IX
A COALITION

We will pass rapidly over the years following that during which Monsieur GÉrondif became the young marquis’s tutor. ChÉrubin had kept his word; he had consented to study, but he had insisted on Louise’s presence during his lessons; at first, Monsieur GÉrondif had tried to keep the little girl from the room, but ChÉrubin had shrieked and wept and refused to listen to his tutor; so that it was found necessary to yield to him. By slow degrees Louise’s presence had evidently come to seem less inconvenient to Monsieur GÉrondif, for if she were not there when he arrived, he was the first to send for her.

The fact is that Louise had grown too, and that she had improved even more rapidly. At thirteen, she seemed at least fifteen; she was slender, well-built, and possessed of many graces; not studied and affected ones such as so many young ladies in Paris assume, thinking that they will be deemed natural; but those naÏve, simple graces which one recognizes instantly but vainly tries to imitate.

Monsieur GÉrondif was not a genuine scholar, but he might have passed for such in the eyes of many people. He had tried everything, having in his youth essayed a number of professions, but having fixed upon none; after making a pretence of becoming a doctor, a druggist, a chemist, an astronomer, a geometrician, a tradesman, and even a poet; after stuffing his head with the first rudiments of many forms of knowledge and succeeding in none, he had ended by turning schoolmaster. The man who knows one branch thoroughly has much more merit than he who talks glibly about all branches, and yet, in the world, the preference is often given to the latter.

At fifteen, ChÉrubin knew a little of a great many things; in the eyes of the village, in the eyes of the Frimoussets, the young man was a phenomenon who had learned with extraordinary ease. As for Jasmin, he opened his eyes in amazement when he heard his young master use a Latin word, or mention some historical or mythological fact, and he bowed before Monsieur GÉrondif, exclaiming:

“He knows as much as you, and that is a great deal to say.”

Monsieur GÉrondif puffed himself out, for he had purchased an entirely new costume; he no longer resembled a harlequin, and he was seen now with a hat and a real umbrella.

But with well-being ambition had come; that is usually the case. When a man has nothing, he becomes accustomed to forming no wishes, to not looking above himself; he remains in his shell and tries to be happy there forever; he even succeeds sometimes. But when he becomes well-to-do, then he indulges in a multitude of little luxuries hitherto unknown; but they are no longer enough; every day he desires others, forms a thousand new aspirations, becomes ambitious, in short; and it often happens that he is less contented than when he possessed nothing.

Such was substantially Monsieur GÉrondif’s story; when he had nothing to live upon but the paltry profits of his school, he wore clogs, went without hat or cap, very often dined upon nothing but potatoes baked in the oven, and yet seemed perfectly contented with his position.

Since he had become young Grandvilain’s tutor and was earning eighteen hundred francs a year, a sum which it is rather difficult to spend in the village of Gagny, the schoolmaster had formed new desires; and first of all he hoped not to remain forever in a village where he could not even find means to spend his money, a state of affairs which is very annoying to one who has not been accustomed to having money to spend.

Monsieur GÉrondif had been shrewd enough to obtain his pupil’s confidence, and even to inspire affection in him; for ChÉrubin’s heart was easily won; he flew to meet all those who showed the slightest attachment to him. While enjoining virtue and good morals upon the young man every day, Monsieur GÉrondif, whose eyesight was very good although he constantly kept his eyes lowered, had perceived that Louise was growing, developing, and becoming a charming girl; and more than once, as he looked at the sweet child, he had thought:

“What lovely eyes! What an exquisite oval face! What a correct chin!”

And then, whether to make sure that Louise’s chin was in fact correct, or for some other reason, the tutor would pass his hand over the young girl’s face, and sometimes go so far as gently to pinch her cheek, which did not amuse Louise at all; whereas ChÉrubin, on the contrary, was very glad to hear a complimentary remark addressed to his faithful companion.

“Isn’t Louise lovely, my dear master?” he would say at such times.

And Monsieur GÉrondif would hasten to assume a sanctimonious air, and would reply, lowering his eyes:

“Yes, this girl has the type of Jael in all its beauty; she seems to me to have the very appearance of a Madonna.”

Thereupon ChÉrubin would smile again, as he glanced at Louise, and Monsieur GÉrondif, thinking of something very different from madonnas, would say to himself:

“This girl will be perfectly bewitching! but if my pupil remains much longer with her—hum! The flesh is weak, the devil is very powerful, especially when he takes the face of a pretty girl. I am not always here; Jacquinot is almost always drunk, and MÈre Nicole allows these children to run about together in the fields, looking for flowers among the grain, playing together in the grass,—all very hazardous amusements. I absolutely must look to all this. The best way would be to induce my pupil to return to Paris. I should go with him, there is not the slightest doubt, for his education is not yet complete enough for him to do without a tutor. I shall take care that he needs one for a long time yet, forever, if possible. I shall live in my pupil’s mansion at Paris. That will be infinitely pleasanter than to live in this village; and then I can continue to keep an eye on little Louise at a distance; I will protect her, I will push her on in the world. As for ChÉrubin, after a few months in Paris, he will have forgotten his little friend of the fields.—All this is reasoned out with the wisdom of Cato, and it only remains to put it into execution.”

