Three young men, arm in arm, were walking, or, to speak more accurately, loitering, along Boulevard des Italiens, looking to right and left, scrutinizing the women at close quarters, especially when they were pretty; commenting aloud on the face of one and the bearing of another, interspersing their reflections with jests, puns, foolish remarks, and bursts of laughter; and, lastly, smoking cigars, an accomplishment which is now indispensable to the young men of fashion whose ordinary promenade is the Boulevard de la ChaussÉe d'Antin.

It is a little world in itself that frequents Boulevard des Italiens, a fashionable, aristocratic, eccentric boulevard, where, none the less, many of the promenaders affect manners, dress, and language which remind us forcibly of Diogenes. Each portion of a large city has its quarters, with their habituÉs and their residents, whose dress, language, and manners have their own peculiar characteristics. Thus, there is a marked difference between the costume of an annuitant of the Marais and that of the ex-young man of the ChaussÉe d'Antin; between the dress of a grande dame of Faubourg Saint-Germain and that of a bourgeois housewife of the CitÉ; between the grisette of Rue Saint-Jacques and her of Place BrÉda, who has lately taken the name of lorette. Of course, the residents of one quarter do not remain altogether on their own territory, and they may sometimes be met with in a neighboring section. But, even then, a practised eye never makes a mistake; it recognizes the strangers at once, and does not confound them with the natives of the quarter. In vain do the former try to assume the bearing and manners of the latter—the natural instincts, when we try to drive them away, return at a gallop, and it would be as difficult for a government clerk who lives on Rue Saint-Antoine to resemble a clerk in a banking house on Rue Laffite, as for a siren of Place Maubert to copy the manners of a young lady of Faubourg Saint-HonorÉ.

Boulevard des Italiens is no ordinary promenade; it deserves the attention of the observer; indeed, it is worthy of a chapter in the history of Paris, for it has changed its name more than once in accordance with political exigencies.

At the time of the Revolution of '89, this segment of the boulevards was called Coblentz, and it retained that name under the Empire. Not until 1815, at the time of the Second Restoration, did it exchange the name of Coblentz for that of Gand. The former name recalled the place of rendezvous of the ÉmigrÉs of the Revolution; the other, the second return of Louis XVIII. The French have always loved to bring politics into the most trivial things; they have brought it into their ballads and into the names of flowers; so they could consistently give a political tinge to the name of a fashionable promenade. But the great majority of the ladies who resort to Boulevard des Italiens in search of conquests put no politics in their smiles; they are cosmopolites, for they have been known to dart glances impartially at republicans and legitimists, at old soldiers of the Empire and favorites of the Restoration; it has been observed, however, that they affect more particularly the partisans of the juste-milieu.

But do not believe that all the ladies who occupy the chairs along the boulevard of a pleasant evening go thither to make conquests! The very best society was often to be seen on Boulevard Coblentz, and later on Boulevard de Gand; and may be seen sometimes, but more rarely, on Boulevard des Italiens.

People go there to discuss the new ballet at the OpÉra, the last performance at the Bouffes, the reception of Madame la Comtesse Blank, and the ball recently given by the richest banker of the quarter. Some meet there by appointment; some pay visits there. You will see young men approach a party of ladies, stop before their chairs, salute them and pay them compliments as they would do in a salon; and, after a few moments' conversation, take leave of them and continue their stroll, stopping again, perhaps, a little farther on, to speak to others of their acquaintances.

Some years ago, it was the fashion to make a careful toilet before going to Boulevard de Gand; the ladies would exhibit a new style of head-dress, the men were all fashionably dressed; when one of them appeared with a coat of a new cut, the fashion was instantly adopted by the dandies of the capital.

Other times, other manners! It is no longer the fashion to dress for a stroll on Boulevard des Italiens. Now that the cigar has invaded that quarter, and most of the men smoke, the most fashionable young men seem to affect a simple, even severe, costume, which makes them resemble the Puritans, as their beards remind one of the young noblemen of the time of FranÇois I.

Let us return to our three idlers.

