After trying trente-et-un, dice and roulette, and after losing twenty thousand francs in an hour, the last remnant of the sum which Dufresne had handed him before his wife’s departure, Edouard returned to his house, gloomy and anxious; he scolded his servants and talked roughly to everybody without reason; but he felt the need of venting a part of his ill-humor upon his people. He entered his office, where he found the clerk asleep on his desk; he shook him roughly.
“What are you doing here? Is this the way you attend to your work?”
The young man yawned, stretched his arms, rubbed his eyes, and gazed at his employer, who was pacing the floor of the office.
“Well! do you hear me, monsieur? Why aren’t you at work?”
“Why, monsieur, you know very well that I haven’t any.”
“Why aren’t you writing circulars for the provinces?”
“Monsieur knows too that we sent several of his circulars to the same people, and they haven’t answered.”
“You’re a fool! You don’t know how to manage an affair. And what about that house that someone wanted to buy?”
“Monsieur, the person came three times to obtain information, but he didn’t find you.”
“You ought to have given it to him!”
“But, monsieur, I knew nothing about it.”
“And that investment that someone wanted to make?”
“The person made two appointments with you that you didn’t keep.”
“For heaven’s sake, do these people think that I am at their orders?”
“They say that you should be prompt.”
“Hold your tongue! You are an insolent fellow! I have no need of a fellow who sleeps on my desk. I discharge you.”
“Monsieur will please pay me my wages first.”
“Your wages! You earn them by sleeping.”
“Monsieur, it isn’t my fault that there isn’t anything to do in your office; pay me and——”
“I’ll pay you; leave me.”
Edouard was well aware that he had nothing with which to pay his clerk; he opened the desk, examined all the drawers, and found nothing. He relied upon the sum which Dufresne still had in his hands, and determined to see him and urge him to sell at once at any price; he absolutely must have money. Fatigued and discomfited by his sitting at the gaming table, he did not wish to go out before he had changed his clothes, and he decided to send someone at once to summon Dufresne. He rang and called his servant, but no one replied. The servants had become unaccustomed to seeing their master since Adeline had left the house; Edouard sometimes passed several nights in succession away; the servants no longer observed any restraint, and spent their time amusing themselves. Faithful Marie, the only honest one of them all, had left the house after her mistress’s departure.
Edouard left his office and went over the house; he found the kitchen empty, but the cellar door was open; he went down and found his concierge drinking his wine with the cook. The servants were dumfounded at the appearance of their master. He swore and stormed and seized the concierge by the ear, while he administered a kick to the cook.
“Monsieur,” stammered the half-tipsy concierge, “you don’t eat in the house any more, and we came here to find out whether the wine was getting spoiled.”
Edouard drove the servants before him, left the cellar, and returned to the first floor. Thinking that he heard a noise in his wife’s dressing room, he entered suddenly and found his valet deeply engrossed in close intercourse with the wife of the concierge, a rather attractive young woman, who loved love as much as her husband loved wine.
“Morbleu!” cried Edouard, “what a household! what disorder! Do you think that I will put up with this, you curs? I discharge you all!”
“As monsieur pleases,” rejoined the valet, with perfect unconcern, as he attended to his costume, while the concierge’s wife held her hands over her breast and did her utmost to shield herself further from the observation to which her dear friend had exposed her, “just pay us our wages, and we’ll go.”
Edouard left the room in a passion, and shut himself into his office. Since his wife’s departure, he had not given a sou to his servants, for he had never had money enough to provide for his own expenses, and now he was compelled to retain wretches who robbed him, and turned everything upside down in his house. But he reflected that Dufresne would supply him with the means to extricate himself from embarrassment; he was about to go in search of him when Dufresne himself entered the office, with an air of desperation.
“Ah! you come most opportunely,” cried Edouard; “I was anxious to see you, my dear fellow! I must have money! I must have some this very day!”
“That will be rather hard,” replied Dufresne in a gloomy voice.
“What! haven’t you the consols?”
“I have come to tell you of a terrible calamity: the man in whose hands I had placed them, as well as the blank power of attorney——”
“Well?”
“He has sold them, but he has gone off with the money.”
“Gone off?”
“Yes, he has disappeared; it is impossible to find out anything about him.”
Edouard was thunderstruck. He threw himself into a chair in despair.
“I am ruined! I have lost everything!”
“Ruined! what nonsense! when a man has credit and acquaintances! Come, be yourself; I give you my word that I will repair this disaster. Trust to my zeal, my friend; I made the mistake through my over-confidence; I propose to get you out of the scrape.”
“But how?”
“There are a thousand ways.”
“Remember that I haven’t a sou, and that I need money every moment, especially with Madame de Géran, from whom I desire to conceal this disaster.”
“You will be very wise, although I am convinced that she adores you.”
“I have promised her a lovely cashmere shawl, which she is very anxious to have.”
“You shall give it to her.—Here, sign this.”
“Notes to my order for twenty thousand francs.”
“But I don’t owe you anything.”
“Of course not; and this is simply to raise money. That is called ‘flying kites.’”
“Ah! is it allowable?”
“Allowable! parbleu! we don’t ask permission to do it.”
“But it’s rather a delicate matter to——”
“Ha! ha! you make me laugh with your scruples. After all, you will pay them, so what right will anyone have to say anything?”
“And you hope to discount them?”
“I am very sure of it; you are thought to be rich, you have an expensive establishment, and your party did you much good. Never fear; I will bring you the money to-morrow, and all you will need is a streak of luck to win twice what you have lost to-day.”
“That infernal roulette,—a long series of odd numbers!”
“Oh! that was mere luck! It doesn’t happen twice. That devil of a chevalier has found an infallible martingale, he says; but it requires funds to start it.”
“Perhaps we shall not have enough.”
“Oh! I have resources. But sign quickly, and I will go and attend to discounting your notes.”
Edouard signed notes amounting to twenty thousand francs; and to divert his thoughts, went to see his mistress. She pouted a little when she found that he had not brought the shawl that she coveted, but he promised it for the next day, and she became charmingly amiable once more; she scolded her devoted friend for his solemn and distraught air; he apologized by saying that he was engrossed by an affair of great importance, and she kissed him and fondled him and caressed him. A man who is engaged in great speculations, and who is generous—what an invaluable treasure to preserve!
The regular company soon arrived. If it was far from select, it was numerous, at all events: ruined marquises, nobles without a château, landed proprietors without property, knights of industry, business agents like Edouard, all gamblers or schemers, and some young men of good family who had nothing left to lose, and some idiots who fancied themselves in the best society—such in the main were the male guests. The ladies were worthy of these gentlemen: old intrigantes, panders, kept women, or those who wished to be, habitués of the gambling hells to which the fair sex is admitted; such was the assemblage at Madame de Géran’s, where they affected decent behavior, grand airs, refined manners, and severely scrupulous language, which soon became obscene, when the passions of these ladies and gentlemen were so far excited as to make them forget their costumes and the rank which they were supposed to occupy.
