Several days passed, and I had not been again to see Mignonne. Rosette had called upon me several times; but my pretty grisette talked too much about Monsieur Freluchon, the dealer in sponges; which led me to think that our relations would not last much longer.

Madame Dauberny was slightly indisposed; she sent for me to come to her, and I lost no time in complying. She seemed touched by my zeal. She was charming with me; she asked me about Rosette, but laughingly and without irony, as before; then she said, shaking her head:

"I am no longer afraid that that girl will make you lose your common sense and forget our friendship."

"Have you ever been afraid of that?"

"Why, yes. My friendship is too selfish. It is wrong, I realize that; but I am jealous, which a friend has no right to be. Scold me, monsieur."

"On the contrary, I forgive you—the more freely because I seem to have the same conception of friendship that you do; for——"

"For what? Go on!"

"Well! I too am jealous of the affection you bestow on others. And on that trip to the country, when Balloquet made love to you—that vexed me terribly."

"Really? Did you suppose for a moment that I would listen to that man?"

"Why not—if he had pleased you?"

"If he had pleased me—very good; but you know perfectly well that he could not please me—seriously. And so your friendship is jealous, too?"

She lowered her eyes as she asked that question. I took her hand and pressed it affectionately. At that moment, her maid entered and said:

"Monsieur Dauberny, who has just arrived, wishes to know if he may come to inquire for madame's health."

FrÉdÉrique was thunderstruck. She glanced at me, murmuring:

"He has come back! What a misfortune! I had flattered myself that he would never come back. But, after all, we must submit to our fate. After five months' absence, I dare not refuse to receive him; for his visit is solely one of politeness, no doubt. Remain, my friend; your presence will give me strength to endure Monsieur Dauberny's. Will you do me this favor?"

"If you authorize me to do so, madame, I will remain."

FrÉdÉrique told her maid that she might admit Monsieur Dauberny. I was intensely agitated by the thought that I should soon be in that man's presence; but I strove to conceal my agitation beneath a calm and indifferent air.

Monsieur Dauberny appeared in a moment. He was rather tall, but had grown too stout for his height. His face, the features of which were, generally speaking, regular, wore nevertheless an expression of brutal libertinage, and when his eyes tried to express merriment they became sea-green, watery, like those of a wild beast. He appeared to be about fifty years of age; his hair was thick and curly. He was neatly dressed, but seemed to have difficulty in carrying his great weight.

He was apparently surprised to find a man in his wife's apartment. However, he gave me a rather curt nod, to which I replied by an almost imperceptible inclination of the head and a manner so frigid that he was impressed by it and immediately bowed again much lower.

I confess that I felt incapable of bending my head before that monster. At that instant, the fate of poor Annette recurred to my memory; I remembered her bruises, her horrible suffering! I remembered that shocking scene on the outer boulevards! I felt that I could not remain longer in that man's presence. The blood rushed to my face; I was on the point of giving way to my wrath and hurling myself upon the villain! While I was still master of myself, I took my hat and left the salon.

"Are you going, Rochebrune?" said FrÉdÉrique.

"Yes, madame, yes; I beg pardon—but an important engagement—pray excuse me!"

I said no more, but went away, turning my head to avoid bowing to Monsieur Dauberny.

What would FrÉdÉrique think of my behavior toward her husband—of that abrupt departure? I did not know; but if I had stayed longer, I should have broken out; and before her, in her apartment, that would have been a mistake.

Pomponne was watching for my return; he came to meet me, crying:

"Monsieur, the old concierge—I know now that she's a concierge—from Rue MÉnilmontant has been here, not with the young woman who came once and ran off as if someone was going to assault her—a very pretty blonde——"

"Well, Pomponne, well! What did Madame Potrelle say?"

"Ah! yes, that's the concierge's name; it had escaped me. She said: 'Be good enough to ask Monsieur Rochebrune to come as soon as possible—to-day, if he has a minute—to my young tenant; for she's in great trouble.'—I was going to ask her why the young woman was in trouble, but she didn't give me time; she went away again, saying: 'I'm in a hurry, I ran all the way.'—To be sure, if she had run all the way from Rue MÉnilmontant——"

I listened to no more from Pomponne. I left the house at once and hurried to Mignonne's abode. I found the concierge below.