The one in the middle, who was not more than twenty-two years of age, was above medium height; he was well built, slender, easy and graceful in his bearing, and wore with much grace a morning costume, whose cut betrayed the hand of an ultra-fashionable tailor. He wore patent-leather boots, and carried in his hand a pretty little switch, the head of which was a beautiful bit of chased silver. The young man's face did not clash with the attractions of his dress and bearing. He was dark, and his large black eyes emitted an incessant gleam, wherein wit, mockery, fun, and sometimes emotion and sentiment, shone in turn. An irreproachable nose, a well-shaped mouth, supplied with teeth so white as to justify a feeling of pride therein; an oval face, with thin black whiskers and a small moustache connecting them;—such was young Albert Vermoncey; one could not justly deny him the title of a comely youth.

On his left arm leaned a young man who was apparently some years older than the fascinating Albert, but who was also one of the lions, or, if you prefer, beaux, of the day. But his bearing lacked the grace wherein lay his companion's charm. He was taller and stouter, but there was stiffness in his gait, and affectation in the way he carried his head on one side, and in the way he wore his hat over his ear. The difference in the faces of the two was even more marked; taken separately, the features of this second member of the party were not bad, but the whole effect was far from pleasant. The color of his eyes was uncertain; and then, too, he kept the lids lowered, and rarely looked at the person with whom he was talking. Lastly, his face commonly wore a sarcastic expression, which was sometimes insulting; one would have said that he was always inclined to pick a quarrel with someone. This young man's name was CÉlestin de Valnoir.

The individual who walked at Albert's right, but not on his arm, was of about his age, but much shorter, and possessed of a very pronounced embonpoint. His hair, which had a reddish tinge, curled naturally and fell in abundance on each side of his face, which was round and fresh and rosy, but a little too fat. He had attractive features: eyes almost round, but of a very clear blue; a small aquiline nose, which seemed to point to an Israelitish origin; red lips and very handsome teeth, and a dimple in the middle of his chin. All these combined to make a very attractive, chubby angel's face, which lacked character only, for its expression very rarely varied; it was that of a person who is overjoyed to be in the world. It required some very serious cause to banish his stereotyped smile; but it disappeared when he thought that he had lost his handkerchief or a piece of money. At such times an extraordinary revolution took place in his features: his nose increased in size, his mouth contracted, his eyes seemed to be on the point of starting from their orbits; in fact, he became so ugly that he was almost unrecognizable.

This third idler was dressed with more pretension than taste; he had a huge scarfpin, with a cameo; a heavy hair chain, which he wore about his neck, fell over his waistcoat and held a little square monocle, which he put in his right eye from time to time. Add to these a very fine Malacca joint, with an enormous gold or gilt head, which he often held by the middle and twirled in the air, and you have a fair portrait of Tobie Pigeonnier. His baptismal name often led people to think that he was born in the Jewish religion; but whenever he was questioned on the subject, he seemed to take offence at the suggestion that he was a descendant of Jacob.

Let us listen to the conversation of these young gentlemen; that is the best way of making acquaintance with people.

Albert Vermoncey was telling his two friends an anecdote which seemed to amuse them mightily:

"Yes, messieurs; it was at Madame Baldimer's last reception. You know whom I mean? that American who has made such a sensation in Paris, because she is very beautiful, very bright, and very original."

"And who is supposed to be very rich," said CÉlestin.

"Well, isn't she?" queried Tobie Pigeonnier, rubbing his nose with the head of his cane.

"Why, people are beginning to doubt it; she gives very few big dinners now."

"If she gives many small ones, that amounts to the same thing."

"What a stupid creature you are, Tobie! Pray let me finish my story. Madame Plays was there with her husband. Good God! what a husband! he ought to serve as a model for them all."

"Because his wife has given him a pair of horns that wouldn't pass under Porte Saint-Denis?"

"Oho!" said Tobie, laughing uproariously; "do you mean to say that poor Monsieur Plays is a stag?"

"I say, CÉlestin, to think that Tobie didn't know that! Where have you been, my dear fellow—to the Marquesas Islands? to the kingdom of Lahore?"

"As if Tobie knew anything! When a man has passed his youth on Rue Beaubourg, he is bound to be far behind the times."

"Oh! I have lived on Rue de la Ferme-des-Mathurins more than three years now."