Madame de Géran gave a punch: that is a shrewd way of exciting the gamblers’ brains, and of making the women seem attractive to them. The imagination heated by liquor attributes charms to superannuated and withered beauties. The glasses circulate, heads become confused, the stakes increase in amount, the heat is stifling, the ladies remove their neckerchiefs; the eye of a connoisseur standing behind the chair of a fair gambler rests upon a breast which a pitiless corset strives to keep at a predetermined height; if he looks behind, he sees reasonably white shoulders, a perfectly bare back, and his wandering vision easily divines the little that is concealed. How deny the siren who turns and borrows twenty-five louis, with a glance full of meaning touching the mode of payment; whereupon you proceed to take an instalment by sitting down beside your fascinating debtor, and doing whatever you choose; for she offers no resistance; and thus it is that acquaintances are made at large parties. Edouard did not admire the breasts and backs of the ladies, because he was completely subjugated by a single one; but he took his seat at a table after borrowing thirty louis of his mistress, because, he said, he had forgotten to bring money. She readily lent it to him, being certain he would return it with interest the next day.
A certain Marquis de Monclair, an intimate friend of the Chevalier Desfleurets, suggested to Edouard a game of écarté; they took their places and Desfleurets took his stand behind Edouard, with the purpose, he said, of bringing him luck. But Murville lost every game; the thirty louis which he had borrowed were soon gone; then his opponent willingly played with him on credit, because he was aware how promptly he always paid.
Madame de Géran caused the punch to circulate with profusion; she herself drank several glasses in order to do the honors of her reception with more grace. Everyone seemed very much engrossed, either by the cards or by gallantry; the ordinary reserve was replaced by uproar; the guests generally forgot themselves; artificial modesty gave place to somewhat indecorous hilarity on the part of the ladies, oaths were heard in one direction, loud laughter in another; there was quarrelling and teasing; the card players disputed over the game, there was love-making on sofas, and the result was a most varied and animated tableau, wherein each actor had his own private interest to subserve.
Madame de Géran herself seemed greatly heated, although she was not playing; she approached Edouard’s table for a moment, saw that he was absorbed with his game, and left the salon, to cool off.
Edouard was unable to win a single game; rage and despair were rampant in his heart; he already owed fifteen thousand francs to the marquis, and constantly doubled his stake, hoping to make up his losses; but his expectations were always disappointed. Pale, trembling, wild-eyed, he no longer knew what he was doing; his hands were clenched, his nerves were on edge, and he could hardly breathe.
“I will play you for the fifteen thousand francs at one stake,” he said at last to his adversary, in a trembling voice.
“I agree,” replied the marquis; “I am a bold player, as you see; in truth, I am terribly distressed to see you lose so constantly.”
Edouard made no reply; he was intent upon the game that was about to begin; his eyes were unswervingly fixed upon the cards which were to decide his fate; there were no other witnesses than Desfleurets, who still stood behind Edouard, and an old intrigante, who was very intimate with the marquis and was deeply interested in his play. All the other guests were engaged at other tables.
The game began; when the marquis already had three points, he turned a king. Edouard, incensed by such uninterrupted good fortune, turned suddenly to complain to Desfleurets; he discovered him, with other cards, showing to his adversary, behind his back, what he had in his hand. The chevalier tried to conceal his cards, but Edouard did not give him time; he snatched them from his hands, realized the rascality of which he had been the victim, overturned the table and informed the marquis that he should not pay him. The marquis, accustomed to such scenes, did not lose his head, but demanded his money. Edouard called him a swindler; his adversary seized a chair and threatened him, while the chevalier picked up a number of louis which had fallen to the floor. The old woman shrieked, and Murville seized a candle-stick which he threw at his creditor’s head. The marquis received the candle in the face, and lost an eye and part of his nose; he uttered fearful shrieks, and everybody sprang to his feet; the women fled, some men did the same, and the swindlers, being in force, surrounded Murville and threatened to beat him. At that moment Dufresne entered the room, and realized Edouard’s danger at a glance; quick to make the most of circumstances, he forced his way to his side, pushing everybody out of his way; he shouted louder than all the rest, and, making a sign to Edouard to leave the salon, said that he would undertake to settle the affair, and promised the marquis that he should receive the value of his face, which was not likely to be a large sum. Dufresne had a tone and manner which imposed upon those gentry; they became calmer, and Murville, feeling that he was in a hopeless minority, went out of the salon, leaving Dufresne to represent him.
In order to console himself in some degree for this misadventure, Edouard looked about for Madame de Géran; she was not in the salon; he passed through the reception rooms without finding her; she had evidently gone to her bedroom, which was above. He rushed hurriedly up the stairs; they were not lighted; but he knew the way. He opened the dressing-room door and saw a light shining beneath the door leading into the boudoir; the key was in the lock, he entered abruptly; but imagine his sensations when he saw his dear mistress lying on a couch in company with her groom, in a situation which clearly denoted the sort of refreshment that had been provided.
Edouard stood like a statue for several minutes, unable to believe his eyes; the groom, a tall youth of eighteen, strong, lusty and well-built, but as stupid as an ass, whose physical advantages he possessed, had been selected by Madame de Géran for her private delectation, and he performed his duties with zeal and promptitude. He was always ready whenever his mistress sent for him and gave him the preconcerted signal; and she had had no occasion to do aught but praise his excellent conduct and his services, which were frequently in demand. But we must say also that Charlot had been only two months in Madame de Géran’s service, where the food was excellent, but where the grooms were very quickly worn out.
The punch had produced its effect on the nerves of the petite-maîtresse; she had felt the need of being refreshed; and after making sure that Murville was engaged in a serious game, which she thought unlikely to come to an end so soon, she had passed through the anteroom, where Charlot was, with her little finger at her ear; the groom, knowing what that meant, had followed close at his mistress’s heels, and we have seen what happened.
The boudoir was a long way from the salon; they had heard only a part of the tumult, to which indeed they were well accustomed. Charlot had paused a moment to listen, however; but his mistress, whose attention was not distracted, and who was intent upon her own affairs, had said lovingly:
“Go on, imbecile! What do you care for that? Let them fight.”
Edouard’s abrupt entrance did not disturb the groom; presuming that it was one of the gamblers who had been disputing below, and remembering what his mistress had said to him a moment before, Charlot continued his work without turning his head. As for Madame de Géran, seeing that it was no longer possible to deceive Edouard, she made the best of it, at the same time ignoring the interruption.
But Murville’s wrath, held in check a few seconds by his extreme surprise, soon burst forth with fury; he seized a fire-shovel and dealt Charlot several blows. The groom yelled that he was being murdered; Madame de Géran shrieked and Edouard shouted as loud as they did, and, weary of striking Charlot, threw the shovel at madame’s mirror.