And to attain his object, Monsieur GÉrondif for some time past had not failed to talk constantly of Paris while giving ChÉrubin his lessons; he drew a fascinating, enchanting picture of that city; he praised its theatres, its promenades, its monuments, and the innumerable pleasures which one finds there at every step.

Young ChÉrubin was beginning to listen to these observations. The idea of going to Paris terrified him less; and his tutor would say:

“At least, come and spend a little time in the capital, to see your mansion, the house of your fathers, it is all so close at hand, and we will come back at once.”

But Louise always wept when she saw that ChÉrubin was on the point of consenting to go to Paris; she would take her playmate’s hand and exclaim:

“If you go to Paris, I am very sure that you won’t come back here again; you’ll forget Gagny and those who live here.”

Nicole said the same, as she lovingly embraced her foster-child, whereupon ChÉrubin would instantly cry out:

“No, no, I won’t go, since it makes you feel sad; I am happy here, and I shall always stay here.”

At that, Monsieur GÉrondif would bite his lips, trying to smile; but in the depths of his heart, he consigned nurses and childhood friends to the devil.

As for Jasmin, when the professor reproached him for not seconding him and urging his young master to go to Paris, he would reply, with that air of good humor which was natural to him:

“What do you expect me to do about it? My dear monsieur le marquis has passed his fifteenth birthday; he is his own master; he can do whatever he chooses; he can even dispose of his whole fortune, thirty thousand francs a year. But if it’s his choice to remain with his nurse, I have no right to oppose him.”

“When a man has such a handsome fortune as that, it’s perfectly ridiculous for him to pass his best years out at nurse!” cried the tutor; “and then what good does it do my pupil to become learned, to learn so many useful things, if he continues to live with peasants? Monsieur Jasmin, history offers no example of remarkable men who have remained at nurse until they were fifteen. It is all very well to love the woman who reared us, but est medius in rebus.”

“Monsieur le professeur, I am not good at guessing rebuses; but I am my master’s very humble servant, and I have no right to give him orders.”

At Paris, too, Jasmin had frequent discussions with Mademoiselle Turlurette on the subject of his young master. The former lady’s maid had become housekeeper; she had grown so stout, although she was not yet forty, that it was very difficult for her to walk from one room to another; that state of corpulence nailed her to her chair, and prevented her from going to see her young master at Gagny. And Jasmin was not at all anxious to take her with him, because he always feared that Mademoiselle Turlurette would usurp a part of his authority, which he did not propose to stand. The bulky housekeeper asked the old servant every day why their young master did not leave his nurse; and sometimes sharp quarrels arose between them on that subject; but Jasmin always put an end to them by saying in a morose tone:

“Mademoiselle, after all, I am the one that the late Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain intrusted with the care of his son; in fact, I have the right to turn you out of the house if I choose; so be kind enough to allow me to guide young ChÉrubin as I please.”

Thereupon Turlurette held her peace, although she knew perfectly well that Jasmin was not capable of discharging her.

“A foster-child of sixteen years!” she would mutter between her teeth; “that’s a funny thing!”

Things were at this point when a servant appeared at the hÔtel de Grandvilain one morning, asked for Jasmin, and told him that the late monsieur le marquis’s notary desired him to call at his office during the day, because it was very important that he should speak with him.

The old valet wondered what the notary could have to say to him; then he remembered that his young master had long since passed his fifteenth birthday, and that that was the time that his father had desired that he should be put in possession of his fortune. All this worried Jasmin, who said to himself:

“Thirty thousand francs a year, to say nothing of the additions due to the savings that I have made in fourteen years! It is a fact that it would be a pity to waste that at his foster-father’s. But still, if Monsieur ChÉrubin insists on staying with Nicole, I can’t use violence to compel him to return to Paris, for after all, he is his own master.”

Jasmin decided to comply with the notary’s wish. He put on his best coat, pulled a bit of his ruff out beneath his waistcoat, donned his silver buckled shoes, although they had long since ceased to be in style, and in that garb, worthy of the confidential valet of a great family, he betook himself to the office of Monsieur d’Hurbain, the notary.

When Jasmin appeared at the office, the notary was not alone; two persons were with him.

One of them, by name Edouard de MonfrÉville, was a man apparently thirty-six or thirty-seven years of age, who still had the bearing, the manners and all the dandified aspect of a young man. He was tall, well-built, as slender as if he were but twenty, and wore with much grace the costume of a young exquisite. His face was handsome and attractive at the same time; his features were regular, and his brown hair of a fineness and gloss which a lady might have envied; but in his great eyes, which were black and piercing, one could read sometimes a mocking expression which harmonized perfectly with the faint smile that played about his mouth; and upon his brow, which like his face bore signs of weariness, there were lines which indicated that ennui and grief had passed that way.

The other person was a man of twenty-eight, a faded blond, with a very fair complexion, light-blue eyes, a nose with dilated nostrils, and a large mouth with thick lips. That assemblage of features did not make what could be called a handsome man; but his face exhibited a constant succession of expressions which enlivened it wonderfully; it was a combination of gayety, raillery, cunning, libertinage, indifference, and shrewdness, all accompanied by most distinguished manners; and although his costume was a long way from the elegance of Monsieur de MonfrÉville’s, and although, in fact, certain parts of his dress were too much neglected, he wore his soiled and shabby coat with so much ease of manner, he held his head so straight in his faded cravat, that it was impossible not to recognize in him a man of birth. His name was Comte Virgile DarÉna.

