"I beg you, Georget, let us say no more about that. You are convinced that I am not guilty, aren't you?"
"Oh! can you ask me that, Violette?"
"Well, my dear, don't think any more about that man; I don't want you to find him, do you understand? And if anything should happen to you, think of your mother, and of me. Would you like to kill us with grief? Besides, I never see him now, he never passes my booth."
"And he does well! for if I should see him pass—But I don't know where he keeps himself now; no one ever sees him anywhere; Chicotin isn't any luckier than I am. I went to his lodgings, but he had moved; no one knows where he lives now; he must have left the quarter."
"I beg of you, Georget, do not look for that man any more; if you do, you will make me very unhappy. Do you think that I haven't had sorrow enough?"
"I am done, mamzelle; I will obey you. But you see, I am past eighteen now, I am no longer a child, and I don't propose that anyone shall say anything about you!"
A month passed, during which Violette went every week to take a bouquet to Madame de Grangeville, who was still persuaded that it was Monsieur de Merval to whom she owed that attention. When the young flower girl returned from Rue Fontaine-Saint-Georges, Monsieur de Brévanne inquired particularly what had taken place between her and Madame de Grangeville; he insisted that the young girl should repeat the most trivial words of their conversation. He did not understand how the baroness could fail to show more interest in Violette, more curiosity to know something about her; that indifference surprised him, for it seemed to him that a secret voice must have spoken to the baroness's heart, and led her to think that the girl was her child.
One morning, Monsieur de Brévanne betook himself to Boulevard du Château d'Eau, with the purpose of sending Violette to Madame de Grangeville again; but the flower girl was not in her place. Fearing that she might be sick, the count was about to return home, in order to send Georget to inquire for Violette, when, as he turned, he saw her approaching with her flowers.
"You thought that I was lazy, did you not, monsieur?" said Violette as she curtsied to the count, "but don't scold me, it isn't that."
"In the first place, my child, I never think anything bad of you; but I was afraid that you might not be feeling well."
"Oh, no! monsieur, it isn't I who am sick; it's a poor gentleman—if you only knew how he suffers! it makes one's heart ache!"
"Is it some one whom you know?"
"It is a neighbor of mine, a gentleman who lives in the same house, just below me, and who, when I was sick some time ago, was kind enough to come up to see me, to take an interest in me, and to order a medicine which cured me; and then he came sometimes to sit with me; so that it is quite natural now that I should try to be of some use to him, is it not, monsieur?"
"Certainly, and no one could blame you for it, my child."
"Besides that, I have an idea that this gentleman—oh! he won't admit it, but I am inclined to think that he is short of money, and that he can't supply himself with all that he needs to cure himself."
"Do you think so? But, if he is a worthy man, if he deserves, as you say, to be aided, we will come to his assistance."
"Oh! that won't be easy, I tell you, monsieur; for, you see, he is very, very proud, and won't allow anyone to lend him money. I was unfortunate enough last night to propose to go and order a prescription which the doctor had left for him. He said to me: 'How are you going to pay for it? I haven't given you any money.' I answered: 'Dear me! that doesn't make any difference; I have some money, and you can pay me back.'—At that, he shouted at me almost angrily: 'I don't propose to have anyone lend me money! I haven't asked you for it, I don't need any medicine, and I won't have it, I won't have anything!'—And it isn't possible to make him listen to reason. Aside from that, he is very good-natured, and whenever his pain grows a little less, he always has something amusing to say. The fact is, that he has a very comme il faut manner, like you, monsieur; and perhaps he was once rich like you."
"What is the matter with him?"
"Gout, so he says."
"Gout?—and his name—do you know his name?"
"Yes, his name is Monsieur de Roncherolle."
"Roncherolle!"
The count repeated the name with such evident surprise and agitation that the girl was terrified.
"What is the matter, monsieur?" she stammered; "does that name also recall painful memories? Do you know my unfortunate neighbor?"
"Yes, yes, my child, I do know him; but be very careful not to speak to him of me, not to mention my name before him, for you would simply aggravate his trouble."
"Very well, monsieur, I will be careful.—But, monsieur, does it make you angry that I go to take care of my neighbor when I have time?"
"No, Violette, no, no! on the contrary, devote yourself to this Monsieur de Roncherolle; far from blaming you for it, I urge you to do it; it is your duty, for it is always a duty to help one's neighbor. But listen to me: if, while talking, this gentleman should question you about your family,—I mean, concerning what you know as to the manner in which you were given in charge to your nurse,—don't tell him any more than you have told Madame de Grangeville."
"All this must seem very strange to you; but pray believe that it is for your own welfare that I advise you to act thus."
"Oh! you tell me to do it, monsieur, and that is enough for me; have I not placed all my confidence in you?"
"I will reward you for it, my child. Au revoir."
"Are you going, monsieur? have you no orders for me? don't you want me to carry a bouquet to Madame de Grangeville to-day?"