"Look, messieurs! see this coming toward us, with the little lilac hat and the pink dress. I rather like the looks of it. Here's a chance to shoot off your monocle, Tobie; especially as the wind makes the lady's dress cling close to her thighs, and we are going before the wind."

"She isn't pretty," said CÉlestin, as the person with the lilac hat passed them.

"Gad! CÉlestin, you shouted that in her ears; I'll bet that she heard you."

"Well, suppose she did? aren't opinions free? I say, Tobie; speaking of Rue Beaubourg, I thought that nobody but Jews lived there."

"That's a fable, you see, as I lived there."

"That's no reason. You may be of that religion yourself."

"I have told you many times that I am a Lutheran, of Polish descent. I don't know why you insist on calling me a Jew."

"Well, suppose you were a Jew," said Albert; "what harm would it do you? Aren't there men of merit, men of genius, in all religions? and in respect to the arts, fortune, and talents, the Jewish nation is one of the most richly endowed at this moment. We are not living in the barbarous times when the people loved of God were so badly treated, when the children of Israel were compelled to wear a distinguishing mark on their clothes and their hats."

"It was a yellow mark," said CÉlestin, with a sneer.

"Yes; and now that color has become so fashionable that a yellow mark would not be distinctive at all. Ah! there's a young actress from the VariÉtÉs. Whom is she with to-day?"

"With an Englishman who is in a fair way to ruin himself for her. It won't take long; she makes her adorers strike a fast pace."

"She is right; she is the fashion now, and she is making the most of it. It doesn't last long in Paris."

"But it seems to me that I could mention several ladies of her stamp who have been the fashion for fifteen years at least. What a pile of money they have fricasseed, eh?"

"Do you know, I like the word fricasseed; it's a fact that they spend it with all sorts of sauce."

"If only they had the sense to put some of it by; then they wouldn't be obliged to end as box openers, after cutting a brilliant figure on the stage."

"Put money by! that's a reflection quite worthy of Tobie! What I can't understand is, how he ever made up his mind to buy such a big pin, with a cameo. How much did your cameo cost, Tobie? and your cane must have cost a lot, too. Damnation! what a swell! he denies himself nothing!"

"True," said CÉlestin; "but it would be well to know if it's all real gold."

Monsieur Tobie Pigeonnier blushed to the end of his nose; but he affected to laugh heartily, and replied:

"Ah! Monsieur de Valnoir, how unkind of you! When you find me wearing anything that isn't of the first quality, you will be very sharp. I care for nothing, of any sort, that is not really choice. It's the same with my linen—I must always have the very finest. The shirt I am wearing cost me seventy-five francs."

"Have you many dozens of that sort?"

"Why, yes; I like to have a lot of linen; I was brought up to that habit. My mother had five or six large wardrobes filled with sheets—all fine Holland. When I go into partnership with my aunt, I shall deny myself nothing; I shall have only the finest damask on my table——"

"Have you an aunt in business?"

"Yes; she sells all sorts of goods on commission. It's a big establishment: twelve clerks and eight travelling men. She promised long ago to put me at the head of it; and if it hadn't been for some escapades of mine, she'd have done it before now."

CÉlestin began to whistle between his teeth, and Albert, who had not been listening to Tobie for several minutes, suddenly exclaimed:

"Isn't that Madame Baldimer in that little citadine?"

Albert's two companions thereupon looked into the street, and CÉlestin, after glancing at a carriage which was passing, replied:

"Yes, that is she."

"Was she alone?"

"I think not; I thought that I caught a glimpse of a moustache beside her face."

Albert's face became clouded; he looked after the citadine, which was already some distance away, then stopped and seemed to hesitate as to what he should do next.

"Well! what's the matter with you?" said CÉlestin, looking at his friend as if he would have liked to read his inmost thoughts; "do you think of following that carriage?"

Albert tried to smile, as he replied:

"The fact is that I am curious to know—— This Madame Baldimer is a great flirt, but she has no lover, so far as anyone knows; she allows everybody to pay court to her, and seems inclined to make sport of her adorers."

"Why is anyone foolish enough to pay court to her?"

"Why, because she is lovely."

"There's no lack of lovely women in Paris."