When a clerk entered the private office and announced that old Jasmin had obeyed the summons that he had received, DarÉna burst out laughing.

“Jasmin!” he said; “who in the devil can have such a name as Jasmin? Can it be, my dear notary, that you have clients named Jasmin? Why, that name is only fit for a stage servant!”

“No, Monsieur DarÉna,” replied the notary, with a smile, “this man is a servant in a most excellent family; he is one of that race of old retainers such as we used to see; unfortunately the race is almost extinct in our day.”

“Ah! he must be an amusing character; an old groom, eh, MonfrÉville?”

The person to whom this question was addressed barely smiled as he replied:

“I don’t see what there is so amusing in all this!”

“Oh! nothing amuses you when you are in one of your days of humor, as the English say.—Well, tell me, will you buy my little house in Faubourg Saint-Antoine? I will sell it to you for thirty thousand francs.”

“No, I should blush to accept such an offer. Your house is worth nearly twice that, and I do not care to take advantage of your need of money to buy it at a low price.”

“Oh! mon Dieu! that isn’t the question at all! If the bargain is satisfactory to me, why shouldn’t you take advantage of it? I make you the offer before a notary, and it seems to me that your conscience should be tranquil. I don’t like the house; it is occupied by water carriers, Savoyards, the commonest of the common people! What the devil do you suppose I can do with it? They move without paying, or else they stay and don’t pay; they insult whoever goes to ask them for money, or they threaten to beat you! Such tenants are delightful!”

“But you have a principal tenant who looks after all those details.”

“No, no, I tell you that I want to sell, that is the quickest way out of it; it’s too much of a nuisance to me! And then, there’s another inconvenience: if I have among my tenants a pretty grisette or two, or a pretty face, why, you understand—I give them a receipt after obtaining, not their money, but something else. Upon my honor, I am not fitted for a landlord, my heart is too susceptible!”

“You are arranging your affairs in such a way that you won’t be a landlord much longer,” said the notary, shaking his head, “you are not reasonable, Monsieur DarÉna. Only six years ago your father left you a very pretty fortune!”

“Of which I have nothing left but the little house that I want to sell,” said DarÉna, laughingly. “Well, that is the fate of all fortunes; they vanish, but one constructs another! I am never disturbed, for my part!—Well, MonfrÉville won’t take my house, and so Monsieur d’Hurbain must sell it for me. But pray admit your old Jasmin! I am curious to see this fossil!”

“In whose service is this model retainer?” asked MonfrÉville.

“He was in the service of Monsieur le Marquis de Grandvilain, who died ten or eleven years ago.”

“The Marquis de Grandvilain!” cried DarÉna, throwing himself into a chair and laughing until the tears came. “What delicious names they have!”

“Grandvilain!” muttered MonfrÉville, “why, I knew the old marquis; my father was a friend of his. He used often to speak of a party at his house, of a display of fireworks to celebrate the birth of a son; of a frying-pan that was thrown into the air, and of saucepan covers that wounded several people.”

“Nonsense! nonsense! it is impossible! MonfrÉville is making fun of us!” said DarÉna, stretching himself out in his chair.

“It is all true,” replied the notary; “what Monsieur de MonfrÉville says really happened. But the Marquis de Grandvilain is dead, and so is his wife; nobody is left now of the old family except a son, who is sixteen years and a half old, and who already has more than thirty thousand francs a year; I manage his property. But his father, obeying a whim, a most incredible piece of folly, provided that at fifteen years his son was to have control of his whole fortune, and he left him no guardian except old Jasmin, his valet de chambre.”

DarÉna straightened up in his chair and assumed a singular expression, as he exclaimed:

“Thirty thousand francs a year at fifteen! That deserves consideration.”

“Was the poor old marquis mad?” asked MonfrÉville.

“No, but he was very old when the child was born, and he wished him to be his own master early in life.”

“Pardi! that doesn’t strike me as so foolish, after all!” said DarÉna. “In fact, why shouldn’t one be reasonable at fifteen, when one is so far from it at sixty? But how does the heir manage his fortune? He is consuming it doubtless in cakes and marrons glacÉs?”

“Thank heaven, so far as I know, he has given his time thus far only to his rhetoric and the humanities. But it was with a view to learning something about him that I sent for the faithful Jasmin. With your permission I will have him come in.”

“We beg that you will do so. For my part, I am very curious to know how this little Grandvilain behaves himself. Oh! what a devil of a name! But no matter, I would gladly change with him now, if he would throw in his father’s coin with the name.—What do you say, MonfrÉville? Oh! you are a philosopher; and besides, you are rich, which makes philosophy come very easy.”

Jasmin’s arrival put an end to this conversation. The old servant bowed low to all the company, then said to the notary:

“Has monsieur any questions to ask me?”

“Yes, my dear Jasmin. I want first of all to hear about our young marquis.”

“He’s very well, monsieur; he is in excellent health, and he’s a very fine-looking boy.”

“That is well; and his studies?”

“Well! so far as I can learn, monsieur, he seems to be a great scholar.”

