[B] Le pot aux roses; lit. the jar of roses.
“Well, not exactly that! His companion had a pain in the night—he was doubled up with colic caused by his supper.”
“And perhaps by some badly prepared dish, or a half-scoured saucepan; for the entertainment is not first-class at the Tête-Noire; I once ate a fricandeau there that lay on my stomach three days, because it was seasoned with nutmeg, which always makes me ill. Nutmeg in a fricandeau! You must agree that that is perfectly horrible!”
“True, that inn doesn’t deserve its reputation; for at my sister’s wedding party, which was held there——”
“Your sister? which one, pray?”
“The one who married Lagripe, the sub-prefect’s indoor man—you know? the little man with blue eyes and a red nose?”
“Oh, yes! the father of the child the little sempstress opposite had.”
“Oh! as to that, I don’t believe a word of it! It’s all made up by evil-tongued gossips.”
“Look out, my friend, you are cutting me.”
“That’s nothing; it was a bit of straw on your cheek, that caught the razor.—You must know that if Lagripe had got the sempstress with child, my sister wouldn’t have married him.”
“Why not, pray? Between ourselves, my good fellow, your sister——”
“What’s that? what do you mean, Monsieur Sauvageon?”
“All right, my friend. Give me a bit of powder, and let us return to the somnambulist.—You were saying that he cured his companion’s colic last night?”
“I don’t say that he cured him; but I tell you that he discovered the most hidden things, among others a soup-tureen that was under the landlord’s bed.”
“And which someone had probably stolen and hidden there until the time came to carry it away.”
“That is quite possible; but this much is certain, that he told everything that was in the tureen!”
“Peste! that is rather strong! Did Jérôme tell you what the tureen contained?”
“Certainly; it contained the supper of the magician, the doctor, the hunchback one.”
“That is beyond me! To pilfer a supper, and then have it found in its natural state, after eating it—I confess that that is a most remarkable trick!”
“But, Monsieur Sauvageon, I didn’t say that the supper was in its natural state; on the contrary, it was the result of the colic that was found!”
“Morbleu! my man, why didn’t you say so? You keep me here two hours about the—Put on a little pommade à la vanille.”
And, as our old bachelor was shaved and combed, the hair-dresser left him, to repeat his story to another of his customers, taking care to change it or add something to it. It is delightful to many people to have a piece of news to tell, and to make comments thereon.
But, talking of anecdotes, master author, you are terribly loquacious, and you seem to take pleasure in listening to all the tittle-tattle of a small town. Surely Brother Jacques did not repeat to Sans-Souci the old bachelor’s conversation with his barber, or the maid-servant’s with the grocer’s clerk. How could he have known about them?
True, reader; I plead guilty; I will try not to intrude my own remarks again in our soldier’s narrative of his adventures; and to begin with, I will allow him to resume at once.
We had no sooner risen and rung for our breakfast, than the host entered our room, holding in his hand a large sheet of paper, which he presented to my companion.
“Messieurs,” he said, bowing to the ground, “here is a list of the people who wish to consult you this evening, and who have entered their names here.”
“Very well—give it to me. Have you written the names, titles, age and occupation of each one?”
“They are all there, monsieur.”
“Very good. Leave us, and send your servant Clairette to us for a moment; I have some orders to give her relative to my séance this evening.”
The host bowed with the respect of a Chinaman passing a mandarin, and left the room, promising to send the girl to us at once.
My companion scanned the list; it was quite long and promised numerous proselytes. The little hunchback was reading it aloud and indulging in preliminary conjectures concerning the names, when Clairette entered the room.
The girl seemed rather embarrassed. She kept her eyes on the floor and her hands wrapped in her apron. For my part, I was as red as fire, and I did not know what to say. Clairette’s presence caused a revolution in my whole being; I was honestly in love with her; I felt a genuine passion for her; and after the proofs of affection which she had given me during the night, I believed that she loved me sincerely. I think that if I had been told then that I must marry the little servant, or else give her up forever, I should not have hesitated to give her my hand! And what I felt, I will wager that many young men have felt like me. One loves so earnestly the first time!—Ah! my dear Sans-Souci, I was very young then and very green! But I have learned since that the more experience one acquires, the less pleasure one has.
My companion locked the door. No curious person must overhear our conversation with Clairette. Then he returned to us and opened the interview with a roar of laughter, which made me open my eyes in amazement, while Clairette dropped the corners of her apron.
“My friends, you are still rather unsophisticated,” he said at last; “you, my dear Jacques, who are in love with a girl who will have forgotten you to-morrow; and you, my little Clairette, who believe in witchcraft, and imagine that a person can look young all her life. We are no more magicians than other men are, my dear girl; but you must help us to impose on the fools who contend for the pleasure of consulting us. You must do whatever we want, first, because that will give you an opportunity to make fun of lots of people, which is always pleasant; and secondly, because we will pay you handsomely—I with money, and this young man with love; and if you should refuse to help us, you would deprive yourself of a large number of little perquisites that are not often to be had in a small town.”
This speech put us all at our ease. Clairette, who saw that the little hunchback was acquainted with everything, smilingly accepted a double louis which he slipped into her hand, and asked nothing better than to act as our confederate. Everything being arranged, Master Graograicus took up his list, requested me to write down the girl’s replies, so that we might not make any mistakes, and began his examination, to which Clairette replied as well as she could.
“Annette-Suzanne-Estelle Guignard, thirty-six years of age?”
“She lies; she’s forty-five at least. She’s an old maid, who’d like to be married on any terms; but no one will have her; in the first place, because she’s lame; and then because she chews tobacco.”
“Enough.—Antoine-Nicolas La Giraudière, forty years of age, clerk in the mayor’s office?”
“He’s a fat fellow, as round as a ball; they say that he’s not likely to set the North River on fire; perhaps he wants to consult you about giving him a little wit.”
“Impossible! People always think that they have enough.”
“Oh! wait a minute: his wife has already had four girls, and she’s furious because she hasn’t got any boys.”
“That’s it; I understand. He wants me to tell him a way to make boys.—Next. Romuald-César-Hercule de La Souche, Marquis de Vieux-Buissons, seventy-five years old, former Grand Huntsman, former light horseman, former page, former—Parbleu! he needn’t have taken the trouble to put ‘former’ before all his titles! I presume that he doesn’t ride or hunt any more. What can he want of me?”
“He has just bought a small estate in the suburbs; he is having a dispute with his vassals; he claims that they’re rabbits——”
“Rabbits! his vassals?”
“No—wait a minute; I made a mistake, it’s stags—cerfs.”
“Ah! very good, I understand what you mean—serfs.”
“And then, whenever there’s a marriage among ’em, he insists on having the bride come and pass an hour alone with him, and bless me! the peasants don’t take to that! The result is he’s always quarrelling with ’em.”
“That’s all right; I know enough about him.—Angélique Prudhomme, Madame Jolicœur, thirty-two years of age, laundress to all the notables of the town. The deuce! what an honor!”
