Madame Sordeville's behavior after my encounter with Ballangier left me in a morose and melancholy humor, which I was unable to overcome for several days. I would have been glad to see Madame Dauberny, to divert my thoughts. If, while losing my hold upon a pretty woman, I had found a sincere friend, I certainly should not have lost by the exchange. But how was I to see FrÉdÉrique? Where could I meet her? Surely I could not go to her house! Strangely enough, I had succeeded in closing the doors of both those ladies; and what had I done to bring about that result? After all, I had no proof that it was FrÉdÉrique who had paid Monsieur Piaulard. To write to her on that subject would be a great blunder, even if I were not mistaken; so I concluded to wait until chance should bring us together.

One morning Pomponne appeared, with the mysterious air which he deemed it fitting to assume, even when he brought me my coat. He leaned over me and said in a low tone:

"Monsieur, that woman who came here some time ago, with something in her apron that I couldn't see—she is outside; she wants to know if she can speak to monsieur."

"What woman? I don't know what you're talking about."

"She said: 'Ask your master if he will see Madame Potrelle.'"

"Madame Potrelle! Idiot! why didn't you tell me her name at once? Certainly I will see her; show her in."

Pomponne seemed sorely perplexed; but he went to the door and said:

"You may come in, Madame Potrelle!"

The concierge from Rue MÉnilmontant made her appearance, courtesying profusely. She had her apron rolled up against her breast as before; which fact led me to think that she had again taken the opportunity to give one of her cats a little outing.

I motioned to Monsieur Pomponne to withdraw; which he did regretfully, after a piercing glance at the concierge's apron.

"Excuse me for disturbing you, monsieur," said Madame Potrelle, unrolling her apron, in which, instead of a cat, I discovered several waistcoats and remnants of material. "I've brought back the work you gave my young tenant; it's been done more'n three weeks now; and, you see, when I found you didn't come again—— Do you know it's more'n two months since you sent Madame Landernoy this work?"

"What? is it really so long as that, Madame Potrelle? I am too negligent altogether. But I have had many things on my mind since, and I may as well admit frankly that I had forgotten my waistcoats."

"Oh! you needn't make any apologies for that, monsieur. Pardi! a young man in society must enjoy himself; that's easy to understand. And then, you know, as a usual thing, the seamstresses carry the work back to their customers—the customers don't go after it. That's why I says to our young mother this morning——"

"First of all, how is she? how is the child coming on?"

"Very well, monsieur; little Marie's rather delicate; she's slight, like her mother; but she's growing like a little mushroom. As for Madame Landernoy—you know, you saw her before the baby was born; well, you wouldn't know her to-day. Her cheeks and lips are red again, and her figure's slender and her eyes clear. Oh! she's mighty pretty now, I tell you!"

"So much the better, I am sure!"

"Well, no, monsieur; it ain't so much the better! in fact, she don't like to have people call her pretty."

"Why so, Madame Potrelle? I shall never believe that a woman is sorry to be attractive."

"Well, that's the way it is with her, monsieur; because, since she's got to be so fresh and pretty, it's begun all over again."

"What has begun again?"

"Oh! mon Dieu! the young popinjays running after her."

"When a woman doesn't answer the men who follow her, they soon leave her in peace."

"Sometimes, monsieur, sometimes. But some of 'em stick like leeches. Still, as you say, she don't answer 'em, and when they come and apply to me, as a middle-aged man did not long ago—you ought to see how I stand 'em off! He offered me ten francs, the blackguard, to let him go upstairs and say two words to Madame Landernoy; he was sure she wouldn't be sorry to have him come; he had a pretty proposal to make to her. 'Monsieur,' says I, standing on my footwarmer to make myself more imposing, 'you take that young woman for what she ain't; and if you don't clear out this minute, I'll throw two cats at your head.' He saw that I had Bribri in one hand and his brother in the other, and he didn't ask for his change. He ran, and I guess he's running still."

"Very well done, Madame Potrelle! I see that your cats may serve a useful purpose on occasion."

"My cats! Why, monsieur, there's Mahon, the oldest one—he's every bit as good as a Newfoundland."