"No, no; it is better that you should make haste to sell your flowers and return to do what you can for Monsieur de Roncherolle. Madame de Grangeville can do without flowers, but the man who is suffering cannot do without help."
The count left the young flower girl and returned home deep in thought, saying to himself:
"I see the finger of Providence in all this. Now this girl passes a part of each day with her father—and her mother, and she does not know them! Ought I to make them known to her? Are they worthy of her affection, of her love?—Guide me, oh God, and show me where my duty lies."
The weather was cold and dull, and a fall of snow ending in rain added to the discomfort of a penetrating dampness. But the fireplace of the small room in which Roncherolle lay contained only two small sticks, which had been laid near together, but which imparted no heat to the room.
Roncherolle was suffering horribly with his gout, and as he was alone, he did not hesitate to complain in very energetic fashion; despite his resolutions to be philosophical, pain sometimes won the victory over his courage; but when Violette was with him he did his utmost to conceal his suffering.
The young girl came in; she held in one hand a tea-pot, in the other a cup and a sugar-bowl full of sugar; she approached the invalid and placed all those objects on the table beside his bed.
"Here I am, monsieur; I'm a little late this morning, perhaps, but I wanted to make this tea that was ordered for you, before I came down; I have brought it with me; it's scalding hot, and you must drink it."
Roncherolle dissembled his agony and tried to smile at Violette, as he said to her:
"How good you are, my child! how kind to a person whom you hardly know, and who has no claim upon your interest!"
"No claim! well, upon my word! when I was sick, didn't you come to see me? And you didn't know me at all! I should be very ungrateful if I did not do for you what you did for me."
"But such a difference; in the first place, you were hardly sick at all; and then it is always a pleasure to make oneself useful to a young lady; whereas a sick old man is not an agreeable object."
"Oh, yes! you are very agreeable, when you are not in too much pain; you always have stories and adventures to tell us.—But how are you feeling this morning?"
"Still about the same; a little better, perhaps."
"No, I see by your face that you suffered terribly during the night, that you are suffering still!"
"No; when you are here, I suffer less."
"Very well; then you should let me pass the night with you, as I wanted to."
"God forbid that you should go without sleep on my account, and be sick again perhaps. I won't have it; and besides, my dear neighbor, there's nothing to be done for the disease that I have—one simply must know how to suffer."
"I don't believe that myself; there must be remedies for everything. Drink this now. Here, sweeten it to suit yourself."
"This is strange; this sugar-bowl is full, and yet I remember that there were only a few pieces in it yesterday."
Violette turned her face away as she replied:
"Oh! you were—you had some more—in a paper, and I put it with the other."
Roncherolle looked at the girl, but she was busily engaged in putting the room in order.—Chicotin arrived at that moment, with a red nose, and beating his hands together.
"Good-morning, bourgeois and the company," he cried. "How does it go this morning, bourgeois?"
"Not very well, my boy."
"Mère Lamort told me to tell you that she couldn't come up this morning; Mirontaine has swallowed a bone that stuck in his throat, so that he ain't able to bark and watch the door."
"Oh! bless my soul! we don't need the concierge," said Violette; "am I not here?"
"But you have your business that demands your attention, my child," said Roncherolle, "and I don't propose that you shall neglect your business for me; in fact, it's already late, I think, and you should be at your stand."
"No, monsieur, it isn't late; and anyway this isn't a market day, and in such weather as this, I am in no hurry; I shouldn't sell anything, for there won't be anyone out of doors."
"It's beastly weather, that's true enough!" cried Chicotin; "and cold! why, my nose and fingers are frozen stiff. But it ain't very warm in your room either, bourgeois; bigre! it's just the same as being on the boulevard."
"Well, stir up the fire, put on some wood."
"I ask nothing better."
Chicotin looked in all directions, then went into the outer room, and returned in a moment, saying:
"There's one little difficulty, bourgeois, and that is that I don't find any wood; the wood pile seems to have gone up in smoke."
"Already! the devil! the wood seems to go faster than the sugar!"
"Oh! that's easy to understand—it's dearer, because—look you, bourgeois, here's a comparison: for fifteen sous, you get three or four sticks of wood; they're bigger than a pound of sugar, to be sure, but they're very soon burned up; in one day they're all gone; whereas, with a pound of sugar, you've got something to lap and sip for a long while!"
"I'll do without fire," said Roncherolle. "Lying in bed, I don't need it, and my little neighbor is going away."
"What a bungling fellow you are, Chicotin!" said Violette to the young messenger, in an undertone; "you shouldn't have said anything, but when you saw that there wasn't any wood in the other room, you should have gone up to my room; you would have found some there. You know that Monsieur de Roncherolle isn't willing that anybody should lend him anything, so we must help him without letting him suspect it; and I don't propose that he shall stay without a fire."
"That is true, I am an idiot!" muttered Chicotin, shaking his head; "but bless my soul! I couldn't guess all that. Never mind, don't worry, I'll fix it all right; I'll find some way to make a fire."