The mirror was shattered and fell to the floor in splinters. Edouard swore and stormed, completely beside himself. Charlot wept, pressing his battered body; Madame de Géran called for help, because she was afraid for her other furniture and even for herself; in her terror she suddenly pushed the groom away and he rolled over against a washstand which he overturned; whereupon sponges, phials, essences and the bowl and pitcher fell on the floor; and at the uproar, the shrieks, the tears and the crashing of glass, a large proportion of the guests hurried to the scene and entered the boudoir.
They all expressed much surprise at sight of Madame de Géran in such great excitement, of the groom, in such unusual appearance, sprawling on the floor amid the débris of the mirror, the bowl and the phials, and of Edouard, who stalked amid the ruins with flashing eyes, as Achilles stalked about the ramparts of Troy, and seemed inclined to deluge everything with blood and fire.
They inquired what had happened, pushing, jostling, and asking questions, and by dint of trying to restore tranquillity, increased the confusion. The Marquis de Monclair held his handkerchief to his face, to preserve the remains of his nose; he swore that Murville was a madman who ought to be shut up. Desfleurets followed him, still holding in his hand a pack of cards with which he was preparing some private coup. He put in his pockets the phials and sponges that he found within reach, taking advantage of the confusion to restock his toilet table. A number of old coquettes gathered about Charlot, whose youth and other attractions interested them greatly. They examined the injuries and prescribed remedies. The young men assisted Madame de Géran to restore her composure; those who had retained the most self-possession tried to pacify Murville and insisted that explanations should precede fighting. The mistress of the house vouchsafed no other explanation than to demand the value of her mirror and toilet articles. Edouard called her a hussy and held everybody at arm’s length. Dufresne, who was always on hand in emergencies, pulled Edouard by the coat-tail and forced him to quit the boudoir, sorely against his will, leaving the others to laugh or cry as their private interests might dictate.
“You are a child!” said Dufresne when they were in the street; “why did you make such a row?”
“Why? why? Don’t you know that I have been betrayed, shamefully deceived, by that woman, who as I thought adored me? And for whom? for a servant!”
“Bless my soul! is that a reason for turning a house upside down? You must learn to take things philosophically. A man doesn’t smash furniture for such a trifle. You will find a thousand other women who will adore you—for your money.”
“After all the sacrifices I have made for her!”
“Oh! it’s unpleasant, I agree! But, my dear fellow, the money one gives to a woman is always thrown away!—Look you, the most unfortunate feature in all this is your trouble with Monclair. I was obliged to give him a large part of the proceeds of your notes, to induce him not to show his face to a justice of the peace; that would have led to investigations, to law suits and expenses, which one should always avoid.—Peste! do you know that you are a terrible fellow?—Cutting one man’s nose off and hammering another man’s rump! If I should leave you to yourself, you’d get into a fine mess! Luckily, I am always on hand to cool you down. But this evening has cost you a great deal.”
“And so that money that I have been counting on——”
“Oh! never fear, you shall have it; you must make more notes; and besides, the luck will change; no one is unlucky all the time; there are ways of arranging with fortune.”
“There are?”
“Yes, yes; you shall know them later. But it is beginning to be light, and it’s time to go to bed. Come home with me; to-morrow we will think about our affairs.”
Dufresne led Edouard away; and he, bewildered, crushed, desperate on account of his late experiences, was already afraid to cast a glance behind, or to face what the future had in store for him.
“Look here, we must see about settling your affairs now,” said Dufresne, as he rose after the stormy night at Madame de Géran’s. “You must make more notes for about fifteen thousand francs, and I will try to discount them. I confess, however, that it is more difficult than I thought. People are none too anxious to have our signatures. They are becoming more exacting. Only a few Jews will take them, and they demand fifty per cent. What do you say to that?”
“That traitress, to betray me for a lackey!”
“What! you are still thinking of your faithless one! What folly!”
“If I could revenge myself!”
“The best revenge is to spend money freely, to live magnificently; then she will regret you. So you see that you still need money. I am going out to obtain some. Meanwhile, do not allow yourself to give way to melancholy, and throw off this languor, which will lead to nothing good. Go and take a turn at the card tables. That is where you will recover your nerve and your ideas.”
“I haven’t a sou; what sort of figure should I cut there?”
“You must think up some method of winning. Au revoir; I am going to get some money.”
Dufresne went out and Murville went home. He found a letter from his wife there; it was the sixth she had written him since she had gone to the country, but Edouard had never replied. He had read the first ones; they contained Adeline’s wishes for his welfare, entreaties that he would take care of his health, but not a word of love; Adeline no longer dared to mention hers. To speak of one’s affection to a faithless lover is like speaking of colors to a blind man, of music to a deaf man, of manners to a savage.
Edouard had ceased to read his wife’s letters, because he did not know what to reply. His heart said nothing, and his conscience said too much. He hardened the one, and did not listen to the other. The season was advanced; he was afraid that Adeline would talk of returning, and he felt that her presence would embarrass him more than ever. He desired to conceal from her the condition of his affairs, which confirmed only too fully the fears that his wife and his mother-in-law had manifested.
On entering his apartments, the business agent was greatly surprised to find bailiffs proceeding to levy upon his furniture.
“What does this mean,” cried Edouard; “who has sent you to my house?”
“Monsieur,” replied a little man in black, “the owner of the house, of which you don’t pay the rent.”
“You ought to have warned me.”
“Summonses have been sent to you.”
“I did not read them.”
“That isn’t my fault.”
“I don’t know the forms of procedure.”
“What! monsieur is joking—a business agent!”
“I am not one now.”
Edouard left the officers of the law and went up to his office; the clerk was not there. He examined his papers, but he had no knowledge whatever of his business. He tossed the boxes angrily into the middle of the room. He went downstairs and called his servants; they had gone. The concierge alone remained, and he answered Edouard insolently, because he saw that he was ruined.
Murville left his home and walked slowly toward the Palais-Royal, having no idea what course to pursue, or how to rid himself of the bailiffs. He waited for Dufresne, in order to consult him; he arrived at last; he seemed content, and announced that he had obtained some money. Edouard revived at that news, and told Dufresne what was taking place at his house.
“Faith,” said Dufresne, “if you take my advice, you will let them go ahead and sell a lot of furniture which is of no use to you now; you don’t need such an establishment, as you are living the life of a bachelor; it is sleeping property, and we turn it to some use.”
“But if my wife should return——”
“Bah! she prefers the country; and besides, don’t you know that in Paris, with plenty of money, one can find in an hour’s time, a house and furniture and servants?”
“That is true; but you advised me to live luxuriously.”
“We will hire some magnificently furnished lodgings.”