“Ah! she’s a hussy, I tell you, is Madame Jolicœur! She keeps the town talking about her. She launders for the officers in the garrison and goes to balls with ’em.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Oh! so-so.—A saucy face, and a bold way—like a cuirassier! She’s already been the means of setting more than twelve people by the ears, and only a little while ago, on the town holiday, she waltzed with the drum-major, who quarrelled with a sapper because she’d made an appointment with the sapper to take a walk in the labyrinth. That would have been a serious matter, if Monsieur Jolicœur hadn’t turned up! But he’s good-natured; he made peace between the drum-major and the sapper, swearing to the latter that his wife didn’t intend to break her word to him, and that it was pure forgetfulness on her part.”
“That husband knows how to live.—Let’s go on. Cunégonde-Aline Trouillard, forty-four years old and keeps a very popular café.”
“Ah! that’s the lemonade woman! She’s always having the vapors and sick headaches and—in short, she always thinks she’s sick and passes her time taking medicine instead of staying at her desk.”
“She must be a very valuable woman to the druggists!”
“Her husband tries to be smart, to play the chemist; he makes coffee out of asparagus seed and sugar out of turnips. I’m sure that he’ll come to consult you too.”
I continued to make memoranda of Clairette’s answers, and we had almost exhausted the list, when there was a knock at our door. I answered the knock; it was our landlord, who had come to inform us that the mayor wished to see us, and that he expected us at his office. We could not decline that invitation. My companion donned his best coat and lent me a pair of black silk knee-breeches that reached to my heels, the little hunchback having purchased them at secondhand from a great poet, who had them from an actor at one of the boulevard theatres, who had them from a member of the Academy who was paying court to a ballet dancer, at whose rooms he had left them.
We started, somewhat disturbed concerning the results of our visit. However, my companion, who was very quick-witted, hoped to find a way out of the dilemma. We arrived at the mayor’s abode and were ushered into his study. We saw a short, lean man, whose eyes sparkled with intelligence and animation. From the first questions that he asked us, my companion saw that he had to do with a redoubtable party. The mayor was a scholar; he was thoroughly acquainted with several abstract sciences, among others, medicine, chemistry, botany and astronomy. In his presence, my poor little hunchback lost his loquacity and his presumption. The mayor, perceiving our embarrassment, chose to put an end to it.
“I have no intention of preventing you from earning your living,” he said, with a smile; “far from it! You practise magnetism, I understand, and cure all diseases by its means; that is very well. I sincerely desire the welfare of my constituents, I am especially earnest in trying to cure them of those absurd prejudices, those ancient superstitions, to which men are only too much inclined. Magic, witchcraft, magnetism, somnambulism are certain to present many attractions to lovers of the marvelous. I know that it is vain to combat the opinions of mankind; there is but one means to cure them, and that is to allow them to be duped themselves. That is why I am glad to have charlatans come to this town. It is always an additional lesson to the inhabitants, for sorcerers never leave a place without making dupes. So I give you permission to magnetize my people.”
The mayor’s remarks were not complimentary to us; however, my companion bowed low as he thanked him for his kindness.
“Doubtless,” said the mayor, “you have some remedy that you sell gratis—as the custom is. Let me see what it is.”
The hunchback immediately handed him one of his boxes of pills. The mayor took one and threw it into a small vessel, where it was decomposed. He scrutinized the bread for a moment, then returned the box and said with a smile:
“Go, messieurs, and sell lots of them; they are not dangerous.”
Thus ended that visit. We returned to our inn, well pleased that we had not shown monsieur le maire our philters and charms.
At last the hour for our public séance arrived. My companion had given me all necessary instructions, and made me rehearse my part several times. He assumed the regulation costume: the black gown, which makes thin persons taller, and adds to the deformities of the misshapen, and in which the little hunchback looked exactly like a sorcerer or magician, who should never be built like an ordinary mortal; in addition, the venerable beard and the conventional tall cap—such was the costume of Master Graograicus.
As for me, he dressed me in a sort of red tunic studded with yellow stars, which he had made out of an old coverlet bought at the Temple in Paris; which tunic was supposed to have come to me from the Great Mogul. He also insisted upon putting on my head a turban of his own make; but as I considered it unbecoming, and as Clairette was to see me in my grand costume, I refused to wear the turban, and my colleague was obliged to consent to let me brush my hair back à la Charles XII; that did not go very well with the tunic, but great geniuses do not bother about such trifles.
The salon of our suite was prepared for the mysterious things which were about to take place before everybody. A tub filled with water, an iron ring, a wand of the same metal, easy-chairs for the clients, plain chairs for the aspirants, benches for the mere onlookers, and a single lamp, which diffused only a dim light through the room; such were our arrangements.
As soon as my companion had told the host that the people might come in, a crowd rushed into the room. Some came forward confidently, others with a frightened air, the great majority impelled by curiosity; but at all events we had a large number, and that was the essential thing.
When they had all entered and had taken such places as they could find; when the first whisperings had subsided and we had been stared at sufficiently, Master Graograicus saluted the assemblage with much dignity, and, having no low bench, he mounted a foot-warmer in order that everybody might see him; then he began the usual harangue.
“Messieurs, mesdames and mesdemoiselles—that is, if there are any in the room—you know, or do not know, that there is in nature a material principle thus far unknown, which acts upon the nerves. If you know it, I am telling you nothing new; if you do not know it, I will proceed to explain. We say then that there is a principle, and we start from that; by means of this principle, and in accordance with special mechanical laws, there is a reciprocal influence between animate bodies, the earth, and the heavenly bodies; consequently there are manifested in animals—observe this, messieurs,—in animals, and especially in man, properties analogous to those of the magnet. It is this animal magnetism which I have discovered the secret of applying to diseases, and it is by this method that I claim to cure them all. The magnetic influence may be transmitted and propagated by other bodies. That subtle matter penetrates walls, doors, glass, metals, without losing any perceptible portion of its power; it may be accumulated, concentrated, and transmitted through water; it is also propagated, communicated and intensified by bran; in short, its power has no limits; and all this that I am telling you, I did not invent; I am simply repeating what such learned men as Mesmer, Derlon and others would say now if they were not dead.”
The audience listened in the most profound silence; the young men stared with all their eyes, the young ladies smiled, the old men shook their heads, the matrons exchanged glances, and no one dared to tell his neighbor that he did not understand a word of the new thaumaturgist’s explanation. He noticed this, and continued:
“I see, messieurs and mesdames, that I have convinced you; therefore I will develop my arguments no farther. I must add, however, before beginning my experiments, that there are bodies which are not sensitive to animal magnetism, and which even have a property diametrically opposed thereto, by means of which they destroy its efficiency in other bodies. I flatter myself that we shall find none of those unfortunate persons here; but I thought it my duty to warn you, in case it should happen. Raise your minds, if possible, to the level of the sublime discovery which now occupies our attention. This is no charlatanism; it is evidence, it is power, it is the secret influence at work; it is——”
At this point in his harangue, the foot-warmer broke, and the orator measured his length on the floor; but he instantly sprang to his feet and cried, addressing his hearers with renewed vigor:
“Messieurs, I thought that I should conclude with an experiment; while talking to you just now, I magnetized this foot-warmer with my left foot, and I was certain of reducing it to powder! As you see, I have succeeded!”