"Monsieur," said the girl, returning to the invalid, "if I remember right, the doctor who came to see you yesterday prescribed medicine for your gout."
"Doctors don't know of any remedy for this disease, my neighbor; several of them have told me this themselves when talking with me."
"Nonsense! I have been told of several people who were entirely cured; and I remember now—it was syrup of Boubée that he told you to take."
"That is quite possible."
"I beg you, monsieur, take some of it; even if it should do nothing but lessen the pain, would that not be a great gain?"
"As you insist upon it, I will take some."
"If you are willing, monsieur, I won't stay long in my booth to-day, and I will bring you some in a little while when I come home."
"No, no, my little neighbor, I won't have it; for you never tell me the price of things; you manage so that they cost me almost nothing. But I don't propose to have that, and I shall be angry if you go on acting in that way; I shall be obliged to deprive myself of the pleasure of seeing you."
"Oh! it wouldn't do any good for you to forbid me to come, monsieur; I should come all the same!"
Violette said this with such heartfelt earnestness that Roncherolle felt the tears gather in his eyes. He pressed the girl's hand and replied in a cheerful tone:
"I will obey you, neighbor; come, Chicotin, my groom, come here."
"Here I am, bourgeois."
"Go to the druggist's on the corner of the boulevard, and ask for some syrup of Boubée. Will you remember that name?"
"I should say so; it isn't hard to remember. Syrup of Poupée."
"Boubée, you idiot! not Poupée."
"Oh! very good."
"Wait; I prefer to write it for you."
"On the whole, that will be better; my tongue might slip again."
"Here you are; and take that two-franc piece there—upon my table; I am inclined to believe that that will be enough."
"Let us hope so! a paltry syrup—that can't cost so much as that; for two francs you could get a lot of molasses.—I will go right away, bourgeois."
"Aren't you going to your stand, my little neighbor?" Roncherolle asked Violette, who was stooping in front of the fire, trying to make the two sticks burn by putting under them all the old papers that were lying about the room.
"In a minute, neighbor; I will wait until Chicotin comes back."
"And your love-affairs, my child, how do they come on? You are fully reconciled with your young lover now, I hope?"
"Yes, monsieur. Oh! Georget loves me dearly; he comes to see me every day at my booth, and I am very happy, except when he frightens me."
"What's that? your lover frightens you?"
"You will understand, monsieur; Georget has never forgotten the abominable remarks that that Monsieur Jéricourt made about me, and the trap he led me into; but, monsieur, you don't know—Georget says that he will kill Monsieur Jéricourt."
"He is right; he is a fine fellow; in his place, I would do the same."
"But I don't want him to fight; for, after all, monsieur, the man who is in the right doesn't always win; and if Georget were killed, I should be very unhappy."
"You are right; that boy must not take the risk; he is so young—eighteen, did you tell me?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Then he probably doesn't know anything about the sword or the pistol?"
"Nothing at all; he would be killed instantly."
"Patience, my little neighbor. Corbleu! if only I could get well!—But I hear Chicotin, I believe."
The young messenger returned with a sheepish expression, holding the two-franc piece in his hand.
"Well, where is the syrup, Chicotin?" asked Roncherolle.
"The syrup is at the druggist's, monsieur."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that it's an outrage! Just fancy that a little bottle no bigger than my wrist costs twelve francs!"
"Twelve francs?"
"Yes, monsieur, syrup of Poupée twelve francs, no less; it wasn't any use for me to say: 'Put me up forty sous' worth in a little pomade box'; he laughed in my face and told me they didn't sell it at retail; he showed me a bottle, all sealed, with the price on it. Then I said: 'If the gout can only be cured at that price, only rich people can be cured!'—'Only rich people have the gout,' said the clerk. I say, bourgeois, that's nonsense, ain't it? For it seems to me that you're none too well fixed."
Violette nudged Chicotin, saying in an undertone:
"You ought to have said that the syrup wasn't ready, and I would have gone out and bought it and paid for it without letting Monsieur de Roncherolle know the price."
"He would have found it out all the same, mamzelle, for the price is pasted on the bottle; it wouldn't have been possible to deceive him, and how he would have sworn then!"
Roncherolle had dropped his head on the pillow, and said nothing more. Chicotin handed him the two-franc piece, saying:
"Shall I buy anything else with this, bourgeois?"
"You may buy some wood, my boy, and make a fire; but not until evening; for my little neighbor comes to sit with me in the evening, and I don't want her to freeze in my room.—Now leave me, my children; I don't want anything more, and I am going to try to sleep."
Violette pressed the invalid's hand and went out, with a feeling of oppression at her heart; Chicotin followed her, muttering:
"Poor dear man, not to be able to buy what might cure him; it ain't very gay here; but never mind, I will come back soon and see if he wants something else that don't cost so much."
"And you won't spend his two francs, will you, Chicotin? you must get some wood in my room."
"Yes, mamzelle, but what shall I do with his money? I can't give it back to him."