“Do you know, Jasmin, that your young master was sixteen more than six months ago?”

“Oh yes, monsieur, I know it very well.”

“Does he know the terms of his father’s will?”

“Why, yes, monsieur.”

“I fancy that he is too sensible to think of entering into possession of his property yet; but for all that, it is my duty to go to him and render an account of my administration of it, and to ask him if it is his intention that I should continue to handle it. Moreover, I have long desired to see the young marquis, and I do not propose to postpone that pleasure any longer. At what college is he?”

Jasmin opened his eyes in dismay and looked toward the door.

“Don’t you hear me?” continued the notary. “I ask you to what college I must go to find Monsieur ChÉrubin de Grandvilain?”

“The model valet seems to me as if he were deaf,” said DarÉna, laughing at Jasmin’s expression; while Monsieur de MonfrÉville, who had been scrutinizing the old servant closely, walked toward him and fastening his eyes upon him, said in a half-serious, half-mocking tone:

“Do you mean that you don’t know what you have done with your young master?”

“Yes, yes!” replied Jasmin; “monsieur le marquis is at Gagny.”

“At Gagny! Is there a college there?” demanded the notary.

“Gagny, near Villemonble. Oh! I know that place,” said DarÉna; “it’s a small village; there are some fine estates in the neighborhood, but not a restaurant in the whole region. I went there with two dancers from the OpÉra, and we could not even obtain a rabbit stew, the inevitable dish in the country. But there never was a college at Gagny; I don’t even know of a boarding-school there.”

“Tell us, Monsieur Jasmin,” said the notary in a stern tone, “where is young Grandvilain staying at Gagny?”

The old servant made up his mind and replied with an almost proud air:

“At his nurse’s, monsieur.”

At those words the notary was speechless, MonfrÉville began to laugh, and DarÉna rolled about in his chair.

“At his nurse’s!” repeated the notary at last. “Is it possible, Jasmin, that the young marquis is still at his nurse’s, at sixteen years and a half?”

“Yes, monsieur; but never fear, he is none the less well educated; I found a teacher for him, the village schoolmaster, Monsieur GÉrondif, who teaches him all that it is possible to teach.”

DarÉna roared with laughter anew, when he heard the name of the tutor.

“Educated at his nurse’s!” he cried; “that is delicious; it’s a new method, and perhaps it will become fashionable. I am tempted to return to my nurse myself.”

“Monsieur Jasmin,” said the notary, “I cannot understand how you can have left your master’s son with peasants up to this time. I consider you very reprehensible; you should at least have consulted me.”

The old servant, who was sorely vexed, began to shout at the top of his lungs:

“Monsieur, I am my master’s servant! I am not the man to thwart him and to use force upon him, and it is not my fault if Monsieur ChÉrubin does not want to leave Nicole, his nurse, and his little foster-sister.”

“Aha! so there’s a little foster-sister, is there? I begin to understand the young man’s obstinacy,” said DarÉna; “and how old might the foster-sister be?”

“Two years younger than my young master,—about fourteen and a half.”

“And is she pretty?”

“Why, yes, monsieur, she’s a fine slip of a girl.”

“Monsieur Jasmin,” continued the notary, “things cannot go on like this; it is my duty to straighten out this affair; my friendship for the late Monsieur de Grandvilain imposes that duty upon me, and you too must understand that a child of a good family, the son of your former master, ought not to pass his best years in a village.”

“I assure you, monsieur le notaire, that I tell my master so very often. I say to him: ‘You have a house at Paris, a beautiful apartment with crimson hangings, solid mahogany furniture, a night table with carved corners, and the inside of gilded porcelain.’ But all that doesn’t tempt him. He turns his back on me and won’t listen.”

“I should think not!” cried DarÉna; “the idea of the old fool expecting to tempt his master with a night table and all its accessories! If you wish, Monsieur d’Hurbain, I will undertake to persuade the young marquis to return to Paris.”

“You, Monsieur DarÉna; by what means, pray?”

“That’s my business. Will you trust me?”

“I shall be very much obliged to you if you will assist me, but I propose to act for myself also. Monsieur de MonfrÉville, will not you lend us your assistance too? Won’t you go to Gagny with me, as your father was a friend of the old marquis?”

“I am very much inclined to join you. Indeed, I am already trying to think how we can induce the young man to come back with us; for after all, this is not a case for resorting to violence. The young man is his own master, by his father’s express desire; and if he should persist in remaining at his nurse’s, we should be obliged to leave him there.”

“But it is impossible that the marquis should not give way to our arguments, to our entreaties.”

“Arguments! ah! my dear Monsieur d’Hurbain, I fancy that we shall need something stronger than arguments to captivate a boy.”

“Messieurs,” cried DarÉna, “I suggest a wager. A magnificent dinner at the Rocher de Cancale, to be given by two of us to the one who triumphs and who brings young ChÉrubin to Paris. Is it a bargain?”

“With all our hearts.”

“When do we start for Gagny?”

“I will arrange to leave my office at noon to-morrow, messieurs. Will you call for me? Shall I expect you?”

“No,” said MonfrÉville, “let us go each on his own account; we shall be able to find this nurse’s house.”