"Did the man you speak of come again?"

"Never. As you said, you can sweep out such fellows as that very quick. But about a week ago, the poor woman came into the house in a terrible fright, trembling all over. She rushed into my place, and said: 'Protect me! don't let him come in here, or I am lost!"

"Mon Dieu! whom had she seen? Her seducer, probably; that wretch who treated her so horribly!"

"I don't think it was him; for his name's Ernest, and that wasn't the name she said. 'He dares to pursue me again, the monster!'—Anyway, she had a terrible scare, for she hasn't dared to put her foot outdoors since that day."

"And she said nothing else?"

"No, monsieur; when I tried to ask her what had scared her so, she said: 'Oh! don't say anything more about it, Madame Potrelle; he's a villain who did me a great injury; but you mustn't let anybody come up to my room, and I shan't go out again for some time.'—Now, monsieur, I'm coming back to your waistcoats. As I have a shrewd knack of guessing when the waters are low—that is to say, when money is scarce, without being told, I says this morning to our young mother, while she was dandling the little girl on her lap: 'But,' I says,'you have some work here that you finished long ago: Monsieur Rochebrune's waistcoats.'—I took the liberty of mentioning your name, monsieur, because I know it from you giving me your address; and you didn't say anything about keeping it secret."

"No, Madame Potrelle; I told you that I had no reason for concealing my name, for I have no evil designs. Go on."

"'The waistcoats are done, that's true,' says Madame Landernoy, 'but I don't know if the gentleman will be satisfied. I did my very best; but as he don't come to get them——' 'Well,' I says, 'as he don't come to get them, why shouldn't we take 'em to him? It seems to me, that would be more polite, for he's rather a dandy, and he wouldn't want to carry a bundle.'—'Perhaps you're right,'she says, thoughtful like; 'but one thing's certain; I won't go to that gentleman's house.'—Do you see? she's still afraid—yes, she's still afraid of you! In spite of all I could say about you, she couldn't believe you would take an interest in her without some motive. You mustn't be angry, monsieur, for, as the proverb says: 'A burnt child dreads the fire.'"

"It doesn't anger me at all, Madame Potrelle; the better one knows the world, the more fully one realizes how hard it is to inspire confidence. That is sad, like almost all truths."

"So, then, monsieur, I offered to bring you the waistcoats; she was more than willing, and here I am. If monsieur wants to examine the work—here's the pattern."

I looked at what the woman had brought me, and was perfectly amazed at the exquisite quality of the work. I had intended the waistcoats for my servant; but they were as fine as if they had come from one of our most famous tailors.

"The buttonholes are pretty well made, seems to me," said the concierge; "but perhaps monsieur don't agree with me?"

"Indeed I do, Madame Potrelle; and I can't understand how that young woman can have succeeded so well with work that she isn't accustomed to."

"Oh! dame! it's because she was bound to satisfy monsieur. Now, you must see if they fit you all right."

I tried on the waistcoats; we were compelled to admit that there was a defect in the way they were cut; they gaped apart at the top. The poor concierge walked round and round me, crying:

"I'm sure it's a small matter, just a little bit to be taken in somewhere; but we must find out where. If our young woman could see 'em on you, I'll bet she'd know in a minute what needs to be done."

"I should be very glad to go to her room and try them on; but she's so afraid of me! No matter! I'll keep them as they are."

"No, monsieur, no; I don't propose to have her send you work that ain't done right; you pay too well."

"By the way, how much do I owe for these?"

"I don't know, monsieur. Madame Landernoy's never made any before; so she says: 'Let the gentleman pay what he thinks they're worth, and I'll be satisfied.'"

"Four waistcoats, at twelve francs each, makes forty-eight francs."

"Oh! monsieur is joking! Twelve francs for making a waistcoat! You can't mean that, monsieur! At that rate, all women would be waistcoat makers; they can't get any such pay as that."

"You weary me with your scruples, Madame Potrelle; my tailor charges me eighteen or twenty francs, sometimes more, for a waistcoat. With what I paid for the material, these won't cost any more than that, and I certainly don't propose to get them any cheaper."