"Keep it; it will serve to buy something else which may be dearer still; and you mustn't tell him, as you did to-day. To think of his being without a fire, in such cold weather, and when he is suffering so! for to-day I could see on his face the efforts he made to conceal his suffering; why, it makes me want to cry!"
"After all, Mamzelle Violette, you mustn't feel so bad for somebody who ain't anything to you."
"Oh! he is so wretched, without relations, or friends, sick and poor; and then there are people for whom you feel affection right away; and Georget won't be jealous of him; I feel that I have a sincere affection for him."
"I am going to see if Mirontaine is cured, and if Madame Lamort can go up."
Violette had been at her stand for some time, when Monsieur de Brévanne came there and inquired about her neighbor. The girl gave him an exact description of his plight; she concealed nothing from him, neither his suffering, nor the privations which he was obliged to undergo, nor the pride which made him refuse any assistance in the form of money.
"He has no fire now," said Violette, her eyes wet with tear; "and he isn't willing that we should make him one before evening, because I go to sit with him in the evening, poor man! and he did not have the money to buy something that might perhaps have cured him.—Ah! he is very unfortunate!"
The count listened attentively to the girl's story; Roncherolle's position touched him more than he chose to show. He stood for some time buried in thought, then he said to Violette:
"I would like to judge for myself of this gentleman's plight, of his situation, but I should not want him to see me."
"That is very easy, monsieur; in the first place, Monsieur de Roncherolle never leaves his bed, and a person can stand in the outer room and look into the other without his seeing him; in the second place, he often sleeps, and I am always careful not to wake him."
"Well, I will go this evening, I will go to see you, with Georget."
"Oh! how kind it is of you, monsieur! I am very sure that you will have compassion on my poor neighbor."
"On your account—it is possible.—But not a word concerning me, my child!"
"Oh! I am dumb, monsieur; but I am very glad that you are coming to see my neighbor."
About eight o'clock in the evening, Violette was installed in Roncherolle's room; he had been dozing for some time, and when he woke, his eyes met those of the young girl, who, as she mended her neighbor's linen, glanced at him often to see if he were asleep.
"Really, my dear child," said Roncherolle, "your kindness to me fills me with gratitude, and reconciles me to your sex; for, if I must admit it, I had but a very slight esteem for women."
"Why so, monsieur? have they injured you?"
"Not exactly; but they are responsible for my having injured others, and that amounts to the same thing."
"Why no, monsieur, if they didn't advise you to do it."
"They do not need to advise us to make fools of ourselves; they lead us into it easily enough without that."
"I don't understand, monsieur."
"So much the better for you, my child.—But what are you doing there? God forgive me, I believe that you are patching my rags!"
"Well! I had nothing to do, and I like to be busy; I thought that it wouldn't offend you if I should take a few stitches in your linen."
"Offend me! ah! my dear girl, you are too kind to me; one does not take offence with those who are so kind to them. Ah me! when I think——"
Here Roncherolle paused and heaved a profound sigh. Violette looked up at him and said:
"What are you thinking about, monsieur, that makes you sigh so? You mustn't think of melancholy things when you are sick."
"I am thinking, my dear child, that I might have with me—my own daughter,—who, however, I am sure, would take no better care of me than you do."
"Your daughter! what, monsieur, you have a daughter, and she is not with you when you are ill and suffering!"
"If she is not with me, it is not her fault,—it is mine."
"Ah! then it is you who have sent her away, and she is not in Paris, of course?"
"No, she is not in Paris."
"Why don't you write for her to come, to join you?"
"I don't want to disturb her."
"How old is your daughter?"
"Nineteen."
"Why, that is just my age!"
"Ah! you are nineteen? And what about your parents? I never see them with you. But I remember now, that you told me that you had lost them."
"I never knew my parents, monsieur; I am an abandoned child!"
"Abandoned! is it possible? what a strange coincidence!—Were you abandoned in Paris?"
Violette, remembering the count's injunction, replied hesitatingly:
"Why—I don't know, monsieur; I—I think so."
"Poor child, what a pity! her parents do not realize what a treasure they cast away."
Roncherolle buried his face in his pillow, murmuring:
"But my child—I do not know her; perhaps she too is lovely and good! ah! if I could only find her! But no! why should I wish to? to force her to share my destitution?—No, it is better as it is."
The invalid dropped asleep. Violette was anxiously awaiting that moment, for she had heard noises in the outer room for several moments, and she guessed who it might be. As soon as she was certain that Roncherolle was asleep, she arose and softly opened the door of the other room, where she found Monsieur de Brévanne and Georget.
"My neighbor is asleep; you may come in, monsieur," said Violette to the count.
"You are quite sure that he is asleep, my child?"
"Yes, monsieur. You can tell by listening to him, his breathing is so difficult. Poor man! it seems that he has suffered terribly all day, and he is taking advantage of a little respite from pain, to rest."
"But you were talking just now."