“Nicole Frimousset,” said Jasmin; “a narrow street leading into the square. Anyone will point out her house.”

“Very well,” said DarÉna; “Nicole Frimousset; the names are engraved on my memory. MonfrÉville is right, it is better for us to go each on his own hook.”

“But take care, messieurs,” said the notary; “if you delay, you may make the journey for nothing, and I shall already have started for Paris with ChÉrubin.”

“Oh! I don’t think so,” said MonfrÉville.

“As for me, messieurs, I am a bold player,” said DarÉna, “and I will give you the start. I will not leave Paris until a full hour after you, and even so I am sure that I shall arrive in time.”

Jasmin, who was bewildered and somewhat alarmed by all that he heard, exclaimed with an air of dismay:

“I say, messieurs, I hope that you won’t do my young master any injury in all this; I mean, I hope that you won’t make him unhappy?”

“Ha! ha! ha! this old fellow is enchanting with his innocence!” said DarÉna.—”Never fear, venerable retainer! We shall employ only pleasant methods! As for you, all there is for you to do is to find a way to get Monsieur ChÉrubin’s little foster-sister out of the way to-morrow morning. That is indispensable for the success of our excursion.”

“You hear, Jasmin?” said the notary. “Remember that the happiness, the future of your young master is at stake, and that you will be very blameworthy if you do not try to help us.”

The old servant bowed and went out, saying that he would obey.

MonfrÉville and DarÉna also left the notary’s, saying to each other:

“Until to-morrow, at Gagny.”

X
THE ARMS OF ACHILLES

Jasmin returned to the house utterly upset; the old servant did not know whether he ought to rejoice or to grieve; he would be very glad to see his master at Paris, so that he might be always with him, and serve him as he had served the old marquis; but he was afraid that that would grieve the youth whom he called his dear child; and he was also afraid that life in Paris would not be so good for ChÉrubin’s health as life in the village.

While making these reflections, he summoned all the servants in the house. It will be remembered that Jasmin had kept all those who had been in the employ of his former master, and that is why ChÉrubin’s household consisted entirely of mature persons. The cook had passed his sixtieth year; the coachman was approaching his sixty-fifth; there was a little jockey of fifty; and Mademoiselle Turlurette, who was a child compared with all the rest, was in her thirty-seventh year, none the less.

“My children,” said Jasmin to the servants, “I think it my duty to inform you that our young master will come among us to-morrow.”

“To-morrow!” cried Turlurette, with a joyful exclamation; “is that certain?”

“It is very certain—perhaps. However, arrange everything so that Monsieur ChÉrubin will be pleased; see that everything is rubbed and polished with more care than ever. Cook, prepare a dainty dinner. Coachman, let the carriage and horses be ready, in case he should want to use them. Have flowers placed in the hall, as on the days when my late master gave a ball.”

“Are we going to have a display of fireworks?” asked Turlurette in a quizzical tone.

“No, mademoiselle, no, I have had enough of fireworks!” replied Jasmin, passing his hand over his face; “and unless Monsieur ChÉrubin orders, not even a rocket will ever be fired in this courtyard again. But still, we must see that it is very lively here. By the way, we will have some music—three organ grinders, and as many violin players, who will be stationed in the courtyard; they must play their best pieces when our young master enters the house; that cannot fail to be agreeable to him.”

“Do you want singers too?” asked the old jockey.

“Well! if you can find any singers, men or women, it seems to me that they will not do any harm. You understand, all this for the afternoon.”

The next morning, Jasmin started early for Gagny, where he arrived about ten o’clock. First of all, he asked for ChÉrubin, and Nicole informed him that he had gone to walk with Louise toward Maison Rouge. The old servant was about to go in search of the young people when he met Monsieur GÉrondif in the square, and hastened to inform him as to what was to happen during the day.

The professor clapped his hands, tossed his new hat in the air, and seemed inclined to cut a caper.

“Tandem! Denique! Ultima cumÆi venit jam carminis Ætas! Jam nova progenies coelo demittitur alto!”

“Why no, that isn’t it,” replied Jasmin; “I tell you that the notary and two of his friends are coming.”

“Very good! perfect! more than perfect! We must now find my pupil at once.”

“I was going to look for him; he is walking with little Louise in the direction of Maison Rouge.”

“With little Louise, who is already large. How imprudent it is! It is high time to separate the man from the serpent!”

“Did you see a serpent?”

“The serpent, my dear Jasmin, is woman, the apple, sin! You don’t seem to understand; I will explain it to you some other day, but now we must find the child at once.”

“Especially as those gentlemen requested me to send the little girl away this morning, while they were talking to my master.”

“You see, those gentlemen think as I do; they understand that this little girl is now a dangerous companion, most certainly. We will get her out of the way, virtuous Jasmin, we will find a pretext, a subterfuge. Come, take my arm and let us run.”

“Run! the devil! that’s very easy to say! However, I’ll try.”

“Men run at all ages, worthy Jasmin, and you were built for a runner.”

As he spoke, the professor took the old servant’s arm and hurried him away in the direction where they hoped to find ChÉrubin. As they walked rapidly along, Jasmin asked Monsieur GÉrondif:

“Have you thought of any excuse for sending the girl away?”

“No; have you?”

“No, I have not.”