"What is there new, Madame Potrelle? Do you want money?"

"Oh, no! it ain't that, monsieur; but that poor mother—her child's much sicker. The doctor told me there wasn't any hope, but I haven't told Madame Landernoy that, for it would kill her too, she's so unhappy already! I don't know what to do to encourage her, and I thought of you, monsieur."

I made no reply, but went up to Mignonne's room. My heart was very heavy; still, I felt that I must try to bring back a little hope to her heart.

I arrived under the eaves. The door was still open and Mignonne was kneeling by the cradle, as at my previous visit; but she was not singing; everything was perfectly still. The young mother, with her eyes fixed on her child, seemed to be watching for some gleam of hope on her face or in her breathing.

I stepped into the room; Mignonne did not even turn her head.

"Excuse me, madame," I said, approaching the cradle; "will you allow me to examine your little girl?"

The young woman glanced at me, with eyes dim with tears, and murmured:

"Oh! monsieur! just see how she has changed, poor child, in the ten days since you saw her! Just look at her!"

Poor little one! My heart sank and my chest heaved when I saw the shocking ravages that disease had wrought in so short a time. When I saw her, ten days before, she was pale and thin; but her pretty features had not changed. Now, her little face was all wasted away; her head, like her body, seemed shrunken; her mouth, which she kept tightly closed, her little features, constantly distorted by nervous contractions—everything indicated great suffering; and yet she was still sweet and pretty. Ought such angels to suffer? What crime can they have committed?

I took the child's hand; it was still burning. The mother gazed anxiously at my face and said:

"Monsieur, do you still hope?"

"I told you that I should always hope."

"Oh, yes! you are right; but for that, I should die."

"Does she complain? Can you guess where she feels pain?"

"Alas! she doesn't complain, poor child! But she groans and cries, and I can't soothe her any more. Oh! monsieur! I can't soothe her any more!"

Mignonne paused a moment to weep. I did not try to check her tears. They do much more harm when stored up than when they are freely shed.

In a moment she continued, pointing to the child:

"Look! see how she keeps her teeth clenched all the time. Oh! that is what frightens me!"

"What does the doctor say?"

"He ordered her some medicine. But she won't take anything, she won't drink. That is the hardest part of it!"

"Yes, for if she drank a little of it, it would probably allay the fire that is consuming her."

"But what am I to do if she won't drink it—when she cries if I insist? I can't force her, can I, the dear little pet?"

"Will you let me try, madame?"

"You, monsieur! Do you think you can succeed any better than I?"

"I shall go about it differently."

"With her teeth always clenched—I'm afraid she'll break the cup when I hold it to her mouth."

"For that reason, I do not mean to try with a cup. Have you a small spoon?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Please let me have it, madame."

Mignonne gave me a small iron spoon, and a cup containing the sedative draught ordered by the doctor. I filled the spoon and offered it to the child, who refused to take it; but I succeeded in partly opening her gums for an instant with my left hand, and poured the contents of the spoon into her mouth. The little one cried bitterly; but she had swallowed a few drops of the potion, and that was all I wanted.

Mignonne watched me in amazement, almost in terror; for a moment she was afraid that I would hurt the child. But she soon calmed down, and seemed pleased with the result I had obtained.

"You saw how I did it," I said; "you must act in the same way, when you want her to take a little of the medicine."

"Oh! monsieur, I don't know whether I can; I don't know whether I can be as quick as you; and then I shall be afraid of hurting the dear angel."

"I did not hurt her."

"That is true. And see, look at her, monsieur; it seems as if she were breathing better! Oh! if that really has done her good!"

"It is more than likely."

"Oh! monsieur, if you would stay a little longer, and give her some more by and by?"

"I will gladly do it, madame."

"I am abusing your good nature, monsieur; but I'm afraid I can't do it as well as you."

"I am in no hurry, madame; my time is at my own disposal. I have often made a bad use of it, and I will try to atone partly, here with you."