"Yes, monsieur.—Oh! if you knew—he has a daughter, the poor man, and he said that he bitterly regretted not having her with him."
"Oho! he spoke to you of his daughter, did he?"
"Yes, monsieur; can you imagine that she does not come to take care of him, her father, when he is sick?"
"Did he tell you why she was not with him?"
"No, monsieur; he simply said that it was his fault.—But come in, monsieur; he is sound asleep."
"Yes, I will come in. Stay here, my child, and talk with Georget; but don't talk too loud."
"No, there's no danger of that, monsieur," said Georget; "we understand each other perfectly well simply by looking at each other."
The count entered the room occupied by Roncherolle. A single tallow candle, which was badly in need of snuffing, lighted that room with a dim, uncertain light; it enabled the visitor, however, to distinguish a cheap wall paper, torn or lacking altogether in several places; a window with large cracks, and without curtains, in which one pane was broken, its place being ill supplied by paper; two or three pieces of cheap black walnut furniture; a painted cot, on which was a coarse flock bed and a very thin mattress; on the mantel, a small mirror in a wooden frame, and on the hearth two tiny bits of wood, which were hardly burning.
Everything in that abode indicated poverty and privation; and the cold that one felt there, the wind that one could hear whistling in all directions, heightened the melancholy impression which one was certain to feel at finding an invalid in such a place.
Monsieur de Brévanne noticed and scrutinized everything; then he walked to the bed and gazed at Roncherolle, whose features were more than ever changed by suffering and want, and who, even in his sleep, seemed to be struggling with pain.
"The wretched man!" said the count to himself; "is this what the future seemed to promise him? Endowed with every advantage, possessor of a handsome fortune, this is what his passions have brought him to!—It is all over; I can think no more of the vengeance which I was determined to wreak upon him; heaven has undertaken that duty; and besides, I should not have the courage to deprive Violette of her father; I do not know whether men will blame me, but something tells me that the time has come to forgive."
Roncherolle moved in his sleep, and the count instantly left the room and joined the two young sweet-hearts, who had not found the time long.
"Well, monsieur, you have seen him," said Violette; "is he really the man whom you used to know?"
"Yes, my child; but not a word about my visit!"
"Oh! have no fear, monsieur."
"Come, Georget, let us go."
Georget considered that he had had very little time to talk to Violette; but he dared not make any remark, and took his leave with the count, after exchanging a loving pressure of the hand with his sweetheart.
The next morning, about nine o'clock, Violette was in her neighbor's room once more; he was feeling a little better, and was telling her about a strange dream he had had, when Chicotin arrived, bringing with him a letter, which he handed to Roncherolle.
"For you, bourgeois; it just came, so your concierge told me."
"Who can have written me? I don't know this writing," said Roncherolle, as he broke the seal. But in an instant, he uttered a cry of surprise.
"My children, you could never guess what this letter contains; listen.
"'Monsieur:
"'One of your debtors, Monsieur de Juvigny, has instructed me to send you a thousand francs on account of what he owes you.'
"Signed—the devil take me if I can read it—Dubois or Dubosc.—But the thousand-franc note is inside all right; here it is!"
"Ah! what good luck, monsieur! how happy it makes me for you!" said Violette.
"Name of an—excuse me, bourgeois, but I am so glad that I brought that letter for you!"
"Thanks, my friends, thanks, I am trying to remember—Yes, Juvigny did owe me money—I can't remember just how much; but when I inquired about him a few months ago, I was told that he was travelling."
"He must have sent word to this person to send you this sum, monsieur."
"Faith! I hardly expected this restitution. The money arrives most opportunely, but I can't get over my surprise!"
"You see, monsieur, that I told you that your dream meant good luck."
"You can buy all the syrup of Poupée that you want now, bourgeois."
"Yes, my boy, and my little neighbor will be kind enough to do that for me, and change this note. Here, my dear, is the note, here's the thousand francs which seems to have fallen from heaven!"
"Ah! I have a strong suspicion where it fell from, myself!" thought Violette as she left the room.
Ten days after the receipt of the letter containing the thousand francs, Roncherolle was walking on the boulevard, alert and active, feeling not a trace of his gout, and wrapped in a warm, stylish overcoat, with a new hat on his head, patent leather shoes on his feet, in a word, dressed with a care and elegance which changed him completely and made him look almost like a young man.
In front of the Gymnase Theatre, Roncherolle felt a hand on his arm, and he turned and recognized his former neighbor, young Alfred de Saint-Arthur.
"Ah! good-morning, my dear monsieur, delighted to meet you!"
"Good-morning, my dear Monsieur de Roncherolle. I can no longer say my neighbor, for you are not my neighbor now. You went off like a bomb without telling me, without leaving me your address; that was very unkind. That idiot of a Beauvinet,—you know, the young man at the hotel,—insisted upon it that you lived at Passage I-don't-know-where. Ah! that was a good one! that was very good!"
"You didn't try to find me at that place?"
