept as Madame Droguet's; but heaps of land behind: vineyards, arbors, and lots of white grapes."
"Isn't he the gentleman who went to call on the owner of the Tower, to invite him to dinner?"
"Yes; he's a high-liver, is Monsieur Luminot—used to be a wine-merchant; he always has good stuff in his cellar, and he's never stingy about a glass of wine. He's a friend of Madame Droguet and often dines there."
"Does he dance with Monsieur Droguet?"
"I couldn't tell you. I don't believe he's a dancer, he's too fat for that; while Monsieur Droguet, who is very short and thin, keeps his feet going all the time he's talking to you, just exactly as if he had the St. Vitus's dance. He must have had it when he was small, and never got wholly rid of it. He went to Paris not long ago, on purpose to learn a new dance that's all the fashion, so they say—the lance—lances——"
"Lancers?"
"That's it, mamzelle, the lancers! and when he came back, he couldn't sleep for a number of nights; he used to get up and dance the lancers with his chamber-vessel, so that he woke the whole house, and Madame Droguet was obliged to get angry.—Ah! there's Monsieur Jarnouillard's house."
"The gentleman who ate too many pears?"
"Yes, mamzelle. It isn't very large, but there's only the husband and wife; no children and no servants; Madame Jarnouillard does all the work. But people say they've got enough, that they're rich; and what makes 'em think so is that Monsieur Jarnouillard lends money to people who are hard up and are able to pay it back—who have chattels and land, as he says. If you haven't got those things, there's no danger of his accommodating you; and anyway he charges interest that makes you shudder!"
"The man's a usurer then, is he?"
"Faith! I can't say as to that. They say that he used to be a tradesman in Paris, with a shop on Quai des Lunettes. I don't know what kind of lunettes—spectacles—he sold, but he must have made a good thing out of it. They ain't liked hereabout, and yet people are very glad to have 'em here; because those who get into difficulty, who need money to pay their rent or to take up a note, go to see Monsieur Jarnouillard, and he lends 'em the money—provided he can make a pretty profit out of it. Still, they're people who don't put on any airs, and the Lord only knows what they live on. The wife buys one mutton cutlet for herself and her husband. Bless me! but they're miserly! they eat crusts of bread, old roosters, and fish the husband catches in the Marne; in fact, he's been arrested twice for fishing without a permit. In summer he tries to catch birds with birdlime; they eat whatever he catches; but when they dine out they near kill themselves with indigestion; and besides that, Madame Droguet's maid tells me that they stuff their pockets with things from the table. Ha! ha! that gives them a royal feast the next day. But you understand that all I'm telling you is just gossip; I don't bear those people any grudge; I don't want anything of 'em.—Tutu—tutu—turlututu."
"Ah! my dear Agathe!" said Honorine in a low tone, "people are no more generous in the country than in the city, and he would be bitterly disappointed who should go into the country to live, in the hope of finding purer morals, more agreeable relations, more sincere friendships, and more obliging neighbors! No, men are the same everywhere; but their failings, their vices show more plainly in small places than in the large cities. The only thing one can be certain of having in the country is pure air."
"There's Guillot's house!" said the gardener, halting in front of a wretched hovel of earth and stones, the roof of which was in such bad condition in several places that when it rained the occupants were but partially sheltered.
There was a small garden, hardly separated from the fields by a scrubby hedge of elder-bushes, at the right of the hovel, and in it a few stunted trees shading cabbages and potatoes. Everything was growing haphazard in the little enclosure, which seemed in as wretched a condition as the house.
The two women entered a large room, which was not floored either with flags or boards. It was used as a kitchen, and also as a bedroom, for there was a dilapidated cot in one corner. On the walls, innocent of paper, hung divers kitchen utensils; there were also shelves, upon which were dishes, mainly earthen bowls.
A large walnut buffet, several chairs without seats, some stools and a table composed all the furniture of that room, which, moreover, was not very clean and presented an appearance of wretchedness that made the heart ache.
And yet that hovel sheltered a whole family: Guillot the farmer, his wife and four children, the eldest of whom was only eleven, while the youngest still lay in his mother's arms, and another, two years old, still dragged at her skirts.
Nevertheless it was in that family, whose head earned barely enough to support his own children, that Poucette was made welcome. The worthy man considered that his niece, being an orphan, was also his child; and he took her into his home.
"I will try to work a little harder," he thought, "and God will provide."
If the country people are envious and evil-speaking, we also find among them such touching examples as this of humanity and kindliness: the latter should induce us to forgive the former.
When Agathe and Honorine entered the house, the farmer's wife was nursing her youngest child; another little fellow was rolling on the ground, gnawing a piece of black bread. By the fire, a girl of eight was trying to make the water boil in the kettle by blowing with her breath two or three small sticks that smouldered on the hearth. The two young women stood lost in amazement at the sight of those wretchedly-clad children in that tumble-down hovel. The picture of destitution is always more painful to look upon when it embraces children.