The child seemed to be dozing, and I did not disturb her. But, after half an hour or more, when she began to be uneasy again, I repeated my manoeuvre and made her swallow another half-spoonful of the potion.

I remained some time longer talking with Mignonne, doing my utmost to restore her courage and hope. Then I went away, saying:

"Until to-morrow!"

The next day, I went again to see the little invalid, and passed a large part of the day with Mignonne; for my conversation served to revive her courage, and she thought that no one could succeed so well as I in making the child drink. Little Marie's condition showed a slight change for the better. The doctor was greatly surprised, and the mother's hopes revived. It seemed to me that I too loved the poor little girl. One becomes attached to children so easily!

A week elapsed; I had not allowed a day to go by without passing several hours in Mignonne's room. I thought that she still retained some suspicion of my intentions; but, as she considered that I understood taking care of children, she said to me each day when I left her:

"It would be so kind of you, if you would come to-morrow!"

I had not called on FrÉdÉrique again, nor had I seen Rosette. What must they think of me? But on returning home one afternoon, about four o'clock, I found both my friend and my mistress established in my salon.

I saw at once, by the expression of their faces, that they were angry with me.

"Ah! here you are, are you, monsieur?" said Rosette. "You're getting to be very rare—very hard to find, for this is the third time I've been here—so help me! I don't know whether your Jocrisse told you?"

"My Jocrisse did not tell me."

"And madame here has been as many times as I have, it seems, and hasn't had any better luck."

"What, FrÉdÉrique! you have taken the trouble to come here? I am terribly sorry."

FrÉdÉrique smiled, but with the mocking expression that I knew so well, saying:

"What does it matter that I have been here? You weren't very solicitous about my health, I judge, as you haven't been to inquire about it since the day you left so abruptly. I understand that there is nothing very agreeable in my husband's presence; still, from regard for me, you might have put up with it a little longer."

"You see, madame," said Rosette, "monsieur has other intrigues, new passions, beside which my love and your friendship are nothing at all! He hasn't a minute now to sacrifice to us; he passes all his time, all his days, with his new flame on Rue MÉnilmontant. She can't be anything very distinguished, living in that quarter; but we must know a little of everything!"

I saw that Pomponne had been chattering and inventing fables.

"Ah! so you have been told that I go every day to Rue MÉnilmontant?" I said, with a tranquillity that seemed to add to their irritation.

"Yes, monsieur; to see a young and pretty blonde. You like blondes now, it seems! You like 'em of all colors, don't you?"

"And this blonde whom I go to see is my mistress, is she?"

"Oh, no! she may be your laundress, who knows? And you go there to watch her iron your shirts! Ha! ha! ha! Why don't you tell us that? it would be more amusing."

"I won't tell you that, because I have no reason to lie."

"Oh! of course not! To be sure, you're your own master, you can do what you think best. It seems that she came here one day—your blonde—and ran away as if the devil was after her. Oh! how sorry I am I wasn't here that day, when she honored you with a visit! I'd have led her a pretty dance! I'd have sent her mazurking down the stairs! But, who knows? perhaps I shall meet her one of these days. As you pass all your time with her now, it's probable that it will soon be her turn to come here. Just let me meet her! You see, I'm not very gentle when I'm jealous! I'll box that woman's ears; yes, monsieur, yes, I'll box her ears!"

I listened to Rosette without winking. FrÉdÉrique said nothing, but kept her eyes on me.

"You're not so wicked as you try to make people think, Rosette," said I, trying to take her hand, which she snatched away. "If you should find the young woman you speak of here, you would not insult her, I trust; for it would be as absurd as your insulting madame."

"What do you say? Do you want to make us believe that the blonde is just a friend of yours? Oh! my boy, that may do for once. Madame FrÉdÉrique here is your friend, but you don't pass all your time with her, I believe.—Does he, madame?"

"Oh! I see very little of monsieur!" rejoined FrÉdÉrique, with a gesture of annoyance; "and when by chance he does condescend to pay me a visit, he seizes the first pretext to retire. I know that friends ought not to stand on ceremony; but it would be possible to be more frank and outspoken."