"Sapristi! monsieur, tailors must do mighty well, then! All right, you can pay that price, since that suits you; but, I tell you, I won't take the money till they fit."

Thereupon the concierge walked toward the door.

"Where are you going, Madame Potrelle?"

"I'm going to tell our young woman she must fix over your waistcoats, monsieur; that they're a gold mine, but that she's got to take 'em in a little. In a word, I'm going to bring Madame Landernoy back with me. What the devil! with me here, she won't be afraid of you eating her, I fancy! To be on your guard is all right; but there's no need of making a fool of yourself! I'll be back, monsieur."

"But your door, Madame Potrelle?"

"My cats are there—and my little niece."

The good woman went away, refusing to listen to my remonstrances. Would she bring Mignonne back with her? I most sincerely hoped that the young woman would not be annoyed thereat. My desire to know her better was due solely to my wish to be of use to her. I was not in love with her. Indeed, since Madame Sordeville had treated me so shamefully, I did not propose to love any woman. That was my intention, at least.

Madame Potrelle had been gone nearly two hours, and I was preparing to go out, thinking that she would not return, when there came a gentle ring at my door, and Pomponne soon appeared, still with his air of mystery and walking on tiptoe, and said:

"Monsieur, it's the old woman who was here just now; she hasn't got anything in her apron this time, but she's brought with her a young woman—or demoiselle—who is very good-looking."

I could not help laughing at Monsieur Pomponne's reflections; but I remembered Mignonne's extreme suspicion. It was essential that I should assume a serious bearing, to banish from her mind any thought of seduction. So that my expression was almost stern when I ordered Pomponne to admit my visitors.

Madame Potrelle entered first. Mignonne came behind her, with a timid, embarrassed air, in which one could read a serious and studied reserve. The concierge had not exaggerated when she said that her tenant had become a lovely woman. It was a long time since I had seen Mignonne, and I am not sure that I should have recognized her. She was remarkable for the refinement of her features, for the beauty of her coloring, which was not red, but a delicate pink, perfectly in harmony with her white skin; for her fair hair, which was neither colorless nor of too pronounced a tone; and, lastly, for the genuine blueness of her eyes—a thing that is seldom seen, for most eyes that are called blue are of any color you please except that.

And then, there was in Mignonne's whole aspect a touch of melancholy that made her doubly interesting, because it was in no wise affected; it seemed to me that everyone must, at sight of her, have a feeling of sympathy for her. Perhaps it was because I was acquainted with her misfortunes that I thought so. This much is certain: that, as I looked upon her, I was touched, deeply moved, and that in my feelings there was nothing resembling love, or the desires to which the sight of a pretty girl often gives birth. There was a large element of respect in the interest that she aroused in me.

"Excuse me, monsieur," said Madame Potrelle, pushing Mignonne in front of her. "Here's Madame Landernoy; I told her there was something to be done to your waistcoats, with which you are well satisfied, all the same."

"I regret the trouble you have taken, madame. However, it affords me the opportunity of congratulating you on the perfection of your work. I was fortunate in having you consent to work for me."

I said this in a very cold tone and without fixing my eyes on Mignonne, who seemed to grow a little bolder and replied:

"But your waistcoats don't fit, monsieur——"

"Oh! I think that it's a very small matter; you are not a tailor, and, of course, you could not succeed in doing everything just right at the first trial; but if you will allow me to try on one of them in your presence——"

"Pardi! of course you must try 'em on," cried the concierge; "there's no other way to see what's wrong! and, after all, a waistcoat's different from a pair of breeches!"

Mignonne lowered her eyes at Madame Potrelle's remark. I removed my coat and put on one of the waistcoats. Mignonne had no choice but to come to me and touch my chest and back, like a tailor taking my measure. But while she was making her examination, I was careful not to look at her once; so that she was somewhat reassured.

"I see what needs to be done, monsieur: the collar is too low; it's not much to do, and then I think they'll fit very well. I will take them away with me, and to-morrow——"

She hesitated, and I made haste to say:

"I shall not be here to-morrow, but that makes no difference; if you bring the waistcoats back, be good enough to leave them with the concierge; you need not take the trouble to come up."

