Three months had passed, and I had not tried to see Madame Sordeville again. However, her image had not faded from my heart; on the contrary, she was constantly in my thoughts, and I imagined her as amiable and fascinating as on the first day that I saw her. So that I was not cured of my passion for that lady, although I had sufficient self-control not to call upon her again. To my mind, it was perfectly natural to love a person who did not love me; that is something that happens every day; but I did not understand how any man could consent to act as laughing stock to a coquette. One must needs try to retain a certain amount of dignity; to forget one's dignity is not the way to win love. When, burning with desire to see Armantine, I was on the point of forgetting my resolutions and running to throw myself at her feet, I remembered how she had left me abruptly, to attend to her tea, without a word in reply to what I had said to her.

I had not once met Madame Dauberny, and I regretted more deeply every day the loss of that strange creature's friendship. It was so novel to be thou'd by a woman whose lover I had never been. At least, it was a change, a departure from common custom. And then, she had given me her confidence so unreservedly! Why had I sacrificed all that by a moment's forgetfulness?

But, after all, I considered that FrÉdÉrique had treated me very harshly. She might well have scolded me, have made me understand my mistake, without breaking off all relations with me on the spot. The idea of being so angry about a kiss! It was a most extraordinary thing, for that is one of the offences which the sex readily forgives. And then, there were so many extenuating circumstances! The supper, the champagne, the hour! And that hair of hers, which she arranged in a different way every minute!

It was the end of February, and the cold was still very sharp, when, on one of those keen, bracing mornings that invite one to walk, I happened to remember Mignonne Landernoy. Poor girl! How could I have forgotten her so long, and all for a coquette who certainly did not give a thought to me! I determined to repair my neglect at once. I enveloped myself in a heavy coat, put a comforter around my neck, and started for Rue MÉnilmontant.

As I walked along, I recalled Mignonne's plight when I saw her in November; I thought of all that must have happened since then, and I was conscious of nothing but an eager desire to have news of the young woman. I quickened my pace, and at last found myself in front of the concierge's door. She was surrounded by cats, as on the occasion of my first visit.

At sight of a man enveloped in a heavy coat with the collar turned up, and with his face almost entirely hidden by a comforter, Madame Potrelle sat up in her chair and took one of the cats in her right hand as if to hurl it at my head.

"What do you want, monsieur?" she cried, with an imposing air; "what does this mean? Do people come into other people's houses disguised like that? Unmask yourself, monsieur; I don't answer masks, I tell you!"

I removed my comforter, and could not refrain from laughing at the concierge's alarm, as I said:

"Are comforters unknown in your quarter, madame? It seems to be quite as cold here as it is where I came from."

The good woman uttered an exclamation of surprise, for she recognized me; thereupon she placed on the stove the cat she had seized in lieu of a pistol, which instantly vanished. I stepped into the lodge.

"What! is it you, monsieur? Pardine! I remember you now! You're the young man with the shirts."

"The same, madame; it was I who left with you some work for—Madame Landernoy."

"And a letter; yes, yes! Oh! I recognize you. But I couldn't see anything but your eyes just now, and, you see, that startled me at first. Well! you've taken your time about coming to get your shirts; anybody can see you ain't in a hurry!"

"Tell me about that poor young woman."

"She's pretty well, although she works awful hard. You see, she has to work for two now! She was confined more than two months ago; she's got a little girl, a sweet, pretty little thing."

"Ah! so much the better! And the child is with her?"

"Yes, to be sure; oh! there's no danger of her parting with the child; she nurses her herself, and never leaves her a minute; she's so afraid something'll happen to her, that she'll cry or need her care, that she wont let her out of her sight a single minute. When she goes out to buy her provisions, she carries her in her arms. Sometimes I say to her: 'Why, Madame Landernoy'—I never call her anything but madame now—'why, Madame Landernoy,' I says, 'just leave your child here with me; I'll look after little Marie while you do your errands, and you can go much quicker if you don't have her to carry.'—But she won't do it. I believe, God forgive me! that she's afraid my cats will hurt the child; but they ain't capable of it, monsieur; I've brought 'em up too well for that. They're playful and sly—that's because they're young, and we've all been young; but as for bad temper and clawing, I never saw any signs of it in 'em."

"I see that Madame Landernoy loves her daughter dearly."

"Love her! why, her daughter's her life, her thought, her heart! Ah! my word! it would be a pity not to have a child, when one's such a good mother!"

"You are right, madame; children are a burden only to those who do not know how to love them! Did the young mother consent finally to accept the work I left with you?"