A tempest of applause burst forth from all parts of the room.
“You see,” whispered my companion to me, “the man of intellect turns everything to account, by never losing his head.”
The time for the experiments to begin had arrived; and as effrontery is more readily imparted than magnetism, I was awaiting impatiently, in my easy-chair, an opportunity to display my skill.
Madame Jolicœur came first, despite the representations of the Marquis de Vieux-Buissons, who maintained that a man of his rank should take precedence over everybody else. But the laundress was not the woman to give way to anyone; moreover, she was young and pretty, the marquis old, ugly and crabbed; so that Madame Jolicœur had the first chance.
The great magnetizer took her by the hand and led her around the tub, then made her sit down, and magnetized her with the end of his wand. The young woman did not seem inclined to sleep.
“I will put you in communication with my somnambulist,” he said. The laundress looked at me and smiled; she did not seem to dislike the idea of being put in communication with me.
I knew my rôle; I had taken notes concerning Madame Jolicœur.
“We must take the bull by the horns,” my companion whispered to me, “for this woman is quite capable of making fun of us.”
The laundress was seated facing me; she was enjoined to be silent and to allow herself to be touched, which she did with much good humor; but she laughed slyly while I held her hand, and I heard her mutter while pretending to be asleep:
“Oh! mon Dieu! how stupid this is! The sapper told me that they’d try some flim-flam game on me!”
I at once proclaimed aloud all that Clairette had told us concerning the laundress’s love-affairs. I forgot nothing, neither the drum-major, nor the waltz, nor the assignation, nor its consequences. At my first words, the company began to laugh, Madame Jolicœur was covered with confusion, and before I had finished my speech, the laundress had left her seat, elbowed her way through the crowd and rushed from the inn, swearing that we were sorcerers.
This first experiment left no doubt in anyone’s mind concerning the virtue of magnetism; so that Monsieur le Marquis de Vieux-Buissons stalked solemnly toward us, and, in an almost courteous tone, requested my confrère to put him in communication with me at once.
The usual preliminaries concluded, the following dialogue took place between us two:
“Who am I?”
“A most high and mighty seigneur in your ancient château, of which but one wing remains; that is why you have recently purchased another small seigniory in the neighborhood.”
“That is true; but what do I wish to do now?”
“You wish that your vassals should be submissive, trembling and fearful in your presence, like lambs before a lion; you wish to be the master of their destinies; you wish that they should give you their fairest and best—what they have earned by the sweat of their brow; and in addition to all that, you wish that they should pay you.”
“That is very true.”
“You would that maidens should not change their state without your permission.”
“That is the truth.”
“And as you are no longer capable of effecting this, you would, on the wedding day, put your old bare leg into the bed of the young virgin, who will shriek and weep at the sight of her lord’s calf, a result which will do great honor to him, as he is very glad now to frighten his vassals with that, since he can arouse no other sentiment. In short, you wish to revive the rights of jambage, cuissage, marquette and prélibation, as they existed in the good old days of chivalry, when a knight always rode with lance in rest, fighting when neither would yield to the other, on a narrow road where two could not pass; fighting when the man whom he met refused to declare aloud that his lady was the fairest, although he had never seen her; fighting with dwarfs—there were dwarfs in those days—and with giants who carried off young maidens, and who, despite their enormous clubs—for a giant never went abroad without one—allowed themselves to be run through like manikins by the first knight who appeared on the scene!”
“That’s it, that’s it exactly! I mean to have a dwarf at the door of my dovecote, and to kill the first giant who appears on my land, where one has never yet been seen.”
“Very well, monsieur le marquis, buy some of Master Graograicus’s pills, take them in large quantities and often; they will make you young, vigorous, active and lusty; your white hair will turn black again, your figure will become straight, your wrinkles will disappear, your cheeks will fill out, your color will come back and your teeth will grow again. I will guarantee that, when this transformation has taken place, your vassals will do whatever you wish, and especially that the girls will no longer avoid you.”
The marquis, delighted by my replies, took twelve boxes of the pills and paid for them without haggling. He put some in every pocket; he swallowed half a dozen at once, and started for home, with head erect and a sparkling eye, and feeling ten years younger already.
After the marquis, Aline-Cunégonde Trouillard came forward; there was no need of preliminaries or of harangues to induce Madame Trouillard to believe in magnetism; the poor woman had such sensitive nerves that she fell into a trance as soon as my companion touched her with the end of his wand. In my interview with her I said recklessly whatever came into my head; she had all the diseases that I mentioned, she felt all the symptoms that I suggested to her. What a windfall to charlatans such weak-minded creatures are! Madame Trouillard filled her reticule with pills and went away, after subscribing to all our séances, public and private.
We were awaiting Estelle Guignard, whose name was on our list, when a sturdy fellow, in wooden shoes and a blue blouse, forced his way through the crowd and approached us. I had no answers prepared for this new arrival, so I let him address my companion, who looked about for Clairette, hoping to obtain from her some indispensable information; but the girl, thinking that we had no further need of her, had gone down to the kitchen; so that we had to proceed without a confederate. My colleague hoped to extricate himself from the difficulty easily, especially as he had to do with a peasant. He walked up to the man, who was staring with a surprised expression into the mysterious tub; and trying to assume a more imposing air than ever, he began to question him.
“Who are you?”
“Pardine! you’d ought to know well enough, as you’re a sorcerer.”
“Of course I know; but as I ask you, of course I must have secret reasons for doing so. Answer then, without tergiversation.”
“Without tergi—without terger—What are you talking about?”
“I ask you your name.”
“My name’s like my brother’s, Eustache Nicole.”
“What do you do?”
“Why, I work in the fields, or else I drive folks’ wagons when there’s stuff to carry.”
“Why have you come here?”
“What! why, I’ve come like the rest of ’em! to see what a sorcerer looks like.”
“Who told you that I was a sorcerer?”
“The barber did, when I got clipped at his place this morning; and as there ain’t been no sorcerers in these parts for a long time, I stayed in town on purpose to see you.”
“Do you want to be magnetized?”
“Magne—What do you mean by that?”
“Do you want me to put the secret agent at work on you?”
“Pardi! I don’t care what you put to work!”
“Well, what do you wish to know?”
“Oh! well! lots o’ things!—You mean to say that you can’t guess ’em?”
“Yes, indeed; and first of all I am going to magnetize you.”
“All right, I’m willing; will it cost me much?”
“I charge nothing for that.”
“If that’s so, then you must be a sorcerer sure enough, if you do your business without having your hand greased!”