“But my reputation——”
“Never fear, it is making progress. Make your fortune and let the fools talk—that is the essential thing.”
“Yes, but I am very far from making my fortune!”
“Because you go about it in the wrong way.”
“I do whatever you tell me.”
“Oh, no! you still have a false delicacy, which does you harm, and which you must get rid of. But come to a restaurant; let us drink some champagne and madeira, and snap our fingers at whatever may happen.”
Edouard allowed himself to be led away; he abandoned himself like a blind man to Dufresne’s advice; he followed the torrent which drew him on; and those people who had seen him at the time of his marriage had difficulty in recognizing him, so great a change had been wrought in him by debauchery and gambling.
What an existence is that of a gambler! Never a moment’s repose or tranquillity! It seems that a permanent fever acts constantly on his organs; his eyes are hollow and rimmed with red; his complexion pale and seamed by lack of sleep; his cheeks sunken, all his features drawn; his dress soiled and in disorder; his gait jerky or uncertain; feverish anxiety can be read in his eyes; if he smiles, it is with bitterness; it seems that cheerfulness is a stranger to his mind, which is incessantly excited by the thirst for gold, by the eagerness for gain, by the anxiety of the gaming table.
Such had Edouard become; who could recognize now the young man who, engrossed by his good fortune and his love, proudly led his charming bride to the altar? Now his features are worn, the expression of his face is changed, his very voice is not recognizable, for amid the passions and agonies of suspense which he endures every day, his transports of despair and rage, his oaths and imprecations have made his accents threatening or hoarse; his conversation bears the imprint of the society which he frequents; not in gambling hells, with swindlers or abandoned women, does one acquire the tone of refined society; one loses in such company all courtesy, all modesty, all restraint. Edouard had acquired the habit of shouting, swearing, flying into a rage on all occasions; his manners, his bearing, his principles, were like those of the models which he had constantly under his eyes. A virtuous, upright, reasonable man has much difficulty in resisting the influence of an evil companion; what then is likely to become of a weak man, enslaved by his passions, who is surrounded by none but the offscourings of society?
The winter arrived; Edouard received no more letters from his wife. He did not know that Dufresne received them for him and returned them to Adeline as from her husband. The first notes had been paid with the money arising from the sale of the furniture; but the second ones were about to mature, and the two inseparables had no more money. In vain did Murville, who no longer blushed to put out his hand to borrow in every direction, go at night, with the small sums he had succeeded in obtaining, to take his seat at the fatal green cloth; in vain did he too try to calculate, and to make combinations by pricking cards, or forming martingales; nothing succeeded. He saw the money that he had deposited with trembling hand upon a number, pass to the banker’s pile; the fatal rake swept from him the sum which he had hoped to quadruple; he had nothing left, he turned his eyes in all directions, seeking some acquaintance from whom he could borrow again, but he saw no one; a gambler has no friends. Edouard left number 9, and hurried through the galleries of the Palais-Royal, entering each academy in search of Dufresne or some other; he found no one who was willing to lend him. He arrived at number 113, which he had never entered as yet. He saw the poor mechanic who goes thither, trembling with anticipation, to risk the fruit of his day’s labor; he leaves the place with empty pockets, and returns to his home, where his wife with her children is waiting for the return of her husband, to go out to buy something for her little family’s supper; but he brings nothing, the poor children will go to bed without food, and the unhappy wife will wet her pillow with her tears, because her husband has been to the gambling house.
And this tradesman, whom people believe to be engrossed by his business,—what does he do in this den of iniquity? he squanders his fortune, his reputation, his honor, the property of his correspondents; he has to pay on the morrow notes which he has signed, and he resorts to the roulette table in search of the funds. His gaze is fixed on the color which he hopes to see come forth, and every time that luck betrays his hopes, his hand, concealed in his coat, tears his clothing and rends his breast. But he feels nothing, his sensations are concentrated on the little ball which is to decide his fate.
This young man, of respectable exterior and decently dressed, who acts as if he wished to hide, because he is still sensitive to shame, comes hither to venture, at the game of chance, a sum which the banker by whom he is employed has intrusted to him to be taken to a notary. Luck betrays him, he has lost all! And yet he remains there; he cannot as yet credit his crime, his misfortune! What will he do upon leaving that vile den, where he has left honor behind? His family is poor, but honorable; he cannot make up his mind to bring dishonor upon it, to endure his father’s reproaches; despair takes possession of his soul, and he sees but one means to avoid the future which terrifies him. He goes forth, he walks hurriedly in the direction of the river, he arrives there, and puts an end to his existence by leaping into the waves! And a man who might have followed a happy and honorable career, a man who should have assured the happiness of his family, commits suicide at twenty years of age because he has been to the gambling house.
Such pictures are only too true; we have examples of them every day; when will these abodes of crime cease to be tolerated?
Edouard should have profited by the lessons which he had before his eyes; instead of that, he took his seat at the game of biribi; he still had ten sous in his pocket; and he hastened to risk them on the table where the last farthing is extorted from the poor wretches who resort to it.
He had been at the table but a moment, seated among people who resembled beggars, when Dufresne appeared and motioned to him to follow him.
“I have good news for you,” he said with a joyful air; “in the first place, your mother-in-law died last night of an attack of apoplexy.”
“Is it possible?”
“It was a young fellow employed here, who lives in her house, who just told me. Moreover, I have obtained the money on your notes, on condition that you give a mortgage on your house at Villeneuve-Saint-Georges.”
“My house—but——”
“Come, come; don’t raise objections! In any event, with what little money you get from your mother-in-law, you will be able to pay your notes and redeem your house. You see that everything is turning out for the best. Oh! if only I had thought of your country house before! But now you are in funds, that is the essential thing; all that you will need, to obtain what Madame Germeuil has left, is a power of attorney from your wife.”
“How am I to get it? I shall never dare to tell her of her mother’s death; she will be desperate!”
“Very well; I will undertake to do it. If you wish, I will go to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges in your place, and I will tell your wife the news with all possible precaution.”
“You will do me a great favor. Tell her also that I have not forgotten her, that I expect to go to see her very soon.”
“Yes, I know all that I must say to her; rely upon my zeal and my friendship.”
This arrangement being concluded, Dufresne urged Edouard to make haste to provide him with the necessary papers, that he might go to Adeline, whom he was burning to see again. As for Edouard, having pledged his country house, the last shelter of his family, and having obtained the proceeds of his notes, he abandoned himself anew to the frantic passion which dominated him.