"Yes, monsieur. At first, when she read your letter—she read it here in my lodge—she shook her head like a person who ain't quite convinced. What can you expect? she's suspicious, poor girl! Well! just hear me call her a girl, will you! what a stupid! The poor woman has good cause for that. A scalded cat's afraid of cold water—mine all are; I can punish 'em more, monsieur, by throwing two or three drops of water in their faces than if I took a stick to 'em."

"You were saying that when Madame Landernoy read my letter she did not seem fully convinced of the honesty of my intentions?"

"There was a little doubt left in her mind; but then she says: 'I may as well do this work, as that gentleman will come here to get it.'"

"So that my shirts are done?"

"Yes, monsieur; they've been here more'n five weeks, with the little bill; and in the last few days Madame Landernoy's asked me two or three times if you'd been or sent anybody to get your shirts—because, I guess—just now—— Dame! monsieur, work ain't always very plenty, you understand; and now that she's got a child, she has to have a stove in her room, because she don't want her daughter to take cold."

"I understand, madame; I am very, very sorry that I delayed so about coming. Give me the bill at once."

"Take your shirts first and see how well they're done! Such sewing! it's perfect!"

The concierge had taken a parcel from her commode; but I pushed it away, saying:

"I am sure they are well done. But the bill, the bill!"

"I'll give it to you, monsieur. I'm sorry you won't look at your shirts. Here's the bill—yes, that's it."

I looked to see what I owed, and read:

"For making twelve shirts—twenty-seven francs."

I put my hand in my pocket, and sighed.

"Twenty-seven francs!" I muttered.

"Dame! yes, at forty-five sous the shirt," said the concierge, hearing the sigh. "Do you think that's too much?"

"No, madame; on the contrary, I think that it's not enough. The young woman must spend at least two days making a shirt, doesn't she?"

"I should think so! Say three, and you'll be nearer the mark."

"So that, by working constantly, and robbing herself of sleep perhaps,—for she has a child that often requires her attention,—the poor woman would earn only fifteen sous a day. Can she live, board and clothe herself, and keep herself warm, on fifteen sous?"

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, it ain't every woman who sews for a living as earns that. But then, as you say, they can't live, and they're obliged to—to do something else."

"If I should have these shirts made at a shop, madame, I should have to pay at least three francs each. I am not a tradesman myself, and I don't care to make money out of a workwoman. Twelve shirts at three francs makes thirty-six francs which I owe Madame Landernoy. Be kind enough to hand it to her for me."

I held out the money to the concierge, who did not take it, because she was wiping her eyes. My action seemed to her very meritorious, and yet it was no more than just.

"You are a very good man, monsieur," she said at last, in a tearful voice; "if everybody thought as you do, seamstresses could live and we should see fewer poor wretches on the streets at night. But still, I don't know whether I ought to take the sum you offer me."

"Why not, pray?"

"Because the little woman's so proud in her poverty. She'll say: 'He only owed me twenty-seven francs, and you ought not to have taken any more.'"

"You can explain to her that it's the price I always pay."

"Oh, yes! but that won't seem right to her. Dame! what can you expect? She's suspicious, as I told you. And, worse luck! people do so few—honest things in these days——"

"You must remind her that her daughter may need a thousand things."

"Oh, yes! I know; that's where I shall have to catch her. Well, I'll keep what you give me; and I can give it back if she won't take it."

"She must take it! But that is not all, madame; has she much work at this moment?"

"I don't think so; so this money'll come in very handy."

"That isn't enough; it will soon be spent."

"The deuce! how fast you go! My, thirty-six francs is a lot of money!"

"I would like to give Madame Landernoy other work to do."

"But you can't go on having shirts made forever."

"Mon Dieu! what can I give her? Ah! does she make waistcoats?"

"I believe she tried one for the landlord's little boy; but they said it was a failure. Still, that little fellow's terrible hard to suit; he had his cap made over five times, and finally swore he'd have a three-cornered hat! He's so spoiled that he's unreasonable. But just let him try again to set my cats fighting!"

"Then it's understood, madame, that I am to buy some material for waistcoat fronts, which I will bring you, together with a pattern, and you are to give the work to Madame Landernoy to do, and tell her not to worry; that her customer isn't exacting, that I am having them made for someone in the country."

The concierge dropped her cats to shake hands with me.

"I understand you, monsieur," she said; "you're afraid the young mother won't have work enough; you mean to give her work, by hook or by crook. You're interested in her, and I'll bet that she makes a mistake to suspicion you. Oh! I know what's what, I do; I can scent one of those empty-headed puppies who comes to talk nonsense, when he's a mile away! They don't go about it the way you do; they slip a piece of money in my hand, with a little note that smells of musk and hair oil, and then they examine the house and the yard and the windows as if they meant to break in. I know 'em, I know 'em!"

"No, Madame Potrelle, I am not a lover—here, at all events."