My little hunchback seated the peasant in a great easy-chair, then touched him several times with the magic wand; but the clown let him keep on, and seemed to be not in the slightest degree under the charm. Thereupon my companion began to pass his fingers very lightly over his eyes, in order to communicate the magnetic fluid to him. The peasant said nothing, but contented himself with turning his chair from time to time and rubbing his eyes. I felt a strong desire to laugh when I saw the pains that my poor comrade was taking, perspiring profusely in his efforts to magnetize Eustache Nicole.
At last the peasant seemed quieter; he ceased to move and rub his eyes.
“The charm is working,” said Master Graograicus in an undertone, as he continued his labors; “this fellow has given me a lot of trouble! but I have succeeded at last! As you see, he is entering the somnambulistic state; before long he will speak.”
But, instead of speaking, the peasant, who had really fallen asleep, gave passage to so prolonged a sound that the most dauntless magnetizer would not have had the courage to continue. My hunchback jumped back, holding his nose. I roared with laughter and the whole audience followed suit.
That sudden noise awoke our peasant; he rose and asked if the experiment was at an end.
“You are a boor,” said my companion angrily; “you have failed in respect to the whole company, and you are not worthy to be magnetized.”
The peasant was not long-suffering; he lost his temper, declared that we were making fools of the poor people and that we were no more sorcerers than he was. At that, Master Graograicus attempted to expel the insolent villain who cast a doubt upon his learning. He pushed him with his wand. The angry peasant turned and seized my illustrious magnetizer by the beard. The hunchback cried out, the spectators came forward; the women called for help, the wiser sort contented themselves with laughing, and the partisans of magnetism rushed to the assistance of the poor sorcerer. He was fighting with Monsieur Nicole, who would not relax his grasp on the beard. In their struggles they approached the tub; they stumbled over it and both fell in, face down. Water cools and allays the passions. The peasant, on withdrawing his head from the tub, released his opponent’s beard and quietly left the room. My companion, who was thoroughly drenched, felt that he was no longer in a condition to make proselytes, and he declared the séance adjourned.
Despite the unpleasant conclusion of our first séance in magnetism, we did a very good business at the Tête-Noire. Clairette gave us all the information that we desired, and to avoid a repetition of the Eustache Nicole episode, we admitted only those persons who had entered their names beforehand.
But the public curiosity abated, and the effects of our pills did not always correspond to the expectations of the purchasers. Moreover, I began to be less in love with Clairette; I had surprised her several times being rejuvenated by Pierre and Jérôme, and that had taken away all the illusion of a first love. So that I was not disappointed when my companion suggested that we should go away.
For six months we lived in that same way, remaining a longer or shorter time in one place according to the number of dupes we made there. That worked very well; but we did not always find accomplices, and then we were likely to make serious mistakes. One day I told a money-lender that he didn’t care for money, a drunkard that he didn’t like wine, a gambler that he didn’t care for cards, and a bachelor that his wife was false to him; you can imagine, Sans-Souci, that we did not make a brilliant success in that town.
I began to be tired of that kind of life; I had informed my companion that I wished to leave him, but he always strove to keep me. But one day I resolved to give my love of mischief a free rein and to play some trick on him that would take away all desire on his part to have me for a partner.
We were in a small town where we were performing miracles. Magnetism and somnambulism seemed to have turned everyone’s head; people fought for the privilege of consulting us first, of obtaining private conferences. I could not fill the orders for pills, and even the charms were selling very well. It was in that place that I determined to try an experiment of my own invention on the fools who applied to us.
An old advocate had been paying court for some time to a coquette of uncertain age, who refused to respond to his flame, but did not cease to listen to his tender declarations. The lady was crafty, she was well pleased to inspire passions, and she was afraid of losing her influence over her adorer if she yielded to his desires. They both came to consult us: the advocate to learn how to soften the heart of his charmer, and she, how to retain the charms that made so many men wretched. My companion promised Monsieur Gérard—that was the old suitor’s name—a philter that would make the coldest woman amorous; and he promised Madame Dubelair a charm that would shelter hers from the ravages of time.
In the same house with Madame Dubelair lived the deputy mayor of the town. Monsieur Rose was an excellent man; but his wife complained of one great failing in him; he was not enough in love with her, and was not in the slightest degree jealous. So Madame Rose also came to consult us as to the means she could employ to put an end to her husband’s indifference. To make a husband amorous of his wife after fifteen years of wedlock was rather difficult. Nevertheless my companion promised Madame Rose a philter with a marvelous power of causing jealousy, and the dear soul went away, overjoyed to know that she might still hope to drive her husband frantic.
My hunchback made haste to compound the philters, and gave them to me to carry to their addresses, instructing me to collect the pay for them. On the way I reflected how amusing it would be to change the destination of the little phials.
“Parbleu!” I said to myself, “I am going to see what will happen! I will give Madame Rose, instead of the charm for jealousy, the one to make a person amorous; to Monsieur Gérard the one to arouse anger, and to Madame Dubelair the one for jealousy; the results cannot fail to be comical.”
I instantly put my plan into execution; I delivered the phials to the three persons concerned, assuring them of their miraculous effect; then I returned to the inn and impatiently awaited the result of my prank.
Monsieur Gérard had solicited and obtained from Madame Dubelair permission to lunch with her en tête-à-tête. I had carried him the alluring charm early in the morning, and he thought that it would not be a bad idea for him to take part of it before calling upon his inamorata, in order to give himself resolution and audacity. Madame Dubelair had lost no time in tasting the marvelous phial, which was to make her charms impervious to time; and Madame Rose had poured a large part of hers into the chocolate that her husband drank every morning.
You know, my dear Sans-Souci, what my master’s drugs were compounded of, and how he had figured out their inevitable effect. Imagine therefore the events that occurred during that memorable evening! Monsieur Gérard betook himself to his adored one’s abode; on the way, he felt slight colicky pains; his head was burning hot. He supposed that the charm was working and he hastened to Madame Dubelair’s. He found her reclining negligently in a long chair. But imagine his surprise! His charming friend was unrecognizable; her nose was red and swollen, her skin tightly drawn; several blotches embellished her brow.
“How do you think I look this evening, Monsieur Gérard?” she asked with a sly smile; “I am sure that you find me changed.”
“In truth, madame,” replied the poor advocate, holding his hands to his abdomen and making diabolical faces as he spoke, “I do find you changed. You are ill, no doubt.”
“Ill, monsieur! ill! when you yourself are writhing and twisting in such an extraordinary way!”
“Madame, I admit, that for a minute or two——”
“My mirror, Fifine; I wish to know if I look sick, as monsieur thinks.”
Poor Gérard could stand it no longer; the philter was working; colic and headache appeared. The maid brought Madame Dubelair her mirror. The coquette looked at herself and began to shriek horribly; she broke the mirror, she had an attack of hysterics, and her poor lover implored Fifine to give him the key to his mistress’s closet. The girl, who was mischievous and sly, like most soubrettes, roared with laughter when she saw Monsieur Gérard’s plight; and to make the confusion complete, Madame Rose rushed in, crying that she was betrayed, dishonored; that her husband was a monster who gave her no children but had just debauched his concierge. Our amorous philter had raised the deuce with Monsieur Rose; the poor man had gone home, hoping to find his wife there; she had hidden in order to make him jealous, and the dear husband, finding nobody but his concierge at hand, had made her the victim of the flames that consumed him.