Adeline was still at the pretty country house. She had arrived there very unhappy and melancholy; but in due time the peaceful country, and the first caresses of her daughter, brought a little repose to her soul; she became resigned to her fate. In the early days after her arrival, she still hoped that Edouard would join her, that he would weary of the false pleasures to which he had abandoned himself, and would open his eyes concerning the people who surrounded him; but she speedily lost this last hope. She wrote to her husband, but he did not reply; she received news from Paris through her mother, and that news was most distressing; she learned in what excesses the man whom she still loved was indulging; she shuddered as she thought of Edouard’s weakness and Dufresne’s vengeance. She wrote again, but her letters were returned to her unopened. This last mark of indifference and contempt cut Adeline to the quick; she waited in silence, and without a complaint, for the man whose joy she had once been, to remember the bonds which attached him to her.
As she was walking in the country one day, with her little Ermance in her arms, Adeline, absorbed by her thoughts, did not notice that she had gone farther than usual; but at last fatigue compelled her to stop; she looked about her: not recognizing her surroundings, and fearing that she would lose her way if she should attempt to return, she bent her steps toward a farm house, which she saw at some distance, in order to ask her way, and to obtain a guide if that were necessary.
She soon arrived at Guillot’s, for it was his farm which she had seen. Louise was in front of her door, driving the ducks and fowls into their coops; Sans-Souci was in the yard, piling bundles of hay. The children were wallowing in the mud according to their custom, with the geese and the chickens.
This picture brought a smile to Adeline’s lips. She regretted that she had not been born in a village, where the days are all alike, monotonous perhaps, but at all events free from trouble and bitterness.
The farmer’s wife cordially invited the young lady to enter the house. She took little Ermance in her arms and dandled her, while answering the questions of Adeline, who learned that she was more than two leagues from her home, and who, touched by the frank and hearty welcome of the villagers, consented to rest for a few moments, and to share the repast prepared for the men about to return from their work.
The clock struck six; that was the time when the people at the farm assembled to partake gayly of their simple but substantial meal, seasoned always by appetite.
Guillot appeared, bringing wood according to his custom. Sans-Souci entered the living room humming a ballad, and Jacques deposited in a corner the instruments of toil. The farmer examined the young lady with the stupid expression which was habitual with him; Jacques bowed and took his seat without paying much attention to Adeline, while she, as she glanced at the newcomers, tried to remember an incident long ago dispelled from her memory.
They took their places at the table; Jacques was seated beside Adeline, who was surprised by his courtesy, by his frank manners, and by his gentleness with the children. From time to time she cast a glance at that stern face, adorned with heavy moustaches, and bearing the scars of several wounds. Jacques did not notice the young lady’s scrutiny; it was impossible for him to recognize her whom he had seen but once, through the gate of a garden, and to whom he had paid little heed. But as she gazed at Jacques’s face and especially at his enormous moustaches, Adeline remembered the place where she had seen him, and she could not restrain an exclamation of surprise.
“What! can it be you, monsieur? Ah! I knew that I had seen you before.”
“Does madame refer to me?” said Jacques in amazement.
“Yes, monsieur, it is surely you; I am certain now.”
“Do you know my comrade, madame?” said Sans-Souci; “if you do, you know a fine, honest fellow.”
“I don’t doubt it, and yet monsieur frightened me terribly.”
“Frightened you, madame; I am very sorry; but how could I have done it?”
“Do you remember a certain day when you went to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, about sixteen months ago? You stood for a long time at the gate of a garden; that barred gate, partly covered with boards, made it impossible to see anything from the garden except your face, and I confess that your eyes, your scars and your moustaches frightened me terribly.”
“What!” said Jacques, after examining Adeline with interest, “you were in that garden?”
“Yes, monsieur, it is the garden of my house. But at that time, I was visiting it for the first time with my mother and my husband.”
Jacques made no reply; he became gloomy and thoughtful; he passed his hand across his forehead, toyed with his moustaches, and uttered a profound sigh.
“Well,” said Guillot, after drinking a large glass of wine, “that shows that it don’t make any difference, and although a face may be or not,—and I say that it ain’t always a moustache behind a gate that does it; for you see, that when a person is frightened at things like that—why that’s how it is——”
“That’s all right, my man,” said the farmer’s wife, cutting short Guillot’s eloquence; “but if madame had seen that cross of honor on our friend Jacques’s stomach, I guess she wouldn’t have been afraid.”
“Oh!” said Adeline, “I don’t need to see it now, to realize my mistake. But what can you expect? his strange position—for women are timid, you know, and that face with moustaches, appearing all alone at the end of the garden——”
“Oh, yes! that’s so,” rejoined Guillot; “it ain’t surprising, and I think that I’d have been afraid myself; because the surprise, behind the gate, and moustaches, in a garden—a body can’t help himself.”
“Hold your tongue, my man! You’re a coward! Ain’t it a shame, cousin?”
“Ten thousand bayonets!” said Sans-Souci; “if robbers attacked the farm house, I promise you that I would make ’em turn to the right about and march!”
“Is your husband still at Villeneuve-Saint-Georges?” asked Jacques of Adeline, after a moment’s silence.
“No, he has been in Paris for a long while.”
The young woman seemed so sad after she had said this that Jacques regretted his question. The more he looked at his brother’s wife, the more he felt drawn toward her and disposed to love her; he did not doubt that Edouard had said nothing of his meeting with him.
“She would not have turned me away,” he said to himself; “with such gentleness in the features and the voice, a person cannot have a hard and unfeeling heart. Edouard alone is guilty. But I will not tell her; I should distress her to no purpose; and, besides, I have no intention of going near the ingrate who spurned me.”
It was growing dark; Adeline could not remain at the farm; everyone offered to escort her, but she selected Jacques, to show him that she harbored no unpleasant memories against him. He was secretly flattered by the preference. He took little Ermance on one arm and offered the other to the young woman, who bade the people at the farm adieu, and, delighted by their cordial welcome, promised to go again to see them.
They walked in silence at first. From time to time Jacques embraced pretty Ermance, who was only eight months old, but who smiled at the honest soldier, and passed her little hand over his moustaches.
“I am very sorry to give you so much trouble,” said Adeline, “but I did not think that I had gone so far.”
“Madame, it is a pleasure to me.”
“That child must tire you.”
“Tire me! No! ten thousand cannons!—Ah! I beg pardon; one should not swear before ladies.”
“It is very excusable in an old soldier.”
“You see, I am very fond of children; and this little one is really so pretty.”
“Ah me! she is my only consolation!” murmured Adeline.
Jacques could not hear, but he saw that she was sad, and he changed the subject.
“Madame will soon return to Paris, no doubt; it is late in the season, October is almost here.”
“No, I do not expect to leave the country yet; I may pass the winter here.”
“This is strange,” thought Jacques; “she remains in the country and her husband in the city; can it be that they do not live happily together?—In that case,” he said aloud, “I hope that we shall have the pleasure of seeing madame at the farm sometimes.”
“Yes, I look forward with pleasure to going there again. You are a relative of the farmer, I suppose?”
“No, madame, my comrade is their cousin, but I am only an old soldier, without family or acquaintances, whom they have been good enough to supply with work.”