"Pardi! I can understand that you may be, somewhere else. It would be a pity if you didn't think about such things, at your age."

"I will go and buy the material and bring it to you."

"But that will give you the trouble of coming back again, monsieur. If you want, I can save you that. My niece happens to be here just now, and she can look out for my lodge while I go to monsieur's address; and I'll tell you at the same time whether Madame Landernoy consents to take the thirty-six francs."

Something told me that the woman had some hidden reason for making that suggestion. I fancied that she desired to come to my lodgings, so that she might find out more about me and be certain that I had given my own name in my letter to Mignonne; indeed, might it not be that the young mother herself had asked her to try to find out who I was?

As I had nothing to fear from such information as Madame Potrelle could collect about me, I accepted her proposal.

"Here is my address," I said, handing her one of my cards. "Be there in two hours, and I shall have made my purchases. Please be good enough to bring me my shirts at the same time."

"With pleasure, monsieur!"

Madame Potrelle was prompt; I had been at home only a few minutes, when Pomponne appeared and said with comic gravity:

"There's a woman outside asking for you, monsieur. She has something in her apron, and a parcel under her arm. I suppose she's a second-hand dealer who wants to sell you something."

"Hold your tongue, Pomponne, and show her in!"

My servant obeyed my order, although he seemed much puzzled that I received in my salon a person whom he evidently considered unworthy of the honor; and he kept his eye on the object which the concierge held to her breast, wrapped in her apron. I motioned to him to withdraw, and he left the room, walking backward.

Madame Potrelle made a succession of reverences, and handed me my shirts, which she had under her arm, wrapped in a handkerchief. The good woman expressed her admiration of my apartments and their furnishings; which goes to show that opulence always produces its effect on the multitude and on private individuals as well. I tried to put her at her ease, and forced her to sit down in an easy-chair; but she continued to hug her apron to her breast, and it seemed to embarrass her.

At last she partly opened the apron, saying:

"I beg your pardon, monsieur, for venturing to bring him here—but he never goes out, poor dear, and I thought it would do him good."

"What do you mean, Madame Potrelle? have you got a child in there?"

"No, monsieur, no; it's one of my cats, Bribri, the youngest one. The others let him be and won't ever play with him, just because he limps a bit, poor little rascal! He's got a little trouble in his leg. Cats are as bad as men; they turn up their noses at the weak ones! That's why I wanted to give the poor dear a little pleasure."

"You did well, Madame Potrelle; let Bribri run about a little, if you wish."

"You see, monsieur, my cats are well brought up; they ain't capable of forgetting themselves, no matter where they be."

"I am sure of it."

The concierge opened her apron entirely, and a small black and white cat escaped from its folds and scuttled under a piece of furniture.

"Well," I said, "have you seen Madame Landernoy?"

"Yes, monsieur; when she found out that you'd given me more money than she'd put in her bill, she wouldn't take it, and she almost got mad with me. It was no use for me to say: 'The gentleman always pays that price;' she said that didn't make any difference to her. The only way I could make her take the money was to tell her that you had other work for her to do and she could let it go on that.—Well! on my word! there he is on the couch now! Bribri! you mustn't get upon that, you scamp!"

"We will see, when it comes to paying for the waistcoats. Poor girl! what noble pride! what an upright soul! And this is the sort of woman that men take pleasure in defiling!"

"What do you say, monsieur?"

"Nothing, Madame Potrelle. Here are the material, the linings, and the pattern. Take them all, and please accept this for your trouble."

I slipped five francs into the concierge's hand; she made some objection to taking it, declaring that whatever she did for her tenant she did unselfishly. I succeeded without too much difficulty in removing her scruples. She took the material; but the next thing was to capture Bribri, who had established himself under a sofa and refused to come out at all, or came out only to run under something else. It seemed to me that he showed much agility for a cripple.

Madame Potrelle made the circuit of my salon several times on all fours. At last, by rolling a ball of paper across the floor, we succeeded in enticing and catching Bribri, whom his mistress replaced in her apron, saying reprovingly:

"You ain't been a good boy; you shan't go out again for six weeks.—Adieu, monsieur! you haven't got any other word to send to my tenant?"

"Tell her that I am very fond of children, and that I would like to kiss her daughter."

"Ah! if she could hear you, monsieur, I'll bet that she'd hold her little Marie up to you right away. But you won't let three months go by without coming again, will you, monsieur?"

"No, Madame Potrelle; I shall come very soon to hear about Madame Landernoy."

"And I'll tell her, monsieur, that you're an excellent young man—because—anyone can see right away that—— Well! if the little rascal ain't swearing now! Ah! catch me taking you to walk again!"

I dismissed the concierge, who went away without giving Pomponne a chance to see what she had under her apron. He was thunderstruck.