The cries of Madame Rose, who was frantic with rage, of the concierge, who pretended to be, of Madame Dubelair, who was trying to tear off her nose, of Monsieur Gérard, who was holding his stomach, and of Monsieur Rose, who was weeping over his own perversity, soon attracted the whole quarter. The neighbors hurried to the spot, asked questions, pushed and crowded, gave Madame Rose orange-flower water, the concierge cologne, Madame Dubelair ether, Monsieur Gérard an enema, and Monsieur Rose extract of water lily.
When the first outcries had subsided, an attempt was made to ascertain the cause of so many untoward events. It was clear that there must be some witchcraft underneath. Madame Dubelair swore that she had never in her whole life had a pimple on her nose or anywhere else, Monsieur Gérard never ate too much, and Madame Rose, despite her wrath, admitted that her husband was not the man to pinch a woman’s knee unless he had been made tipsy. Thus these extraordinary events must have had some hidden cause. They remembered the philters; they confided in one another; and the result was that the little hunchback was voted a sorcerer, a magician, a charlatan, an impostor worthy of hell-fire. But, pending the time when he should go to hell, they considered that it was necessary to put him in prison, in order to prevent him from repeating his infamous incantations.
Rose, the deputy, went to the mayor and explained the affair to him; he obtained an order for the culprit’s arrest. On his side, the advocate assembled all the notables of the town; they shared his wrath and considered that the scoundrel who gave one of the long robe the colic could not be punished too severely. Madame Dubelair and Madame Rose stirred up all the women; Madame Dubelair especially had to say no more than this: “A man who can make the nose red and the complexion lead-color is a villain who deserves the halter!”—As for the philter of which Monsieur Rose had drunk, all the ladies begged for a few drops of it for their private use, thinking that, when thus divided, it could not fail to produce very pleasant results.
These events had taken time; it was daybreak when they started for our lodgings to arrest us. I say us, for I am quite sure that I should have shared my companion’s fate. But since the preceding day I had been on the alert, walking about the town, watching all that took place, listening to what people said; in short, I learned that they were coming to arrest us, and I did not deem it prudent to wait until that time. While my companion was asleep, I made a little bundle of everything belonging to me, and of the money I had earned with him, being careful to take no more than was really mine; then, wishing my little hunchback much good fortune, I left our lodgings, leaving him to get out of the scrape as he could.
I have no idea what happened to him, for I never saw him again; but as sorcerers are no longer hanged, since it has been discovered that there are no such things, I am very sure that my poor charlatan got off with a few months in prison.
I had about thirty louis in my purse; for selling pills made of bread is a very good business; you make few advances and never sell on credit, which proves that there is nothing that has not some value. You can imagine, my dear Sans-Souci, that my only idea was to enjoy myself thoroughly, and that is what I did in several towns where I stopped; but the adventure that happened to me in Brussels put an end to my enjoyment.
I had been living at an inn two days, and I passed my time like all idlers or strangers, eating much, drinking a great deal, and walking about without any definite object, but going into all the public places, and visiting everything that seemed likely to be at all interesting to me.
On the second day, having gone to the theatre, I found myself beside a young man of respectable exterior. He seemed to be three or four years older than myself and to be thoroughly acquainted with society. We talked together, and he told me at once that he was from Lyon, and was travelling for pleasure and to escape from a marriage which his parents wished to force upon him. His confidence invited mine; so I in my turn told him all my adventures, the narrative of which seemed to interest him greatly.
In a word, by virtue of this similarity of tastes and of temperament, we became friends. Bréville—that was my new acquaintance’s name—invited me to dine with him on the following day, at one of the best restaurants, and I accepted very gladly; for it is a great pleasure, when one arrives in a town, to find some one with whom one can form an intimacy.
My new friend entertained me handsomely; we lived on the fat of the land; we walked and drove, and went to the theatre and to all the cafés. Bréville seemed to know the city very well for a stranger; he took me to all the tap-rooms and public places; I commented upon it laughingly to him and complimented him on the facility with which he remembered the way to all the places of amusement. To make a long story short, after doing the city one night, visiting cafés and frail ladies, we found ourselves at one o’clock one morning in the street, drunk with punch, liqueurs, porter, whiskey and faro.
I could hardly hold myself erect, and I was most desirous to be in my bed, to which I would have liked to be transported by some kind genie, for I felt that my legs were but a feeble support to me. Bréville seemed less affected than myself, but he too complained of fatigue. The street lamps gave a very dim light. For an hour I had been urging my companion to take me home; but in vain did we walk through streets and squares, I could not discover my inn.
At last my guide admitted that he had lost the way and that we were very far from my lodging; but by way of compensation we were very near his, where he offered me a bed. As you may imagine, I accepted without hesitation. I was no longer able to walk, I could hardly see where I was going,—the inevitable result of the numerous forms of dissipation in which we had indulged.
Bréville knocked at a door leading into a dark passageway. An old woman admitted us. I hastened, or rather was carried, up a dirty winding staircase, and at last I found myself in an almost unfurnished chamber, which at any other time would not have given me a very brilliant idea of the situation of my new acquaintance; but at that time I thought of nothing but sleep, and in two minutes I was lying on a wretched bed and sleeping soundly.
Whether it was the effect of the punch, or of the strong liqueurs, I passed a very restless night; I did not wake however and it was not until late in the morning that a violent shaking made me open my eyes.
“I say, my friend! wake up! You have been sleeping a long time, and it ain’t good for you!”
Such were the words that first fell upon my ears. I opened my eyes to their fullest extent, looked about me, and made no reply, for the picture before me left me uncertain as to whether I was really wide awake.
Imagine my surprise, my dear Sans-Souci; instead of finding myself in a bedroom and in the bed on which I had lain down the night before, I found myself stretched out on a stone bench, in a sort of square, without coat or hat, and with nothing on but my shirt, trousers and waistcoat, and surrounded by a number of messengers who were gazing at me with curiosity.
“Come, come, comrade,” said one of them; “come to yourself; you must have had a good supper last night, and drunk a great deal! That makes you sleep sound; I know how it is! And the morning after, you are as stupid as a fool; you don’t know where the deuce your memory has gone to! But it comes back little by little!”
The fellow’s words recalled all my folly of the night before. An impulse as swift as thought led me to feel my pockets and my fob. Alas! they were empty; and like most young men, I had been ass enough to carry all that I possessed about me. I was the dupe of a swindler. In vain did I ask the men about me where Bréville lived; no one knew him. I looked to see if I could recognize the house to which the traitor had taken me; I saw nothing that resembled it.