"Oh, no! I wasn't taken in by that blockhead of a Beauvinet. I said to myself: 'My neighbor must have had reasons for moving and not leaving his address; such things happen every day, and indeed I think that it may happen to me very soon.'—But I regretted you all the same; on my word of honor I regretted you."
"That is too kind of you."
"But there was someone who regretted you much more than I did. Can't you guess?"
"Faith, no."
"It was Zizi—you know—Zizi Dutaillis."
"Oh, yes! I remember perfectly—a very agreeable little woman."
"Well, you made a conquest of her. Every day she said to me: 'Do find Monsieur de Roncherolle; invite me to dine again with Monsieur de Roncherolle; I want him to teach me other ways of—you know what.'—In fact, I never see her that she doesn't talk about you, and if you were younger and—and—and fresher, I should be jealous of you."
"Thanks, thanks, a thousand times!"
"By the way, allow me to congratulate you; you walk very well; have you got rid of your gout?"
"For the time; it has held me pretty tight this fall."
"And you have a bearing, a style—that coat you have on is very well-made, very well-cut, and of handsome cloth; is it wadded?"
"As you say."
"On my word of honor! I don't say it to flatter you, but in that overcoat you look ten years younger!"
"In that case I am very sorry that I have only one."
"By the way, let me tell you that I have profited by your lessons—you know, the way to drink champagne,—two glasses, one on top of the other, in a plate."
"Yes; well?"
"I have succeeded, I can do it; to be sure, I broke a dozen glasses, but I succeeded; your pupil does you credit."
"I never doubted your ability—to drink champagne."
"And that isn't all: you know my parrot, that I was teaching—the one that led to our becoming acquainted?"
"Yes, I remember him; is he dead?"
"No indeed; he is as well as you or I. But the delightful part of it is that I have succeeded again."
"Really, you have made great progress since we last met."
"My parrot says now what I wanted him to."
"That was 'Good-morning, Monsieur Brillant,' I believe?"
"No, deuce take it! he said that too much! He says—and only since yesterday, so you see that it isn't an old story—he says: 'Dutaillis is lovely! applaud, clap Zizi!'"
"Ah! if he says all that, it's very fine; your friend must be enchanted."
"I haven't given him to her yet, because it was only yesterday that he said the whole sentence; and you understand that, before giving him to Zizi, I wanted to be certain that he wouldn't make a mistake, that he wouldn't make a slip of the tongue."
"That was decidedly prudent on your part."
"By the way, an idea, a splendid idea has just occurred to me!"
"The deuce! try to hold on to it."
"You must be kind enough to dine with Zizi and me. In the first place, you owe us more lessons in champagne drinking."
"Really, you are very tempting, but——"
"Listen: during the dinner, I will have my parrot brought in, in—no matter what, I will find something—and he will deliver his compliment to my wife; you know we say 'my wife' now in speaking of a mistress, and she says 'my husband.'"
"I didn't know that, and I confess that I should prefer anything else."
"And what do you say to my idea about the bird? Fancy Zizi's surprise when she hears a compliment, and doesn't know where it comes from!"
"Why yes, that may well be amusing."
"Then it is agreed; we will dine together the day after to-morrow. Yes, two days more, and then I shall be very sure that my parrot won't make a mistake. Just we three will dine together, to laugh as loud as we please, and talk nonsense; and at Bonvalet's as before. You agree, do you not, my dear neighbor? I say 'my dear neighbor' from habit."
"Excuse me, my dear Saint-Arthur, your invitation is certainly very kind, but——"
"Oh! no buts! Zizi will be so pleased to dine with you again! you can't refuse."
"I accept, but on one condition."
"Well, what is it? Speak; I agree to it in advance."
"Well, it is that your friend, Monsieur Jéricourt, shall also be of the party as before."
"The deuce! you surprise me! you want Jéricourt to be one of us? Why, I thought that you didn't like him."
"I say again, if you wish to have me, have that gentleman too; I have a special reason for wishing to meet him."
"That makes a difference; in that case, I will invite him; he shall be one of us. I have not seen so much of him lately. He lives in the Chaussée d'Antin. He puts on a lot of airs because he has had a play accepted at the Odéon.—But no matter, he will come."
"Don't mention me to him; I fancy that that would make him disinclined to come."
"I will mention nothing but the bird to him."
"What I ask you will not annoy mademoiselle, I hope?"
"Annoy her? why, pray? She will worry Jéricourt, and we will laugh at him.—I may rely upon you now, may I not?"
"Absolutely."
"Until the day after to-morrow then, at half-past five, at Bonvalet's."
"I shall not fail you."
Saint-Arthur shook Roncherolle's hand and left him; Roncherolle continued his walk, but more slowly, like a person too much engrossed to notice what is going on about him.
On the second day thereafter, about five o'clock in the afternoon, Roncherolle, who had taken much pains with his toilet, walked toward the booth of the pretty flower girl of the Château d'Eau.