"Yes, monsieur," she murmured, almost smiling, for she was beginning to feel altogether at her ease. Madame Potrelle looked at her with a triumphant expression.

I offered Mignonne the money that I owed her. She looked at it and said:

"What, monsieur, as much as that—for so little work? It's too much, monsieur!"

"Madame," I said, rather sharply, "I have told Madame Potrelle what I have to pay my tailor for a waistcoat. I do not intend to make you a present; but, on the other hand, I don't propose to have anyone think that I am trying to defraud a poor seamstress."

"Don't you go to work and make monsieur angry!" cried the concierge. "As he's in the habit of paying that price, what's the use of vexing him and putting him in a bad humor? you mustn't go against people's grain like that!"

Mignonne said nothing; but she took the money I offered, and made a very modest courtesy. For the first time she looked at me without a suspicious expression in her eyes.

"Now," I said, "will you allow me to make you a proposition, madame? You may accept it or not, as you think best. But, first of all, pray be seated for a moment; and you too, Madame Potrelle."

The concierge did not wait to be urged. The younger woman made more ado about it; her suspicions were reawakened. She waited to hear what I had to say.

"I am a bachelor; I have none of the kind-hearted female relations, no aunts or cousins, who condescend sometimes to cast an eye over a young man's linen closet, where there is always something that needs mending. Our clothes especially are sadly neglected; indeed, no care at all is taken of them. The result is that we spend much more money than we need to spend, which would not happen if some trustworthy person, some skilful seamstress, like yourself, madame, would take charge of affairs. This, then, is my proposition: that you should come once a week—with Madame Potrelle—and inspect this chest of drawers in which my linen is kept; carry away what may need to be mended, and bring it back when it is done; in short, madame, that you should keep this part of my establishment in order. If you are afraid of disturbing me, or of finding company here, come about five o'clock in the afternoon, for I am never at home at that time; the keys are always in these drawers, and my servant will have orders to allow you to do as you please. That is what I propose, madame. As for your compensation for the work, I fancy that we shall have no difficulty on that subject."

Mignonne listened to me with close attention. Madame Potrelle was in ecstasies; she could hardly keep her seat, and did nothing but cross and uncross her legs. At last, after reflection, the young woman replied:

"Really, monsieur, I do not know how I have earned the confidence with which you honor me. What you propose is a new proof of your kindness, and——"

"No, no, madame; pray consider that, by undertaking this work, you will do me a real service; you will bring order, and consequently economy, into my housekeeping. So you see that I shall be your debtor. Well! do you accept?"

"Does she accept!" cried Madame Potrelle, springing up as if she were going to dance. "Why, who ever heard of refusing such an offer as that? a thing that makes her sure of regular work; especially when she sees that it's for a gentleman who—for someone who hasn't any desire to—why, it's as plain as can be!"

"Yes, monsieur, I accept, and with gratitude," said Mignonne; "for I have a child, and by giving the mother assurance of a living you benefit the child no less."

I would have liked to shake hands with her; but I restrained myself, and replied, with the same indifferent air:

"In that case, madame, it is all settled, and it rests with you to say when you will enter upon your duties. You will have work enough, I promise you, for it's a long time since my belongings have been put in order."

"Then, monsieur, as I have nothing to do just now, I'll carry a bundle of linen home with me, by your leave. I'll look it over at home, for I have left my daughter with a neighbor, and I don't like to abuse her good nature."

"That's so," said the concierge; "and I ain't very easy in my mind about the actions of my twins and their sister."

"Do as you please, madame. Just open those drawers; you will find the bed and table linen in this closet."

Mignonne opened one of the drawers in the commode, and hastily made up a bundle, which she wrapped carefully in a handkerchief. She was still engaged in that occupation, when I heard my doorbell, and a moment later a familiar voice in the reception room.

"There's no need of announcing me, my boy; I'll go right in without ceremony. A doctor may always go in."

At the same instant, the bedroom door opened and Balloquet appeared.

"Bonjour, my dear fellow!" he said; "I beg your pardon; I interrupt you, perhaps. But if I intrude, tell me so, and I'll go away."