I rose, with rage and shame in my heart; if at that moment I had caught sight of the scoundrel who had swindled me, I don’t know what I might have done! But, as you may imagine, he did not show himself. I asked the way to my inn, and returned thither sadly enough. But what was I to do? What would become of me? I had not a sou, and I was dressed like a beggar. After playing the grand seigneur, after gratifying one’s every wish, to be reduced to ask alms! What a horrible comedown! How bitterly I then regretted my little hunchback and our séances in magnetism! If only I had been able to begin that trade alone, I should have felt better. But I had not even the means to buy what was required to make pills, and I realized that a somnambulist who had neither coat nor stockings could never put anybody to sleep.
However, I was fully decided to die rather than to beg my living, and it was in that frame of mind that I reached the inn, which I had left the night before in such a different plight. I entered the room where the guests were breakfasting. No one recognized me and the waiters were about to turn me out, when I told them of my melancholy adventures.
The inn-keeper expressed sympathy for me, but did not invite me to return to my room, where I had left a few effects which were hardly sufficient to pay my bill. I stood motionless in the midst of the guests; I said nothing more, but tears rolled down my cheeks and my very silence must have been eloquent.
“Well, young man, what are you going to do now?” asked a voice, which at that moment went straight to my heart. I turned my head and saw two soldiers breakfasting at a table near me.
“Alas! monsieur,” I answered, addressing the one who seemed to look at me with interest, “I have no idea. I have nothing left.”
“Nothing left! a man always has something left when he is a stout-hearted fellow and has done nothing disgraceful. Come, sit down here and breakfast with us and pluck up your courage, morbleu! No one ought to despair at your age.”
These words restored all my good humor; I did not wait to be asked again, and I ate my full share of a slice of ham and a piece of cheese, which composed the breakfast of the two soldiers. When my hunger was somewhat abated, the one who seemed superior in rank addressed me again:
“My boy, you left your parents to make a fool of yourself; the first mistake. You formed intimacies with villains; second mistake. And you allowed yourself to be robbed; third mistake. However, your mistakes are excusable; but look out—after being a dupe, one sometimes becomes a knave. That is what happens only too often to the reckless youngsters, who, like yourself, find themselves without money on the day after a debauch. Then they give way to their passions, to their inclinations for dissipation and idleness; then they resort to low tricks to obtain their living; and at last they become guilty, although they began by simply being reckless. You are on the way, young man, and you must take a stand; you won’t get a dinner by walking about with your arms folded, nor a pair of breeches by looking at the stars, when there are any. Have you a trade?”
“No, monsieur.”
“In that case, enlist. Take the musket and carry it with honor. You are young, tall and well-built; be brave, obedient to your superiors, and I will guarantee that you will make your way.”
This proposition gave me so much pleasure that I leaped for joy on my chair, and in trying to embrace my protector, I overturned the table, upon which luckily there was nothing left.
My eagerness pleased the sergeant and his comrade. They led me away instantly and took me to their captain, who, after eyeing me from head to foot with a glance, received me into his company, where I always did my duty with honor, I venture to say.
Now, my dear Sans-Souci, you know all my adventures; I will not mention those which happened to me in the regiment, and which you shared with me. Indeed, they are common to all brave soldiers: love-affairs, battles, disputes, reconciliations, feasting, starving, victories, and defeats.—Those are what always make up a soldier’s history.
Years passed; but I had not forgotten my family; I confess, however, that I did not want to return to them except with an honorable rank; I had the hope of obtaining it, and this decoration already made my heart beat more peaceably, when suddenly events changed their aspect. Relegated to the civilian class, I thought that an honorable and gallant soldier could not make his parents blush, and I went to Paris to find them. There I learned of their death! That was a cruel blow! But the icy welcome, the cold and contemptuous tone of my brother, put the finishing touch to the laceration of my heart! It is all over, Sans-Souci, he will never see me again, the ingrate; he will never hear my name again!
Thus did Jacques bring to a close the story of his adventures, and a tear glistened in his eye during the last portion of his narrative; that tear was for his brother, whom he still loved, despite the way in which he had received him.
It was dark; Jacques’s story had taken longer than he had at first supposed it would, and Sans-Souci had listened to it with so much interest that he had not realized that the dinner hour had long since passed. But when his comrade had finished, he rose, shook his head, and tapped his stomach, as he glanced at his companion.
“Have you told me the whole, comrade?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, forward!”
“What for? Where do you mean to go?”
“No matter where, so long as it is some place where there is something to eat.”
“Ah! you’re hungry, are you?”
“Yes, ten thousand cartridges! And terribly hungry too! My stomach doesn’t thrive on adventures. Still, yours have amused me very much; but since you stopped talking, I feel that I need something solid.”
“Do you want me to begin again?”
“No, no! I want you to come with me.”
“But where shall we go?”
“Come on; forward!”
Jacques and his comrade started across the fields. They could not see very clearly and they did not know which direction to take. Jacques did not say a word, Sans-Souci sang and swore alternately, frequently cursing the hedges and bushes which barred their path. At last, after walking for an hour, they spied a light.
“Forward toward the light!” said Sans-Souci, doubling his pace; “they must give us some supper.”
“Have you any money, Sans-Souci?”
“Not a sou; and you?”
“No more than you.”
“No matter, let us go on all the same.”
They approached the building from which the light came; it seemed to be large enough for a farm-house, but it was too dark to distinguish objects plainly. Sans-Souci felt his way forward and began to knock with all the strength of his feet and hands at the first door that he found. In vain did Jacques urge him to make less noise; Sans-Souci was dying of hunger, and he listened to nothing but his stomach, which shouted as loud as himself.
At last two dogs that were prowling about the yard answered the uproar that he made; their barking awoke the cows, which began to low, and the donkeys, which began to bray; there was an infernal hurly-burly, in the midst of which the voice of a woman, who had come to a window, had difficulty in making itself heard.
“Who’s that? What do you want? answer!”
“Ah! ten thousand cannonades! I am not mistaken; it’s her, it’s my brunette!—Didn’t I tell you, Jacques, that we should get a supper; we are at her farm. Open, my duck, open quick! Love and hunger bring me back to you!”
“What? can it be him?”
“Yes, yes! It is him, it’s me, it’s us, in fact! Come, Louise, put on the necessary skirt, and come and let us in. But try to make your beasts quiet, for we can’t hear ourselves talk here!”
The farmer’s wife left the window to come down to admit them, and thereupon Sans-Souci informed Jacques that they were at the abode of the unfaithful sweetheart of whom he had spoken that morning, and who was at heart very kind, very sentimental,—she had given him proofs of it that morning,—very obliging, and that she made her husband a cuckold solely because of her temperament.
“But this husband,” said Jacques; “he is the master in his own house, and——”
“No; in the first place, Louise is the mistress; in the second place, he’s a good fellow. Oh! she told me all about it this morning; she wanted me then to pass some time at the farm, as a distant relative of hers, just back from the army. I didn’t accept, because I had promised to join you, and your friendship goes ahead of everything; but so long as you are here, and we are our own masters, faith! it’s a good wind that blows us to my old flame’s house—Hush! here’s the lady herself!”
Louise did in fact open the door at that moment; she seemed surprised at sight of Jacques.