"Nor in the suburbs," said Tobie. "I knew one at Nanterre. Such a love of a woman!"

"Did she sell cakes?"

"Ah! you joker! cakes! She was a woman of very high position."

"Did she live on a hill?"

"She had a villa, monsieur, a magnificent villa."

"At Nanterre? That is strange; I never happened to see any fine houses there."

"It wasn't just at Nanterre, but in the neighborhood."

Albert Vermoncey was lost in thought; he walked very slowly, and turned his head from time to time to see if he could still see the carriage.

Monsieur CÉlestin, who, without seeming to do so, closely watched his companion's movements, said, after a moment, dwelling significantly upon his words:

"A carriage is a very convenient thing, especially in Paris, where you can always be certain of finding one with blinds. If you have a secret errand to do, if you don't know where to meet your lover for a little chat—why, you step into a citadine, you join the person in question at the appointed place, she enters with you, you close the windows and lower the blinds; and then—go where you choose, driver, you are hired by the hour!—Drive through the most crowded streets of Paris, pass as close as you please to a husband, or a rival—he will see nothing. Sometimes, indeed, he will be the first to smile when he sees a hermetically closed carriage, and will say: 'That probably conceals some intrigue.'—Oh, yes! a carriage is a great convenience, I say again."

"It is, and it is not," said young Tobie, affecting a cunning expression; "because—— Still, if all the streets in Paris were paved with wood, it would be all right."

"Madame Baldimer did not hide," said Albert; "the blinds of her carriage were not lowered."

"Perhaps they are now," murmured CÉlestin.

Albert clenched his hands as if he had had a spasm of pain.

"I say, my dear Albert," said Tobie, after trying, but in vain, to fix his little glass in his right eye, "are you in love with this Madame Baldimer, that you seem inclined to follow her carriage?"

"I, in love with her? upon my word! Do you suppose that I am idiotic enough to fall in love with a woman again? I love them when they are pretty; but it lasts just so long as is necessary to triumph over them; that is quite enough. Mon Dieu! that is the best way to succeed with women. But if you really love them, you become melancholy, jealous, a bore to your friends; and your fair one no longer listens to you, and, what is worse, deceives you. Madame Baldimer is very beautiful; I have been attentive to her, as to many others."

"Yes," rejoined Tobie, sucking the gold head of his cane; "that is our business, to pay court to the ladies. Ah! if I should write my adventures—I had an idea of doing it once; but it would have taken too long; I hadn't the time, and the current forced me along."

"Did Madame Baldimer listen to you favorably?" asked CÉlestin, with a satirical glance at his friend.

"Why, not less so than to others. I have already told you that she plays the coquette with everybody and listens to no one."

"I should say that the gentleman who was with her in the citadine just now might think differently."

Albert frowned and tapped his boot with his switch, as he replied:

"You say that there was a man with her; I saw no one."

"Because your sight is not good, apparently."

"Ah! there's DÉsilly, the illustrious DÉsilly."

Two young men who were just passing our three idlers stopped in front of them. One of the two, who wore a broad-brimmed hat with a pointed crown, and had a beard a sapper might have envied, shook hands with Albert and CÉlestin in turn, saying:

"How are you, boys! we are out for a stroll. I tell you, this is something like! Who will give me a cigar? I've just finished mine."

Albert took from his pocket a dainty cigar case of Italian straw, and offered it to the two new-comers, each of whom took a cigar and lighted it from Albert's and CÉlestin's; meanwhile, Tobie whispered in Albert's ear:

"Is that the artist DÉsilly, who draws such amusing, clever caricatures in the paper?"

"Himself."

"DÉsilly," said CÉlestin, "you promised to show me the collection of your latest caricatures, which I want to send to Bordeaux. When would you like me to come?"

"My boys, don't ask me anything at this moment; I have a love affair on hand, and it is impossible for me to think of anything else. It may last a week, perhaps two, but it surely won't go over a month; then I shall be at your service. Adieu!"

And the artist went off with his friend.

"He has a love affair on hand," said Monsieur Tobie; "and it seems to engage his attention to the exclusion of everything else."