“I am sure that they congratulate themselves upon it every day.—You are still young, you cannot have served very long?”
“I beg your pardon, I enlisted very early.”
“And on your return from the army you had no mother, no sister, to take care of you and to make you forget the fatigues of war?”
“No, madame. I have only one relative, and he treated me with so little affection! I am proud, I have a keen sense of honor, and I rejected assistance which was not offered by the heart, and which would have humiliated me.”
“That must have been some distant relative?”
“Yes, madame.”
“My husband has a brother. By the way, his name is Jacques as yours is. He left his family many years ago; he is dead, no doubt, but if he were still alive, if he should return—oh! I am very sure that Edouard would be overjoyed to see him.”
Jacques made no reply; but he turned his head aside to conceal a tear that dropped from his eyes.
At that moment they arrived at Murville’s house. Adeline urged Jacques to come in and rest for a few moments; but he declined; he was afraid of yielding to his emotions, and of betraying himself.
“At least,” said the young woman, “when you come to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, I hope that you will come to see me. I will show you the gardens which you saw only through the gate.”
“With pleasure, madame; and I urge you not to forget the farm.”
Adeline promised and Jacques went away, after casting a last glance at the house.
“That is a fine fellow,” said Adeline, as she entered the house, “and mamma and I judged him very unjustly. I am sure that that rough and stern exterior conceals a sensitive and honest heart. Ah! appearances are often deceitful!”
Some time after, Adeline went to the farm one morning, followed by her nurse, a stout country girl, who carried her child. The villagers received her joyfully; Adeline was so amiable, so sweet, so simple with the people at the farm, that they were quite at their ease with her. Guillot began sentences that never ended; Louise played with little Ermance; Sans-Souci swore that he had never seen such a lovely woman in the regiment, and Jacques manifested the greatest regard for the young woman, and the deepest interest; his attentions to Adeline were so considerate, his manners so respectful, that she did not know how to interpret his affecting yet mysterious conduct; but there was in Jacques’s eyes an expression at which no one could take offence; only interest and affection could be read in them, and her heart was moved by those same sentiments, although she could not understand them.
They all disputed for the honor of escorting the young lady home. Guillot would offer his arm, Louise insist on carrying the child, Jacques on acting as guide, and Sans-Souci on going before as skirmisher. But Adeline, in order to make none of them jealous, returned alone with her maid when it was not late, unless the weather was very fine; for in that case, Villeneuve-Saint-Georges was a pleasant walk, which they insisted upon taking with Madame Murville, who was touched by the attachment which the peasants showed for her.
Several months passed in this way. Winter had come, the verdure had disappeared, the country was dismal. Adeline received no company. She was alone in her house with her maid and an old gardener, who had replaced the insolent concierge, dismissed by Adeline because she had learned that he turned the poor people and beggars harshly away when they begged a crust of bread at her door.
Adeline’s only diversion was to go to the farm, when the weather was fine and the air not too sharp for her child. Jacques was conscious of a feeling of satisfaction as soon as he saw her; but he concealed a large part of his sensations, in order not to arouse the curiosity of the peasants. Sans-Souci was the only one who was in Jacques’s confidence; he knew that Adeline was the wife of Jacques’s brother; but he had sworn not to reveal the secret to anyone; and his oath could be relied upon, although privately he raged at his inability to inform Adeline of the bond between her and his friend. But Jacques insisted that it should be so. He had divined a part of his sister-in-law’s griefs, and he did not wish to intensify them by telling her of Edouard’s conduct toward him.
Meanwhile, they were very far from suspecting at the farm what was taking place in Paris. Intelligence arrived only too soon, to destroy such repose as Adeline still enjoyed. It was Dufresne who had taken it upon himself to wreck the peace of mind of the woman whose scorn he was unable to forgive.
One day, Adeline learned that a gentleman just from Paris desired to speak with her; she went to the salon where the stranger was, and shuddered with horror when she saw Dufresne, seated in an easy-chair, and placidly awaiting her arrival.
“You here, monsieur!” she said, striving to recover her courage; “I did not suppose that you would dare to appear in my presence again!”
“I beg pardon, madame,” Dufresne replied in a hypocritical tone; “I hoped time would lessen your hatred.”
“Never, monsieur; you know too well that your outrages can never be effaced from my memory! Make haste to tell me what brings you here.”
“I am going to cause you distress again; but your husband’s orders——”
“Speak; I am prepared for anything.”
“Your mother, you know, of course——”
“My mother! Oh heaven! It cannot be that she is sick? But she wrote me only a short time ago.”
“An attack of apoplexy, a blood vessel——”
“Great God! she is dead, and I did not see her in her last moments!”
Adeline fell upon a chair, utterly crushed; two streams of tears flowed from her eyes, and her sobs, her grief, would have moved the most insensible of mortals; but gentle sentiments were not made for Dufresne’s heart; he was only moved by the passions which degrade mankind. He contemplated in silence the despair of a young and lovely woman, whose unhappiness was his work; he listened to her sighs, he seemed to count her sobs, and far from feeling the slightest twinge of repentance, he deliberated upon the fresh torments which he proposed to inflict on her.
Dufresne’s presence intensified Adeline’s grief; before him she could not even weep freely and think solely of her mother; she tried to summon a little courage in order to dismiss the contemptible man who fed upon her suffering.
“Was your only purpose in coming here to tell me of the cruel loss I have suffered?” she said, rising and trying to restrain her sobs.
“Madame, the property which Madame Germeuil left must be administered; I feared that it would be painful to you to attend to these details which are indeed your husband’s concern, but we require your signature, and I have brought the papers.”
“Oh! give them to me, give them to me! I will sign anything; I consent to give up everything! But at least let my retirement no longer be disturbed by your presence!”
As she spoke, Adeline seized the papers which Dufresne handed her, she signed them all blindly, and handed them back to him, and was turning away, but he grasped her with violence by the arm, just as she was about to leave the salon.
“One moment, madame; you are in a great hurry to leave me. For my own part, I propose to recompense myself for the time I have passed without seeing you; besides, I have news of your husband for you.”
A cruel smile gleamed in Dufresne’s eyes; Adeline shuddered and tried to escape.
“Do not detain me,” she cried, “or I shall find a way to punish your audacity.”
“Oh! don’t be so proud, my lovely Adeline! Do you suppose that I have not taken my precautions? Your gardener is busy at the end of the garden, your maid has gone down to her kitchen, where she cannot hear you; for I know this house perfectly. You will stay here because I wish it; you will listen to me, and then we will see.”
“Villain! do not think to frighten me; the hatred which you inspire in me will double my strength.”
“Ah! so you hate me still; you refuse to be reasonable? I am of better composition; I would forget your insults if you would consent to love me at last. But beware; my patience will wear out, and then I shall be capable of anything.”