Violette greeted her neighbor with a pleasant smile, saying:
"Ah! what a pleasure it is to see you like this, monsieur! how well you look! no one would ever suspect that you had been so sick."
"If I have recovered my health, it is due to you, my dear child, due to your nursing, to your pleasant company."
"Oh! monsieur, you forget that syrup which did you so much good, which cured you."
"Perhaps the syrup may have had something to do with it, but you had much more."
"Are you going to walk, monsieur? It is cold, but fine."
"I am going to dine out, my little neighbor; a feast at Monsieur Bonvalet's, nothing less."
"Oh! do be prudent then, monsieur; they say, you know, that with gout you mustn't drink champagne."
"But I no longer have the gout."
"True, but suppose that should bring it back again?"
"We mustn't anticipate misfortunes so far ahead. However, I will be prudent, and in order that I may not forget your advice, I will ask you for a small bunch of violets."
"With pleasure, monsieur.—See, is this one big enough?"
"Quite big enough; be kind enough to fasten it tight into my buttonhole."
"Gladly; there, now it is done, and I promise you that it won't come out.—That is very nice! you look as if you were my true knight now."
"And so I am, my child," replied Roncherolle, emphasizing his words, "and I hope to perform the duties of the post."
"Why, how solemnly you say that!"
"Au revoir, my dear neighbor, au revoir!"
The young flower girl looked after Roncherolle, overcome by an emotion which she could not understand, and still murmuring:
"How he said that! I will bet that he has some purpose in wearing that bouquet in his buttonhole."
Meanwhile, Roncherolle, who did not propose to keep the others waiting, soon arrived at Bonvalet's, where he found the young actress and Saint-Arthur. Mademoiselle Zizi expressed all the pleasure that she felt at renewing her acquaintance with the professor of champagne, and said to him, scrutinizing him from head to foot:
"Why, how fine we are! how coquettish we are! we walk almost without limping, and we have such a chicarde air!—you look after yourself, you do, whereas Alfred takes no care of himself at all."
"What's that? I take no care of myself?"
"No, monsieur; your cravats have been wretchedly tied lately, and your trousers don't fit as tight as they used to."
"They are not worn tight now."
"If I want you to wear tight ones, why it seems to me that you ought to adopt my taste.—Ah! what a pretty bunch of violets you have there, old fellow! where did you get that, you old Cupid? From some charmer, I will wager!"
"It is true that I got them from a charming young girl."
"Aha! give us the story; tell us all about it."
"I will tell you about it, but not now; at dessert, with your permission; it will have all the more charm."
"All right, at dessert it is. By the way, so you wanted to dine with Jéricourt, did you? When Alfred told me that, I confess that I was mightily surprised, you agreed so badly the other time. I said to myself: 'There's something underneath this; Monsieur de Roncherolle has invented some practical joke, some farce that he proposes to play on him;' am I right?"
"I don't say no; but don't ask any more questions; I am keeping that also in reserve for the dessert."
"Well, well! it seems that we shall laugh at dessert."
"Yes, yes," said Saint-Arthur with a meaning glance at Roncherolle. "Oh yes! our dinner will be most amusing, and we shall laugh, I trust, at dessert. We shall have some surprises, some unexpected incidents."
"What on earth is that idiot talking about? He assumes a mysterious air. Frefred, I have an idea that you have some gallant attention in store for me—is it true, my adored one?"
"I can't tell you anything; you will see!"
This conversation was interrupted by Jéricourt's arrival. That gentleman seemed surprised at sight of Roncherolle; however, he manifested no annoyance, and saluted the party with a smile.
"Aha! Jéricourt doesn't keep us waiting to-day; that is magnificent!" cried Zizi; "but something extraordinary must have happened to him."
"Nothing has happened to me but the desire to be in your company as soon as possible, fair lady."
"Well! what did I say? that is extraordinary enough!"
While the literary man addressed a few words to the young actress, Saint-Arthur approached Roncherolle and whispered in his ear:
"I have thought of a delightful way to have my bird come in and speak, without being seen."
"Indeed! what is it?"
"A pie—you know, like those they have on the stage; it will be brought in and put on the table, and the parrot will be inside."
"That may be amusing, in truth; but on the stage pasteboard pies may create an illusion; here, on the contrary, seen at such close quarters, I am afraid that it will miss its effect."
"Oh! I anticipated that, and so it will have a genuine pie crust. I gave my orders to Beauvinet, and he is to take the bird to an excellent pastry cook, who is to cover it with the crust; then Beauvinet will bring us the pie."
"That makes a difference; in that case, the illusion will be perfect."
"Isn't it an ingenious plan?"
"But aren't you afraid that your parrot will stifle in the pie?"
"Why so? They are shut up in cages."
"True, but I should say that they have more air there."
"Bah! just for a short time. Besides, I told Beauvinet to tell them to make some little holes on top, so that he may have light, and that we may hear him plainly."
"In that case, everything will be all right."