“This is my friend, let me introduce him to you,” said Sans-Souci; “he is a fine fellow, a good comrade, whom I don’t ever mean to leave.”
“Oh, well, then it’s all right, he’s our friend too. By the way, my husband’s asleep, but it don’t make any difference,—don’t forget that you’re my cousin, Sans-Souci.”
“All right, that’s agreed; now let’s be off to the kitchen.”
“I will make you an omelet with pork.”
“That will be fine! But are you alone?”
“Our farm boy’s to be married the day after to-morrow, and bless my soul! he is sleeping all he can beforehand.”
“That’s a good idea.—Give me the frying-pan.”
In a short time the supper was prepared, and Sans-Souci and Jacques did full honor to it; Louise watched them, and laughed at the thought of her husband’s surprise when he should find that two strangers had slept in his house.
“I am going to put you into the little cheese room. It is close by, and you can go into it without going through our room and waking up my man. We will tell him all about it to-morrow.”
Louise was very particular that they should not wake her husband; she guided the two newcomers to a small room where the cheeses which they made were placed on boards along the wall. They did not diffuse a very pleasant odor through the room, but two soldiers are not particular. Jacques threw himself on the bed and slept soundly; Sans-Souci complained that the cheeses disturbed him, and he went out to take the air or for some other purpose; but the night passed very comfortably, and the farmer did not wake inopportunely.
The next day everybody was up early. Farmer Guillot opened his eyes at his wife’s story, when she told him about a cousin of hers having arrived during the night with one of his comrades. Guillot made haste to embrace his cousin and his friend; he welcomed them cordially, drank with them, found them exceedingly pleasant companions, and took them to see his farm, his hens, his oxen, his wheat and his hay. Our soldiers declared everything first-class and splendidly kept up; they complimented the farmer, and they were soon the best friends in the world.
Jacques loved the country, the meadows, the woods, and work in the fields. Sans-Souci loved the farmer’s wife and her cooking. In the evening, Jacques told Guillot about his battles, his sieges and his adventures. The farmer opened his eyes and held his breath; even Sans-Souci kept quiet and shared the pleasure of the peasants, which he prolonged by adding the story of his own experiences. Their adventures entertained the peasants to such a degree that they went more cheerfully to the fields in the morning, when the two soldiers had promised them a story for the evening.
The people of the village requested as a favor to be allowed to come and listen to Louise’s cousin and his comrade; and as formality and ceremony are unknown in the country, the great living-room of the farm-house was crowded with villagers as soon as the work of the day was finished. The old woman brought her flax and her spinning-wheel, the housekeeper plied her needle, the maiden bound up the sheaves; in one corner a young peasant sifted his horse’s grain; in another, the old man drank his ale, while the laborer smoked his pipe, leaning on a barrel; the children crawled about on the floor or played with Sans-Souci’s moustache, while Louise prepared the soup, Guillot sorted out grains, and one and all had their eyes fixed upon Jacques, listening attentively to his description of a battle. When the affair became hot and Jacques grew animated, the faces of the listeners expressed anxiety, dread, terror; the old woman stopped her spinning-wheel, the laborer took his pipe from his mouth, the old man forgot his glass, the young man ceased to shake his sifter, and everyone, with head stretched forward and mouth wide open, awaited the result of the battle before resuming his former occupation.
A week passed thus with great rapidity. Our two companions, who did not choose to pay for the farmer’s hospitality with stories alone, went out in the morning to assist the peasants in their work. Jacques went with Guillot to the fields, and plowed and dug with great strength and good-will. At first the farmer had set his face against his working, but Jacques had insisted, and in a very short time had become very skilful. As for Sans-Souci, he preferred to remain in the house. Louise undertook to supply him with work and she kept him busy. She was a very capable woman, and a hand never lacked work with her; whether it was in the attic, or in the cellar, or in the garden, or in the kitchen, she found some way to employ him always.
After some time, the farm-hand who had married went to live in his cottage with his wife. Guillot was in need of some one to take his place; the farm was an extensive one, and its dependencies considerable, and the farmer felt that Jacques and Sans-Souci would be none too many to help him work it. He dared not make the proposition to the two men, but Louise, who was anxious to keep them, undertook to arrange the affair. At the first words which she said, Jacques joyfully embraced the farmer’s wife.
“I was afraid,” he said, “of being a burden to you, but you offer me the means of earning my living honorably and I accept with gratitude. I will be a farm-hand, and I promise you that Sans-Souci will follow my example. We have both been soldiers, but whether one carries the musket or guides the plough, he is still serving his country, is he not?”
Thus everything was arranged to the perfect satisfaction of everyone. Jacques devoted himself completely to his new occupation; sometimes, in the midst of his toil, the thought of his brother came to his mind, and then his features would become clouded, his hand rest on the spade, and his eyes turn toward the road to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges. But he instantly banished his melancholy thoughts, and resumed his work with renewed zeal, striving to banish Edouard’s image from his heart.
Edouard, his wife and Mamma Germeuil were settled in the pretty house at Villeneuve-Saint-Georges. Edouard, who had not mentioned his brother, had trembled with apprehension as he drew near the village, and he was even more agitated when he stepped inside his parents’ former abode. He thought every instant that he should meet his brother, and on the day of his arrival he absolutely refused to walk in the garden. However, he had fully decided to welcome Jacques cordially and to present him to his wife’s family; but while forming this resolution, he was conscious of an embarrassment, a vague dread, which aroused a secret dissatisfaction in his heart.
On the second day after his arrival in the country, he privately questioned the concierge of his house:
“Has anybody been here in my absence? Have you seen that stranger again, that man who was forever standing at the foot of the garden?”
“No, monsieur, no, I haven’t seen him again, and no one has been here to see you.”
Edouard began to breathe more freely, and became more cheerful with the ladies. Time passed, and the face with moustaches did not reappear. Madame Germeuil sometimes referred to it, laughingly, with no suspicion of the distress which she caused her son-in-law; but they finally forgot the episode altogether, and Edouard recovered his tranquillity.
Adeline’s heart had not changed; still sentimental and emotional, she loved her husband with idolatry, she was happy so long as he was with her, and so long as she could read in his eyes the same sentiments, the same love, the same happiness. She carried in her bosom a pledge of Edouard’s love; that was a new subject of delight, of hopes, of projects for the future. Engrossed by that happiness, Adeline was less thoughtless, less vivacious.
They had little company in the country, but Edouard was still in love with his wife, and he was not at all bored. Sometimes, however, the evenings seemed rather long to him; Madame Germeuil’s game of piquet was endless, and the excursions about the neighborhood impressed him as being slightly monotonous. But Adeline’s caresses were still pleasant to him, and her kisses as sweet as ever.
One fine day a carriage stopped in front of Edouard’s house, and two ladies and a gentleman alighted and entered the courtyard. The concierge asked the strangers’ names in order to announce them to the ladies, who were in the garden. But they desired to surprise the Murville family and one of the two ladies who seemed to be in command, at once walked toward the garden, beckoning to her friends to follow her.