“O mon Dieu! must I listen to such infamous words?”
“Come, no temper! you cannot love your husband any longer, for he abandons you, forgets you, ruins you, consorts with prostitutes and haunts gambling houses. He is now almost as much of a rake as of a gambler, and that is not saying little; he will bring you to the gutter!—But I will give you riches; nothing will cost too much that will gratify your desires. Open your eyes! and see if I am not the equal of your imbecile Edouard! You are silent? Good,—I see that you realize the justice of my words.—Let us make peace.”
Dufresne walked toward Adeline; she uttered a piercing shriek.
“What! still the same harsh treatment? Oh! I will not make this journey for nothing; I must have a kiss.”
“Monster! I would rather die!”
“Oh, no! one doesn’t die for so small a matter.”
In vain did the unhappy woman try to flee, the villain held her fast; he was about to sully with his impure breath the lips of beauty, when a loud noise was heard, and in another instant Jacques entered the salon, followed by Sans-Souci.
Dufresne had not had time to leave the room; the struggle that Adeline had sustained had exhausted her strength; she could only falter these words:
“Deliver me, save me from this monster!” then she fell unconscious to the floor.
Jacques ran to Adeline, shaking his fist at Dufresne. The latter tried to go out, but Sans-Souci barred his passage, crying:
“One moment, comrade; you have failed in respect to this young lady, and you don’t get off like this.”
“You are wrong,” replied Dufresne, doing his utmost to conceal the perturbation which had seized him at sight of Jacques. “This lady is subject to attacks of hysteria; I hurried here in response to her cries; I came to help her. Let me go for her servants.”
Sans-Souci was hesitating, he did not know what to think; but Jacques, struck by Dufresne’s voice, had turned and was examining him carefully; he soon recognized him and shouted to Sans-Souci:
“Stop that villain; don’t let him escape; it is Bréville,—that scoundrel who robbed me at Brussels! Ten thousand cartridges! he has got to pay me for that!”
“Aha! my comrade,” said Sans-Souci, “you didn’t expect to be recognized! It is disagreeable, I agree; but you have got to dance. Forward!”
Dufresne saw that it was impossible to escape by stratagem; his only resource was in flight. Jacques was still busy over Adeline, who had not recovered her senses; therefore there was only Sans-Souci to stop him; but Dufresne was stout and strong, Sans-Souci small and thin. He at once made up his mind; he rushed upon his adversary, whirled him about, threw him down before he had time to realize what was happening, and leaping over him, opened the door and descended the stairs four at a time. But Louise had accompanied Jacques and Sans-Souci to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges; they had come to invite Madame Murville to be one of a small party, which they were preparing for Guillot’s birthday. On entering the courtyard and not finding the gardener, the farmer’s wife had gone to the kitchen to learn where madame was; and Jacques and his companion were waiting at the foot of the stairs when they heard shrieks and hastened up to Adeline’s assistance.
In his flight Dufresne encountered Louise, who was going up to the salon; he roughly pushed her aside, she stumbled and fell between his legs. While he was trying to disentangle himself, Sans-Souci, who had risen, and who was frantic at being worsted by the villain, ran up, armed with his knotted stick; he overtook Dufresne, and bestowed upon his head and shoulders a perfect hailstorm of blows, which he had not time to ward off. Thereupon he ran toward the garden, with Sans-Souci in pursuit; but Dufresne, who knew all the windings, succeeded in eluding his enemy. Coming to a wall along which there ran a trellis, he climbed over, jumped down into the fields, and fled toward Paris, cursing his misadventure.
Sans-Souci returned to the house when he found that the man he was looking for had escaped. Adeline had recovered consciousness, thanks to the attentions of Jacques, who had not left her. She opened her eyes, and saw Jacques at her feet and the farmer’s wife at her side.
“Ah! my friends,” she said, in a voice trembling with emotion, “without you I should have been lost!”
“The villain!” said Jacques; “oh! I have known him for a long time; he robbed me once; I will tell you about that, madame.”
“Ah! the rascal!” said the farmer’s wife in her turn; “he threw me head over heels just as if I was a dog; but Sans-Souci gave him a fine beating, I tell you! You couldn’t see the stick!”
At that moment Sans-Souci returned with an air of vexation.
“Well,” said Jacques, “did you stop him?”
“No; I don’t know how he did it, but I lost sight of him in the garden, which he seems to know. For my part, I didn’t know which way to turn; but no matter, he got a trouncing. If madame wishes, I will beat up the fields and search the village.”
“No, it is no use,” said Adeline; “I thank you for your zeal; but we will let the villain go; I flatter myself that he will never dare to show his face here again.”
“Didn’t he steal anything, madame?” said Jacques.
“No, he came here about some business, to get some information; then he dared to speak to me of love; and flying into a rage at my contempt, he was about to proceed to the last extremity, when you arrived.”
“The monster! Ah! if I find him——”
“Pardi! what a miserable scamp! To think of falling in love with a sweet, pretty woman like Madame Murville! I wouldn’t let him touch the end of my finger!”
“He had better not think of touching anything of yours, or of looking at madame,” said Sans-Souci; “or by the battle of Austerlitz, the hilt of my sword will serve him for a watch chain.”
Tranquillity was restored; but Adeline, sorely distressed by the loss of her mother, and by what the treacherous Dufresne had told her of Edouard, refused to go to Guillot’s party, to the great disappointment of the people at the farm. In vain did Louise and her companions try to shake her resolution; they could obtain no promise; they had to return, sadly enough, without Madame Murville, and to leave her a prey to the sorrow with which she seemed overwhelmed.
Jacques and Sans-Souci offered to pass the night in the house, in order to defend her against any new enterprises on the part of the villain who had escaped them; but Adeline would not consent; she thanked them, assuring them that she had nothing more to fear; but urged them to come often to see her.
The people from the farm took their leave regretfully, and Jacques registered an inward vow to watch over his brother’s wife.
“How does it happen that I am ruined, while I see other men win all the time? Shall I never be able to find a way to grow rich rapidly?”
Thus did Edouard commune with himself on the day of Dufresne’s departure for Villeneuve-Saint-Georges. He came out of an academy—a decent method of designating a gambling hell,—where he had lost a large part of the sum he had borrowed on his house. He strode angrily along the streets of Paris; he dreamed of cards, of martingales, of series, of parolis, and of all those unlucky combinations which constantly perturb the brain of a gambler. A noisy burst of music, the booming of a bass drum, the strains of two clarinets and a pair of cymbals, roused him from his reverie; he raised his eyes with the intention of walking away from the musicians, whose uproar tired him, and saw that he was in front of a lottery office. The music which he heard was produced by one of those travelling bands which, for a forty-sou piece given them by the keeper of the office, raise an infernal tumult before the door and attract all the gossips of the neighborhood to the “lucky office” where the list of ambes, ternes, and even quaternes, said to have been won, is hung at the door with an exact statement of the result of the lottery; the whole embellished with pink and blue ribbons like the sweetmeats in a confectioner’s window.