“Let us go on, that will come in due time.”

That rapid march lasted for three-quarters of an hour. Jasmin could hold out no longer, he was entirely out of breath. But the professor still pulled him along, saying:

“Macte puer! macte animo! Our dear ChÉrubin’s happiness is at stake. Look out, excellent Jasmin, you are stumbling; you are putting your feet in the ruts, in pools of water!”

The excellent Jasmin’s breath was exhausted, and he decided to fall in the middle of the road.

“I can’t go any farther,” he stammered; “I must get my breath.”

But at that moment Monsieur GÉrondif glanced at a clump of trees a short distance from the road and exclaimed:

“There they are! the little girl is eating apricots; she offers one to my pupil, who stands lost in admiration before his apricot! It is time that we arrived.”

ChÉrubin had gone out early with Louise that morning; they had taken a basket containing bread and fruit, and looked forward to eating their luncheon in the woods; that frugal collation seemed most delicious to them. And, in sooth, what more could they desire? they were together, and they loved each other; that is the most enjoyable repast to which one brings a contented heart.

The relations between Louise and ChÉrubin at this time were so pleasant, so pure, that they were happy to be together and aspired to no other happiness. It may be, however, that young Louise’s affection was more eager, more expansive, because there was already a tinge of sadness in it. She was afraid that ChÉrubin would decide to go to Paris; she was afraid that she was going to lose her friend; and that fear made her love him even more, for our affections are strengthened by the sorrows that they cause us.

The two young people were greatly surprised when the professor and Jasmin suddenly appeared in the midst of their open-air repast.

“We were looking for you, attractive youths,” said Monsieur GÉrondif; “we were perturbed in spirit. The adventure of Pyramus and Thisbe has been running in my head; I have mistaken every dog I met for a lioness. I am well aware that my pupil has no inclination to fly, like the young Assyrian, with any Thisbe; but anyone may make a false step.”

“Tell me, why did you come to look for us?” said ChÉrubin; “I have time enough to study, I should think. I know enough already. Is anyone sick? Has anything happened, that Jasmin comes with you?”

Monsieur GÉrondif seemed struck by a sudden thought; he glanced at Jasmin and said:

“In truth, my noble pupil, there has been an accident—not at all serious, I trust. Your nurse’s oldest son has hurt himself; he is at Montfermeil—he has written; and Nicole would like to have Louise go to him at once; she will come too very soon.”

“We’ll go with Louise,” said ChÉrubin.

“No, we had better go back to poor Nicole, who is in grief—she doesn’t know where to go for a doctor. Louise can go to Montfermeil alone; you can see the first houses from here.”

“Oh, yes! yes! I will be there in a few minutes,” said Louise; “but where is dear mother Nicole’s son?”

“At Madame Patineau’s, on the main street. Here, here is her address, and a line for her.”

Monsieur GÉrondif scrawled a few words in pencil, wherein he requested the lady to whom he was sending the girl to keep her at her house, and not to let her go until she was sent for. The girl took the note, bade ChÉrubin adieu and ran off toward Montfermeil. The professor rubbed his hands and glanced at Jasmin, who said to himself:

“I should never have thought of that.”

They returned to Gagny; as they approached the square, they saw a carriage stop and a gentleman alight: it was Monsieur d’Hurbain, the notary.

“Here’s a visitor for you,” said Jasmin to his master. “This gentleman is your notary, in whose care your venerable father placed his testament.”

“And it was to prevent your attention being distracted so that you might receive some gentlemen who are coming from Paris to see you, that we sent little Louise to Montfermeil,” said GÉrondif with a smile.

“What? the accident to Nicole’s son——”

“Was all a joke.”

Before ChÉrubin had time to reply, Monsieur d’Hurbain came up and bowed low to him. The notary’s solemn manner made an impression on the young man, who faltered a few words in reply to the flattering remarks that were addressed to him. They walked toward the nurse’s house, and for the first time ChÉrubin had a feeling of something like shame when the notary said:

“What, monsieur le marquis, is this where you are studying? You are sixteen and a half years old, you belong to a noble family, you have a handsome fortune, and you pass your life beneath the roof of these village folk! I honor the laboring man, I esteem all honest persons, but everyone should keep to his own rank, monsieur le marquis, otherwise society would fall into confusion and anarchy; and there would no longer be that desire to rise, to succeed, which, by implanting in men’s hearts a praiseworthy ambition, makes them capable of noble efforts to attain the end at which they are eager to arrive.”

“Bravo! recte dicis!” cried Monsieur GÉrondif, smiling at the notary; “monsieur talks now as I used to talk.”

ChÉrubin blushed and did not know what to reply. Monsieur d’Hurbain continued his efforts to make the young man listen to reason, displaying the utmost amiability and suavity in his arguments. He was careful, however, to dwell on the marquis’s rank and wealth, and he always ended with these words:

“You agree with me now, do you not, and you are coming back to Paris with me?”

But ChÉrubin, although he seemed to listen with great deference to the notary’s speeches, replied in a very mild tone:

“No, monsieur, I prefer to stay here.”

“It certainly isn’t my fault!” cried Monsieur GÉrondif, raising his eyes heavenward. “Every day I say to my pupil the same things that you have said, monsieur; but I reinforce them by example from history, ancient and modern; it’s as if I were teaching a blind man to draw!”