This was said in a tone which indicated that she was seriously offended. Suddenly Rosette darted at me, as if she meant to claw my eyes out, crying:

"Come, monsieur, who is this woman that you pass all your time with? How long have you known her? what do you do at her house? Answer! answer! Answer, I say! I am not your friend, and I want you to stand on ceremony with me!"

"First of all, mademoiselle, I might refuse to answer questions asked in such a way. You want to know all that I do? Are you entitled to? Do I know all that you are doing, when I am looking vainly for you at your seven aunts'? But, nevertheless, I propose to gratify your curiosity, because I shall be very glad to justify myself at the same time in the eyes of my friend FrÉdÉrique, who thinks that she no longer has my full confidence."

"That is to say, you condescend to answer me on madame's account? That's very polite to me! But, no matter! go on, monsieur."

"This girl, to whose room I have, in fact, been going regularly for some days, and who lives on Rue MÉnilmontant, is not my mistress. Your conjectures with regard to her are altogether false; she is a poor girl, who was virtuous, and who was seduced——"

"How clever! As if all girls weren't virtuous before they're seduced!"

"But I know what I am talking about; I mean that she had not the taste for pleasure or idleness which sooner or later leads a girl on to her ruin."

"Ah! very good; I understand! She'd have been a saint, if she hadn't sinned."

"If you don't mean to let me speak, Rosette, it is useless to question me."

"I beg your pardon, monsieur; I'll hold my tongue."

"This girl became a mother. Her seducer had deserted her."

"Indeed! but what has all this rigmarole to do with you? Is it any of your business, if you're not the seducer?"

"I learned indirectly of this young woman's misfortunes; I became interested in her, I gave her work, and tried, so far as was in my power, to relieve her distress. What is there so surprising in that, mesdames? Why do you look at me with such a peculiar expression?"

"Go on, my dear boy, continue your touching story. And now you pass your time with this young woman; because she's teaching you to knit, perhaps."

I could not restrain a gesture of impatience. It is disheartening, when one has tried to do a little good, to be incessantly suspected of the opposite. I sprang to my feet and exclaimed:

"I go to see that young woman every day now, because she is in despair; because she would lose her reason, in all probability, if she had no one to keep up her courage; because this is no time to abandon her! Believe me or not, as you choose, mesdames; but so much the worse for you, if you believe me incapable of doing a kind action from disinterested motives!"

"I have never believed that of you, Charles," said FrÉdÉrique, coming to my side; "but it seems to me that one who believed that she had your full confidence may well be surprised to learn that your attention is engrossed by a young woman whom you had never mentioned to her."

"As for me," cried Rosette, "I'm not so gullible as madame; I don't take any stock in your innocent, unfortunate, persecuted woman! All you need is the credulous and cruel husband! I saw a play like that once. I don't say that you don't help this lovely blonde of yours; on the contrary, I believe you help her too much. No doubt you were touched by her woes; but why? Because you're in love with her."

"That is not true, Rosette; I tell you once more, you are all wrong."

"I beg your pardon—one more question, and answer it honestly: is this woman pretty?"

"She is very good-looking."

"There! I was sure of it!—Take notice, Madame FrÉdÉrique, that these benevolent gentlemen never protect any women that aren't good-looking. As for the ugly ones, I don't know how it happens, but they never unearth them. They can groan in corners as much as they choose, there's no danger that anyone will hunt them up.—Total result: I don't take any stock in your story, and I believe I shall do well to yield to Freluchon's entreaties and couple up with him.—You've seen his sponge shop on Rue du Petit-Carreau, haven't you, madame? Don't you think it's rather neat?"

"Very," replied FrÉdÉrique; "the counting-room especially struck me as remarkably elegant."

"Ah! how fine I'll look in it!—Adieu, Charles! You've been playing tricks on me, and I'm going to get married!"

Rosette departed, and I confess that I did not try to detain her; what she had said had stung me to the quick. As for FrÉdÉrique, I saw that in the bottom of her heart she shared the grisette's unjust suspicions. She stayed a moment longer with me, but said almost nothing; then she too left me, and when I pressed her hand it hardly responded to the pressure. So that is how we are believed when we tell the truth! If I had lied, I am very certain that they would not have been so incredulous.