They took their places at the table. Jéricourt treated Roncherolle with the utmost ceremony; but from time to time, he cast his eyes upon the bunch of violets which the latter wore in his buttonhole, and then a mocking smile played about his lips; but Roncherolle apparently did not notice it.
"The champagne lessons will come with the dessert," said Saint-Arthur, "because they always disarrange the table a bit. We spill the champagne over ourselves, so it is better to wait."
"It is all one to me," said Zizi; "I am quite willing to wait now, for I have fallen violently in love with madeira."
"And monsieur is arranging some lessons even more unique than the last, no doubt?" said Jéricourt, addressing Roncherolle.
"Yes, monsieur; in fact, I am preparing a lesson for you, which, I fancy, you hardly expect."
Meanwhile, after the first course, Saint-Arthur betrayed the liveliest impatience, and kept ringing for the waiter and asking him:
"Has no one come to see me? Isn't there any messenger outside for me?"
"No, monsieur, no one has come."
"The deuce! he is very late!"
"What! are you expecting other guests?" said Jéricourt.
"Yes,—that is to say, I am expecting something for the dinner."
"A surprise he has arranged for me," said Zizi; "I haven't any idea what it is, but I like to think that it will be superb!"
"Monsieur, there's a man here with a pie."
"Ah! very good! bravo! show him in."
"What! is your surprise a pie?" cried the young woman; "why, that is perfectly ridiculous. I don't like pie at dinner!"
"This one, my dear love, is not like most pies.—Come, Beauvinet, come in!"
The old young man from the lodging house appeared, bringing a very handsome pie, which he held as if it were the keys of a conquered town; he placed it on the table, looked about at everybody with a self-satisfied expression; then pulled his wig over his left ear.
Everybody looked at the pie, which had an inviting aspect. Saint-Arthur seemed overjoyed; he jumped up and down on his chair, exclaiming:
"Ah! I should say that that is the thing!"
"It is a very handsome pie," said Jéricourt. "Where did it come from? Strasbourg?"
"Oh, no! not from so far away."
"Come, Frefred," said Zizi, "if the pie is so delicious, cut into it and let us taste it."
"One moment, my dear love, one moment; it isn't to be cut into like that; I request silence for a moment, and attention."
And the young host, putting his face down to the pie, said in an undertone:
"Dutaillis is lovely.—Come, Coco, come, come!"
"What's this? Alfred is talking to the pie now!" cried Zizi, opening her eyes to their fullest extent.
"Hush, my dear love! hush I say!—Come, Coco—Dutaillis is—go on."
But in vain did they listen and wait; the pie maintained the most profound silence.
"Are you playing proverbs with the pie, my Bibi?"
"Yes, I am playing—that is to say, the pie is going to speak."
"The pie going to speak! ah! I would like right well to hear it, on my word!"
"Just a little patience. I can't understand what the matter is with him; he must have gone to sleep in there.—Coco, Coco—Dutaillis is lovely.—Ah! you won't speak, won't you? I will wake you up."
And Saint-Arthur, taking the huge pie in both hands, began to shake it with all his strength; then he replaced it on the table, saying:
"Will you speak now, you beast?"
While they waited again in silence, Monsieur Beauvinet ventured to blow his nose, which drew down upon his head a stern reprimand from his tenant.
"But whom are you calling a beast, and what is it that's in the pie?" asked Mademoiselle Zizi, beginning to get tired of keeping still for nothing.
"Well, my dear love, it is a parrot, a magnificent parrot, which I have taught to say: 'Dutaillis is lovely! applaud, clap Zizi!'"
"Ah! the poor creature! is it possible? Why, he must be stifled in there; that's why he doesn't speak.—Monsieur de Roncherolle, take the crust off at once."
"Are all the windows closed?" asked Saint-Arthur; "we must look out that he doesn't fly away.—See to it, Beauvinet."
Beauvinet made a strange grimace, but did not stir.
"I have a shrewd idea that he won't fly away;" said Roncherolle, as he ran his knife around the crust of the pie.
"Look out, be careful, don't stick the knife in, or you will cut the bird."
"There's no danger."
At last the upper crust was taken off, and nothing came out of the pie. They all put their heads forward to look inside; but instead of a living bird, they saw only what is always found in a chicken pie: jelly, and the stuffing around the principal piece, on top of which there was a slice of pork.
Saint-Arthur was stupefied; his guests with difficulty restrained their desire to laugh.
"What does this mean, Beauvinet? where is my bird, my parrot? what have you done with him?"
"Your bird is there, monsieur; I did what you told me to: I carried him to the pastry cook, and told him to put him into the pie."
"Ah! you villain! you miserable wretch! how could you fail to understand me? I told you that I only wanted the crust put around him."
"Well, there is nothing but crust around him."
"And I added: 'You must have holes made in the top to give him air, so that we may hear him plainly.'"
"I understood: 'So that we may smell him plainly;'[B] and the pastry cook said: 'I never make holes in my pies; your parrot will be a little tough, but I'll just lard him and stuff him, so that no one will ever know what it is.'"