"Yes; but he knows the measure of his sentiments, and he never makes a mistake. He is wiser than those men who when they are attacked by a new passion imagine that it will last forever!"

"Do they think that, nowadays?" said Tobie, toying carelessly with his hair chain. "By the way, Albert hasn't finished his story of Madame Plays, whose husband is a second Acteon. I demand the rest of the story, or my money back."

"Yes, yes, the rest of the story," said CÉlestin.

Albert resumed his narrative, but with much less animation, and as if he were doing it solely to oblige.

"Well, messieurs; Madame Plays was at Madame Baldimer's dance. The company was slightly mixed, as you can understand. A foreigner who has lived in Paris only a year cannot know very many people; and when she chooses to give receptions and balls, she must necessarily accept with confidence such guests as are presented to her; and her confidence is often misplaced."

"Sapristi! you are as verbose as a lawyer to-day, Albert."

"Madame Plays was superb; she is somewhat massive, as you know, but a very beautiful woman. Tall Saint-Clair, who was there, did not lose sight of her, and made eyes at her—Gad! it was enough to make one burst with laughter. Madame Plays responded, for lack of something better to do. She is a woman who must always have occupation. All of a sudden, it came into my head to rob that idiotic Saint-Clair of his conquest. I had never before given a thought to Madame Plays, although I had frequently met her in society. I had no sooner conceived the project, than I set to work. Supper had just been served; I seated myself beside the emotional Herminie—that is her name—and overwhelmed her with little attentions, interspersed with tender words. Ah! if you knew what success I had! it went so quickly that I was almost frightened. She went so far as to tell me that I had done very wrong not to declare myself sooner."

"Peste! the lady regretted the time she had lost. And Saint-Clair?"

"Oh! he was in an extraordinary state: as he was unable to obtain a seat beside his passion, he stood behind her at first; then, when he found that she didn't answer him, or pay any attention to him, he went off in a rage and sat at the other end of the table, where he began to eat and drink with a sort of frenzy; indeed, I think that he ended by getting a little tipsy, for, when we returned to the salon to dance, he was sitting in a corner, beside Monsieur Plays, and some people declared that he wept while he was talking with him. I should not be at all surprised if he had confided to him his chagrin at having failed to make him a cuckold."

"That would be charming. But the husband replied, no doubt: 'Never fear, my friend; somebody else will.'"

"I invited my conquest to dance. What a hussy she is! In the first place, she didn't spare the madeira and the champagne; but she's not like Saint-Clair, they didn't make her feel inclined to cry; on the contrary, she danced with such vigor, such enthusiasm! it was impossible to stop her. As we were all decidedly gay, somebody proposed dancing the cancan—the real thing. The superb Herminie dances it as well as a grisette from La ChaumiÈre, and much more boldly than the lorettes at the Bal Saint-Georges. Gad! you ought to have seen us! We were truly admirable. The other women in the quadrille soon gave up their places, but Madame Plays kept on, with myself and six other men, three of whom danced as women. There was a great ring around us. Upon my word, it was a curious sight. I fancied that I heard somebody whisper that my partner had imbibed too much madeira and champagne, but I believe her to be quite capable of doing anything under heaven without the aid of liquor."

"And Madame Baldimer?"

"She didn't dance, but she laughed heartily."

"There is no need of asking you if that intrigue came to a successful end?"

"Oh! it was so easy. I assure you that conquests like that are not at all interesting, and there is so little difficulty about them that they do not even flatter our vanity. That happened a fortnight ago, and my only desire now is to rid myself of the passionate Herminie. Mon Dieu! that reminds me that I have an appointment with her for this evening. Messieurs, which of you would like to go in my place? I will turn over my conquest to him, with all my heart."

"Thanks," said CÉlestin, blowing a mouthful of smoke into the face of an old woman who was passing; "Madame Plays doesn't tempt me. She is too heavy for me."

"Why, I should say that you were strong enough to carry her," said Pigeonnier; "you have the build of an athlete, a gladiator. I am sure that you could easily carry a bag of flour that weighs three hundred and twenty-five."

"And because you suppose that I can carry a bag of flour, you suggest that I become Madame Plays's lover! The comparison is most flattering to the lady! What brilliant ideas that devil of a Tobie has!"