Monsieur d’Hurbain was beginning to doubt the success of his visit, when they heard a horse’s footsteps. They ran to the door to see what it was, and discovered a very stylishly dressed gentleman in a dainty tilbury, accompanied by his groom only.

It was Edouard de MonfrÉville, who was driving himself. He stopped, jumped lightly to the ground and approached the party, bowing courteously to ChÉrubin, to whom the notary said:

“Allow me to introduce the son of one of your father’s old friends, Monsieur de MonfrÉville, who has come to add his entreaties to mine, to induce you to go to Paris.”

MonfrÉville took ChÉrubin’s hand and pressed it; and after scrutinizing the young man for some time, he said:

“When, in addition to a name and a fortune, a man also possesses such a charming face, it is really inexcusable for him to hide in a village.”

“Most assuredly!” murmured GÉrondif, smiling at MonfrÉville; “if Helen had hidden, we should not have had the siege of Troy; if Dunois had remained with his nurse, he probably would not have been called ‘le beau Dunois.’”

MonfrÉville bestowed an ironical glance on the professor, and continued to address ChÉrubin:

“My dear monsieur, my father was a friend of yours, and that made me desire your acquaintance; it rests entirely with you whether we shall be friends as our fathers were. Oh! I realize that the difference between my age and yours may make my suggestion seem absurd to you, but when you know the world, you will find that such differences vanish before congenial tastes and temperaments; I am certain even now that we shall get on very well together. But deuce take it! what sort of costume is this? A good-looking young fellow, with a fine figure, rigged out in such style! It is pitiful!”

“My young master employs his late father’s tailor,” murmured Jasmin; “I thought that I ought not to take him anywhere else.”

“You were wrong, my faithful servant; a tailor is not a relic to be preserved with respect; evidently this particular one is out of touch with the styles of the day.—Franck! bring what I told you to put under the seat of the tilbury.”

MonfrÉville’s servant soon appeared laden with clothes; he laid out on a table a beautiful coat made in the latest style, a waistcoat of bewitching material, black satin stocks, dainty cravats, and a little blue velvet cap, with gold lace and tassel.

ChÉrubin could not restrain a cry of admiration at sight of all those things. Without asking his permission, MonfrÉville removed his jacket and waistcoat and made him put on what he had brought; then he put a richly embroidered cravat about his neck and tied it rakishly; and lastly he placed the charming little velvet cap on his head and arranged the curls which it did not hide. Then he led the young man in front of a mirror and said:

“Look at yourself! Aren’t you a hundred times better-looking?”

ChÉrubin blushed with pleasure when he saw how comely he was; and in truth his new costume did impart a wholly different expression to his pretty face. He was so handsome that Nicole, although distressed to find that her fieu was to be taken away from her, could not help crying out:

“Jarni! how fine he is! Why, he’s superb in that rig! He’s a hundred times better-looking than he was!”

“He doesn’t look at all like his late father,” murmured Jasmin.

“He resembles the son of Jupiter and Latona, Diana’s brother, otherwise called Apollo,—Phoebus, if you prefer,” cried Monsieur GÉrondif, still smiling.

Monsieur d’Hurbain glanced at MonfrÉville with an air of satisfaction, as if to congratulate him on having discovered the means of seducing ChÉrubin, who, in truth, seemed delighted with his costume. He constantly gazed at and admired himself; and Monsieur de MonfrÉville, to encourage his favorable disposition, made haste to say to him:

“I was told that you lived in a village, but I was loath to believe it! The son of the Marquis de Grandvilain, who ought to be noted for his style, his dress, his manners, who, in short, was made to be a shining light in Parisian society, cannot remain buried in a peasant’s house! It is an anomaly—a crime! These trifling specimens of clothes will give you an idea of what you would have in Paris. I have come in my tilbury to fetch you, and I propose that within a week you shall be the best dressed, the most stylish young man in the capital. You will set the fashion; you are rich enough and handsome enough for that.”

ChÉrubin seemed to be captivated by MonfrÉville’s words, and the latter, assured of his triumph, said in a moment:

“Let us start, my young friend, let us not delay any longer. The tilbury is waiting for us, and Paris is beckoning to you.”

But at that ChÉrubin’s face became clouded, and instead of following Monsieur de MonfrÉville and the notary, who had risen, he resumed his seat, saying:

“No, I don’t want to go away, for I want Louise to see me in these clothes.”

The two gentlemen from the city were in despair; they believed that they had fully persuaded the young marquis to accompany them, and again he refused.

The notary argued, MonfrÉville put forth all his eloquence and drew fascinating pictures of the pleasures of Paris, but ChÉrubin refused to go with them.

Monsieur GÉrondif was in dismay, Nicole was triumphant, and Jasmin muttered under his breath:

“I had an idea that these men wouldn’t be any smarter than me.”

No one spoke, for no one knew what course to adopt. Suddenly they heard another carriage approaching. Thereupon a gleam of hope shone in MonfrÉville’s eyes, and Monsieur d’Hurbain exclaimed:

“Faith! it’s high time that Monsieur DarÉna arrived, but I doubt very much his having any better success than we have had.”