I had just taken Balloquet's hand, and told him to remain, when Mignonne, who had made haste to tie up her bundle, and was about to leave the room with Madame Potrelle, glanced at the new-comer and suddenly changed color; then, trembling with agitation, she threw her bundle on the floor, seized the old woman's arm, and cried:

"Come, come, madame! Let us go at once; I can't stay here another minute! Oh! it's shameful! It was a trap!"

"Well, well! what makes you throw all that linen on the floor? Why don't you carry it away?" murmured the old woman, aghast at Mignonne's action.

"I won't take the work. I refuse it! I'll never come here again, never! never! Come, madame! let us go at once!"

As she spoke, the young woman ran to the door and went out, refusing to listen to what her companion said; and she, utterly unable to understand what she saw, decided to follow her, crying:

"What on earth's the matter with her? What's got into her? Refuse work, when she needs it! Refuse the offers of an honorable man, who wishes her nothing but good! Faith! it's sickening! Much good it does to take an interest in folks! Excuse me, monsieur, I must follow her; but she's got to explain all this. Excuse her, monsieur; it's some crazy idea she's got in her head. Mon Dieu! mon Dieu! to refuse a gentleman like monsieur—there's no sense in it!"

The concierge left the room at last. As for myself, I was so thunderstruck by Mignonne's conduct that it had not occurred to me to ask her for an explanation.

Balloquet, meanwhile, had remained standing in the middle of the room, looking from one to another, unable to understand what was taking place.

"Well! what in the deuce is going on here, my dear fellow?" said the young doctor, when Madame Potrelle had disappeared. "Can it be that my arrival caused all this hurly-burly and put that young woman to flight? She seemed to be a very attractive person—not the one who went out last, but the other. I didn't have time for a good look at her, but she struck me as rather chicolo."

"You didn't recognize her, then, Balloquet?"

"Recognize her? Why, do I know her? I have no remembrance of ever seeing her."

"Ah! I see, I see; I understand it all now."

"You are very lucky, for I don't understand a word of it."

I remembered that Balloquet had been Fouvenard's friend, and it was probable that Mignonne had met him when she was with her seducer; and so, when she saw a man come into my room whom she had seen with him who had deceived her so shamefully, she concluded, doubtless, that I too was a friend of Fouvenard. That being so, was it surprising that her suspicions and her terror should have returned, and that she should have refused to work for me? Poor girl! I had succeeded in winning her confidence, and this accident had destroyed all that I had had so much difficulty in obtaining. It seemed that, with the best intentions, I was fated always to remain an object of terror to her.

I kept my reflections to myself; I deemed it unnecessary to tell Balloquet that the young woman he had found in my room was she whose shame Monsieur Fouvenard had not hesitated to proclaim. My visitor was still standing in the middle of the room, and he cried at last, irritated by my silence:

"Evidently I came at an inopportune moment. Excuse me. I'll come again."

But I detained him and made him sit down.

"No; you could never guess—— But let us say no more about this incident.—You seem in better spirits, my dear Balloquet?"

"Oh! my feathers are coming out again; not enough to pay you, but that may come in time."

"For heaven's sake, don't talk about that!"

"I have seen SatinÉ, my sweetheart, again. She has gone into another invention now—still in the glove line, however. She cleanses gloves; she has invented, or someone has given her, a secret for cleansing them; and as gloves get soiled very quickly and are rather expensive, there's a lot of money to be made in cleansing."

"True; but I thought the process was already known."

"Yes, it is possible to have gloves cleansed; that's so; but when they had been through the process they smelt of the cleansing liquid—turpentine, or something else. You went into a salon and swaggered about, playing the dandy, and people said as soon as you came near: 'Ah! here's a man whose gloves have been cleansed!'—That was annoying, you must admit. It took fifty per cent off your costume. Some people concluded at once that your coat had been turned and your trousers dyed, that your waistcoat was second-hand, etcetera, etcetera. Conjectures went a long way, sometimes."

"And your charmer has found a way of avoiding that?"

"Yes—that is to say, not altogether; gloves cleansed by her process have an extremely pleasant odor; they smell of rose; oh! you can smell them a mile away; it's amazing! You go into a salon, and people think that the Grand Turk and his whole harem have arrived; they can't smell anything but you."