Guillot's wife looked up with a surprised expression at the two ladies who had entered her home; but it did not interfere with her maternal duties.
A moment later, however, Ledrux put his head in at the door and shouted, as if he were speaking to deaf people—as was his habit with everybody:
"I've brought these ladies to see you, Mère Guillot; they're the ones who've bought Monsieur Courtivaux's house, and they're coming to live in it. They're looking for a girl to do their housework and their cooking; in fact, the whole business; and I thought of Poucette, who hasn't got any place. Would it suit you to have her work for these ladies, who are bourgeoises and well off——"
Honorine interrupted the gardener.
"Madame," she said, "we are told that your niece is a good girl, and we will treat her so that she will be happy with us; but if she is useful to you, if you prefer to keep her with you, we will look elsewhere."
"Oh! Poucette ain't so very necessary to us," replied the peasant; "because Claudine, our oldest, is old enough to look after her little brothers while I go to work in the fields."
"Is that Claudine?" asked Honorine, looking at the child who was still blowing the sticks with all her strength.
"No, that's Mariette, our second one; Claudine's eleven; she's big and strong. As for Poucette, she's a good girl, but let me tell you, if you count on her to do your cooking, why you mustn't expect too much! Well! she ain't very subtle about cooking."
Honorine smiled at the word "subtle" which the peasants are very fond of using, often without any clear idea of its meaning.
"I am not disturbed about that," she replied. "All I shall ask of Poucette are zeal and willingness."
"Oh! as far as that goes, she's got plenty. And you will give her her keep?"
"Naturally."
"And her washing?"
"She will have to spend nothing but for clothes; and Agathe and I will often find something to give her among our old dresses."
"I will give her my blue striped dress at once," said Agathe, "for it's too small for me. I am still growing."
"If it's too small for you, it will be even smaller for Poucette, who's taller than you," said Père Ledrux, with a laugh.
"Oh! that don't make any difference," rejoined the farmer's wife; "dresses can be let down and pieced out; we ain't ladies, you know. How much will madame pay my niece to do her work?"
"Tell me yourself what you think it will be worth."
"Bless me! if the girl has her lodging and keep and washing, it seems to me that if you give her a ten-franc piece every month she'll be satisfied. Do you think that's too much?"
"No, it's not too much; and I promise you to increase her wages if she serves me faithfully."
"Then it's all fixed, unless Poucette don't want to go into service; but if she don't want to, why, we wouldn't like to vex the child. She'd think we was doing it to get rid of her; she'd think we didn't love her any more; and that would make her unhappy, and us too!"
"Poor people!" said Honorine, looking at Agathe, "how devoted they are to one another! Their hearts are rich at all events! And the people who roll in wealth are sometimes very poor in that respect.—Might we not see Poucette, madame," she asked the peasant, "so that we may find out at once whether or not we may count upon her?"
"Well, yes! but just now she's at our little piece of land with Claudine, planting potatoes, because Guillot's got some work at Monsieur Luminot's."
"Is your piece of land far from here?"
"Oh, no! not so very far; if you'd like to go there—you see I can't show you the way myself, and Mariette is doing something for me just now.—Père Ledrux, you know where our field is."
"Let me see! Pardi! to be sure I do; it's right alongside of Gros-Pierre's field, where he's set out plum trees that don't grow."
"That's right; then you can take these ladies there."
"Yes, yes! Pardi! while I'm about it, I might as well lose my whole day; it will go in with the rest."
"Very well; continue to be our guide, Père Ledrux, and let us go to find Poucette. After all, it will make us acquainted with the country.—Good-morning, madame; we are going to see your niece, and if my proposition is satisfactory to her, that arrangement will be made."
"You won't be sorry, for she's a good girl. Your servant, mesdames."
The two friends set off once more, still preceded by the gardener, who led them across the country, saying:
"This time it's in just the opposite direction; we have got to go toward Gournay."
"Is it a long distance?"
"Faith! it's quite a little piece."
"How does it happen," said Agathe, "that a man buys land so far from his house?"
"Well! mamzelle, sometimes one inherits it, or else he gets it at a bargain. I believe that Guillot got this piece of land of his from his father-in-law, but I'm afraid he won't keep it long."
"Oh! I have an idea that it's pretty well mortgaged! I've often seen Guillot going to Monsieur Jarnouillard's, and bless me! round here, when you say: 'He goes to Jarnouillard's,' that means that his affairs are in bad shape, that he needs money!"
"Poor people! But Poucette's uncle is a hard-working man, you said?"
"To be sure; but you understand, when you have to feed so many mouths—and then the potatoes being bad last year, and that was Guillot's only crop! When you count on a thing and it goes back on you, why, it's rather upsetting!—Tutu—turlututu!"