At last they discovered Madame Germeuil and Adeline, who rose in surprise and ran to meet Madame Dolban.
“What! is it you, my dear love? How kind of you to come!”
“I wanted to surprise you; I have been promising myself this pleasure for a long time, for I am passionately fond of the country. I have brought my little cousin with me; and as we required an escort, I have taken the liberty of bringing Monsieur Dufresne, who is delighted to present his respects to you.”
Monsieur Dufresne bowed low to the ladies, and Mamma Germeuil assured Madame Dolban that anybody whom she might bring would always be welcome.
“But monsieur is not a stranger to you,” continued Madame Dolban; “he was at my dear Adeline’s wedding; it was Madame Devaux who introduced him to you.”
“Indeed I believe that I remember,” said Madame Germeuil; “but on such days one is so busy that one may be pardoned for not noticing all the young people. You know too, how many strange things happened that evening! Poor Madame de Volenville, and Monsieur Robineau!”
“Oh! don’t speak of them, my dear love, or I shall die of laughter.—But where is Murville?”
“He is somewhere in the neighborhood; he will soon return home; meanwhile, come into the house and rest yourselves.”
They went to the salon; Dufresne offered Madame Germeuil his hand, and Adeline escorted Madame Dolban and her cousin. Edouard soon returned. He seemed agreeably surprised to find company. No matter how much a man may be in love, the most delightful tête-à-têtes become tiresome after a while; so that a coquette is very careful to be sparing of them, interrupting them sometimes in order that they may be more eagerly desired afterwards. But Adeline was not a coquette.
Let us return to our company. Madame Dolban was still a young woman; she was not pretty, but her face had character, and she had that quality which in society is called ease of manner, and plenty of small talk.
Little Jenny was a girl of eighteen, very sweet and simple-mannered, and trained to be silent when her cousin was talking. As for Dufresne, we know him already; imperfectly to be sure, but the sequel will enable us to judge him better.
It was at Adeline’s wedding that he had made Madame Dolban’s acquaintance. Had he fallen in love with her? That seemed rather improbable; however, he had acted like a very passionate lover; paying the most assiduous court to the widow, he had easily triumphed over her. Madame Dolban was not a prude, but she made a point of concealing her feelings, in order to be received more willingly in circles where morality and decency are held in esteem, and Madame Germeuil’s house was one of the small number of which that could be said.
Dufresne had acquired absolute empire over the mind of Madame Dolban, who loved him passionately and who would have sacrificed everything for him. She had soon discovered that that young man, who claimed to be a business agent, broker, commission merchant, and tradesman, and who assumed all sorts of titles according to circumstances, was in reality nothing more than a knight of industry, having no trade, no office, and no perceptible means of livelihood.
A prudent woman would have broken with such a character; Madame Dolban had not the moral courage; on the contrary, she devoted herself absolutely to him, opened her purse to him, and allowed him to become absolute master in her house; and Dufresne used his friend’s small fortune without the slightest hesitation, assuring her that he was about to make a bold stroke in business, and that he would very soon treble her capital.
Impelled by some unknown motive, Dufresne often inquired about Adeline and her husband. At last, he expressed one day a desire to go to their place in the country. Madame Dolban instantly made her preparations to go; she took her little cousin, in order to dispel any suspicion of a too close intimacy with a young man whom she wished to introduce to Madame Germeuil.
Dufresne was bright, he was accustomed to society, and could be entertaining when he chose to be; and in the visit to the young husband and wife he did whatever he considered most likely to attract the whole family. Attentive, zealous, even gallant with Madame Germeuil,—for he knew that gallantry has a fascination even for mothers,—he was agreeable, reserved and respectful to Adeline; but it was with Edouard especially that he put forth all the resources of his wit, in order to obtain Murville’s entire confidence; and he at once applied himself to the study of his disposition, and to finding out his tastes and sounding his sentiments.
Everything assumed a festive appearance in the household at Villeneuve-Saint-Georges. Three additional persons cause much change in a house. They sang and played, drove, hunted and fished. The time passed very quickly to Edouard, who longed for company. But it seemed long to Adeline, who was unable to find a moment in the day to be alone with her husband.
On the third day after her arrival, Madame Dolban talked about returning to Paris. Edouard insisted on keeping his guests a few days longer. He could not do without Dufresne. They went hunting together, and drove in the morning before the ladies were up. Murville was delighted with his new friend; wit, merriment, an even disposition, and a similarity of tastes made Dufresne’s presence a necessity to him, as his friendship was a delight.
Adeline could not be jealous of this new intimacy; and yet she felt a secret pain when she saw that her own affection did not fill her husband’s heart sufficiently to exclude every other sentiment. Love is often selfish and even friendship offends it; anything which for a moment attracts the loved one seems a theft to that exacting god. But this excess of love is always excusable, and it does not seem a burden except when it ceases to be shared.
Madame Dolban and her friends took leave of the young couple at last. Adeline was pleased, for she was about to be alone with Edouard once more; she could talk to him without reserve as to the future, of the education of their children, and of all the family joys which were in store for them. Murville was sorry to see their guests go; but he was careful to urge Dufresne to come often to see him, and to pass at Villeneuve-Saint-Georges all the time that his business left him at leisure.
In the evening, Adeline took her husband’s arm and led him into the garden; she told him how delighted she felt at being alone with him; she pressed his hands lovingly in hers; and she fixed her lovely eyes, filled with love, upon him. But Edouard was distraught and preoccupied; while replying to his wife, he seemed to be thinking of something else than what he said. Adeline noticed it; she sighed and the walk came to an end much earlier than usual.
The next day when they met at breakfast, Edouard spoke of Dufresne and of the pleasure it had afforded him to make his acquaintance. He was a charming man, full of intelligence and talent, who could not fail to succeed and make a handsome fortune.
“But, my dear,” said Adeline, “it seems to me that you can hardly know that gentleman as yet.”
“I myself,” said Madame Germeuil, “think Monsieur Dufresne a most agreeable man; he is pleasant in company, and then, too, Madame Dolban has known him a long time, no doubt. But after all, my dear Edouard, you never spoke to him until within a week, for we cannot count the day of your wedding; you were too busy to pay any attention to him then.”
“Oh, yes,” said Adeline, with a sigh, “that day he thought of nothing but me.”
“Really, mesdames, you talk rather strangely; does it require so very long, pray, to know a person and to form a judgment upon him? For my own part, two days are enough for me; besides, what interest could Dufresne have in putting on a false face with us? He has no need of our services, and you know that in the world we are constantly guided by our own interests; but aside from that, why should he put himself out? Dufresne has money, he is in business.”
“What business?”
“Oh! business on the Bourse, commerce, speculation; in short, very extensive business, according to what he tells me.”
“Has he an office, or any place? Is he a solicitor—a business agent?”
“No! no! But a man need not have any of those things now, to make his way. Moreover, mesdames, allow me to tell you that you know nothing about it.”