Edouard stopped instinctively, and like all the rest, gazed at the seductive list. Seventy-five thousand francs won with twenty sous! That was very enticing! To be sure, the winner had had a quaterne; that is very rare; but still it has been seen, and one man’s chance is as good as another’s.
“Ah! neighbor, what a fine drawing!” said a fish dealer to a fruit woman, who stood near Edouard, copying the result of the lottery; “11, 20, 44, 19, 76.—I ought to be as rich as a queen to-day. Here, for more than a year I have been following up a dry terne on the first three numbers that come out; the day before yesterday was the last day. I was waiting for Thomas, who works at La Vallée; he was going to bring me a goose stuffed with chestnuts for our supper, with some sixteen-sou wine from Eustache’s at the Barreaux Verts, which has a fine bouquet! It was my idea to have a nice little supper in a private room—that brings luck—and to take my ticket when we went home to bed.—But not a bit of it. Thomas kept me cooling my heels, waiting for him. I got tired of it and went to his garret, and he had colic in the loins from dancing too much on Sunday at the Rabbits. I had to stay and nurse him, the closing time passed and I forgot my dry terne while I was giving him injections.”
“Poor Françoise! that was hard luck.—Well! my poor dead man might have had pains in his belly—that wouldn’t ‘a’ made me forget my tickets! For the last ten years I’ve always paid my rent with number 20; it went a little by the date this time, but I got it all the same—I put my counterpane up the spout to do it. You see, I’d rather have sold my chemise than dropped it, for I was bound to have it.”
“Do you know any of those that won the big prize?”
“Why, the dry goods dealer’s cook. Three numbers taken out of the wheel at random!”
“That’s what I call luck!”
“Oh! it ain’t to be wondered at; she dreamed that her master used the soup-kettle for a chamber.”
“Then it was sure money! I’m down on my luck; I’ve never been able to dream of nasty things.”
“Oh! as for me, I often used to dream some in my late husband’s time.”
Edouard turned away, forcing a passage through the crowd in front of the office. As he walked along he thought of the numbers that had come out. It was not so quick a way of getting rich as roulette, the chances were less favorable; but the results, when one is lucky, are much more advantageous, as one may win a large sum with a modest coin.
He passed the day thinking about the lottery, and the next morning he decided to tempt fortune in that new manner. He entered the first office that he saw; and he had not to go far, for lottery offices are more numerous than poor relief offices.
It was ten o’clock in the morning. It was the last day of a foreign lottery. The office was full, the crowd was so great that one could hardly enter, and it was necessary to take one’s place at the end of a long line in order to exchange one’s money for some slips of paper.
Edouard decided to wait. He glanced at the crowd that surrounded him. It was composed almost entirely of people of the lower classes—street hawkers, cooks, menders of lace, cobblers, messengers, rag-pickers.
It is not that the upper classes do not try their luck in the lottery; but fashionable people send others to buy tickets for them, and the bourgeois, who are ashamed of what they do, enter only by the private door.
Edouard held his nose, for that assemblage of ladies and gentlemen exhaled an odor anything but agreeable; and the muddy boots of the Savoyard, the fish-woman’s herring, the rag-picker’s bag, the cobbler’s wax, and the cook’s whiting formed a combination of smells which would disgust a grenadier. But the purchasers of lottery tickets are engrossed by their calculations and they smell nothing.
While awaiting their turn, the habitués form groups and confide their dreams and ideas to one another. Everyone talks at once; but in that respect everyone is wise; it is a veritable babel, despite the remonstrances of the mistress of the place, who shouts every five minutes, as they do in court:
“Silence in the corner. Pray be quiet, mesdames, you can’t hear yourself think!”
Edouard, not being accustomed to it, was bewildered by the chatter of the gossips, who talked on without stopping; but wealth cannot be bought too dearly, and he made the best of it, and even determined to profit by what he overheard.
“My girl,” said an old hag covered with rags, to another who held her chafing-dish under her arm; “I saw a gray spider behind my bed this morning before breakfast.”
“Pardi!” replied the other—”spiders! I see ’em every day at home!”
“No matter, they bring luck; I’m going to put a crown on 9, 30 and 51; I’m sure they won’t all draw blanks.”
And the poor creature, who wore no stockings and whose skirt was full of holes, took a crown from her pocket to put on her spider. To those who believe firmly in dreams, numbers cease to be numbers, and become the objects they have seen in their dreams, all of which are represented by particular numbers, as set forth in the books of dreams, the Petit Cagliostro, the Aveugle du Bonheur, and a thousand nice little works of about the same value, which the ticket buyers know by heart. The keeper of the office, who knew her trade, and, when the customer was worth the trouble, could make calculations on the mists of the Seine, told them what numbers to take, when they described their dreams to her.
“Monsieur, give me my oxen,” said an oyster woman, presenting her thirty-sou piece.
“Monsieur, put twenty-four sous on a white cat for me.”
“My aunt’s dressing jacket, monsieur.”
“My little woman, some anchovies, in the first drawing.”
“Give me a terne on artichokes.”
“My child, I saw horses trotting round my room all night, just as if it was a stable.”
“What color were they?” inquired the agent, with the most comical gravity.
“Bless me! wait a minute—I believe they were dappled—no, they were black.”
“That’s 24.—Were they harnessed?”
“I should say so!”
“That’s 23.—Did they run fast?”
“Like the Circus!”
“That’s 72.”
“All right! arrange ’em right for me. With such a dream as that, I can’t fail to have a carriage to ride in.”
“I had a funnier dream than that! I was in a country where there was cows that danced with shepherds and shepherdesses, and houses built of gingerbread.”
“The deuce you say! You could get fat by licking the walls.”
“Let her go on, saucebox.”
“And I was rowing on a river where the water was boiling and bubbling like a soup-kettle.”
“And you caught fish all cooked, eh?”
“Hold your tongue, you magpie!—At last I saw a palace on the other side of the river, come up out of the ground the way they do at the Funambules; the roof was made of diamonds, the walls of gold, the windows of silver and the door of rubies.”
“The devil! that must ‘a’ made your gingerbread houses look mean.”
“When I sees that, I tells my boatman—and a fine young man he was—I tells him to take me to the palace; and would you believe that he asks me to let him make a fool of me as pay for my passage. I said no, sharp, but he didn’t listen to me; he just threw me into the bottom of his boat—and the rascal overpowered me, my dears!”
“Well! so that’s your fine dream! All that just to come to the climax! It was your man, of course; while you was asleep, he——”
“Oh, yes, indeed! Why, not since Saint-Fiacre’s Eve, six months ago——”
“Oho! so you’ve had a row, have you?”