"But that may have the same drawbacks as the other process, my dear fellow. People will wonder why you smell so strongly of rose."

"Yes; but when I arrive, I shall begin by saying: 'I adore the odor of rose! I have lately bought some essence of rose, so strong that all my clothes are perfumed with it'—In that way, I avert suspicion from my gloves. However, it seems that the new process is a success. My sentimental SatinÉ is in funds; the odor of rose is popular. For my part, I have had a few patients—among others, a rich old gentleman with whom I am very well satisfied; he has had an inflammation of the lungs for six weeks, and it doesn't seem inclined to subside. I keep it up by means of fumigations. I have paid three creditors already with that inflammation. To-day, as I happened to be in your neighborhood, I said to myself: 'I may as well call on Rochebrune and give him my address;' for I have an address for the moment. CitÉ VindÉ, No. 4, ter or bis. But I'm very sorry that I put that young woman to flight. Have I such a very terrifying aspect? I haven't any moustache."

"I repeat, Balloquet, don't think any more of that incident. You could not have foreseen what happened.—But tell me about that girl who came to consult you while I was in your room; you remember, don't you? the girl who had been so maltreated by a miserable blackguard!"

Balloquet passed his hand across his brow and his face became almost serious—a rare occurrence.

"Yes, I remember; you mean Annette?"

"Annette—that was the name. You went to see her, didn't you?"

"Yes, I visited her nearly two months."

"And then?"

"And then happened what I had anticipated from the very first: she died."

"Died! Great God! you could not save her?"

"It was impossible. All that I could do was to relieve her suffering as much as possible. Poor girl! she suffered too much, even then. A cancer developed, you understand, at that place. I say again, I deadened the pain as much as I could, but it was impossible to save her."

"It is perfectly ghastly. So the unfortunate child was tortured—yes, murdered by that—— Oh! the infernal scoundrel! the monster!"

"Yes, it was that Bouqueton who caused the poor girl's death; I am ready to testify to it, if necessary. But you told me, I believe, that you know the villain?"

"I don't know him, but I know who he is."

"Well, is there no way of avenging the poor creature, of punishing her assassin?—for the man is an assassin, and a hundred times more criminal than those who ply their trade openly on the highroad. If we prosecuted him before the courts, we should have no chance of proving his crime, I fancy. The victim is dead, and there is no evidence. I asked her several times if she had not some letter, or something that came from that Bouqueton; it would have been invaluable. But all that she had was a paltry ring, of no value, not even gold, which he gave her one day as being very valuable."

"Have you seen the ring?"

"Yes; I asked Annette for it several days before she died. The poor child, who had divined her doom, although I did my best to conceal it from her, gave me the bauble, and said with angelic gentleness: 'You may intend to search for the man who injured me so, and punish him; but it isn't worth while, monsieur; after all, I have only received the reward of my misconduct. If I hadn't left my parents to lead a disorderly life, this thing wouldn't have happened to me. I see that I've got to die, but I forgive the man who caused my death."

"Poor Annette!"

"I concealed my intentions from her, but I took the ring. It's all right for the victim to forgive—but our duty is to punish. This is the ring, Rochebrune."

Balloquet took from his pocket a little gold-plated ring, with several colored stones of no value set in the form of a star; its only merit was that it was easily identified by its oddity and its ugliness. I took possession of it eagerly, crying:

"Leave it with me, my friend; let me keep it, I beg you; it will help me some day to avenge poor Annette."

"With all my heart. But I say again, try to let me have a share in the vengeance; don't forget me when the time comes. I saw the victim die, and I should enjoy seeing the murderer punished."

"I promise to let you know at once, when the time comes; and if I need you to help me——"

"Sapristi! I will be on hand then, even if I am pursued by creditors! But my affairs will be settled in due time. Au revoir, my dear fellow! The next time I come to see you, I'll wear a pair of my essence of rose gloves, so that you can tell your friends and acquaintances about them."

Balloquet shook hands with me and took his leave; and I carefully put poor Annette's ring away in my desk.