“Perhaps he will,” murmured MonfrÉville; “DarÉna is one of those people who dare to do anything.”

The carriage stopped in front of the nurse’s house, and Nicole’s guests ran to the door to see who alighted.

The cab, for it was a vulgar cab that had arrived, seemed to contain a number of people, to judge by the noise inside. Several voices could be heard speaking at once, and continual bursts of laughter. At last the door opened. Monsieur DarÉna alighted first, dressed even more shabbily than on the previous day; which fact did not deter him from exhibiting the most distinguished manners, as he assisted his companions to alight.

First came a young woman dressed as a Spaniard, then one dressed as an Odalisk, a third in a Swiss costume, and a fourth in the piquant garb of a Neapolitan. And they were all young, pretty, graceful and shapely; their eyes were bright, mischievous, and most alluring; and there was in their manner of jumping from the carriage, a surprising lightness and grace, and in their general bearing an uncommon absence of restraint.

The villagers gazed at them in wide-eyed amazement. Monsieur GÉrondif affected to lower his eyes, but he hazarded a glance nearly every minute. The notary glanced at MonfrÉville with an air of surprise, muttering:

“What does all this mean?”

MonfrÉville laughed heartily, as he replied:

“Faith! I believe that he is cleverer than we are.”

Meanwhile, DarÉna took two of the ladies by the hand.

“Come, Rosina and Malvina; follow us, Coelina and Foedora. We have come to pay our respects to the young Marquis de Grandvilain. Where is he? Ah, yes, I see him; this charming young man with the melting eyes is he. Peste! be on your guard, mesdames; those eyes will make terrible havoc in your ranks.”

As he spoke, DarÉna entered the house with his companions. After ushering in his four ladies, who seemed not in the least embarrassed, and who scrutinized laughingly the interior of the rustic dwelling, DarÉna saluted ChÉrubin as if he were an old acquaintance, and said:

“My dear marquis, your notary, Monsieur d’Hurbain, is mine as well; your friend Monsieur de MonfrÉville is also a very intimate friend of mine; so you see that I too should be your friend—that is a title which I should deem myself fortunate to deserve. Shake hands, marquis—men like us understand each other instantly. You are young, but we will form you.”

ChÉrubin was bewildered by all that he saw and heard; moreover, the Spaniard and the Neapolitan were already flashing glances at him of a sort to which he was not accustomed; while the Odalisk smiled at him in a most enticing fashion, and the Swiss constantly passed the tip of her tongue over her lips and winked at him. All this caused him a perturbation which he could not define.

“Marquis ChÉrubin,” continued DarÉna, “I have ventured to bring with me four fascinating ladies; they are artists, dancers of the greatest talent, connected with the Grand OpÉra in Paris; they had a most eager desire to see you and to drink milk in the country.—Is it possible to obtain milk here, virtuous villager?”

While DarÉna put this question to Nicole, who ran off at once to the dairy, the little woman dressed as a Swiss jumped up and down on her chair, crying:

“Yes! milk’s splendid! I’m going to drink it hard.”

DarÉna walked to where she sat and nudged her with his elbow, saying in her ear:

“Be kind enough to keep quiet, Malvina, for you can’t say anything but nonsense.”

And MonfrÉville, biting his lips to avoid laughing, whispered to DarÉna:

“You have the face to say that these women are from the OpÉra!”

“Three of them are, my dear fellow; I swear that those three are figurantes. The Swiss is at one of the boulevard theatres, it is true, but she has a bewitching leg.—I have brought these ladies in their stage costumes,” DarÉna continued, addressing ChÉrubin, “because they promised to give you a slight specimen of their talent. Come, my goddesses, give us a pretty pas de quatre for the young marquis, who has no idea of what is to be seen at the OpÉra. I realize that this isn’t as convenient a place for dancing as the stage; the floor isn’t parqueted; but you will have all the more credit.”

“It isn’t even tiled!” cried the Swiss, looking at her feet; “how do you expect us to slide on such a floor? No, thanks! it’s too much work! We shall come down on our backsides!”

“Ha! ha! very pretty! very pretty!” cried DarÉna, affecting to laugh heartily in order to lessen the effect produced by the Swiss girl’s expression; “you must excuse madame; she isn’t a Parisian and she doesn’t know our language very well; she doesn’t understand the comparative value of words.”

“Tibullus, Petronius and Ovid sometimes employed the equivalent,” said Monsieur GÉrondif, perpetrating an immense smile, so that the four dancers might see all his teeth.

“I ain’t a Parisian!” cried Mademoiselle Malvina; “well, upon my word! I was born on Rue Mouffetard—just where my mother sells Brie cheese.”

DarÉna trod on her foot and whispered to her:

“If you don’t hold your tongue, Malvina, I’ll put you in the cab, you shan’t have any milk, and you shan’t come to the dinner.”

The Swiss held her tongue, and the count, taking a kit from his pocket, prepared to play.

“I’ll be the orchestra,” he said; “I have thought of everything, you see. Come, mesdames, ready.”

Meanwhile, Monsieur d’Hurbain went to MonfrÉville and said to him in an undertone:

“Really, Monsieur le Comte de DarÉna has employed an expedient which—I don’t know whether I ought to assent to this. His scheme seems to me rather shady.”

“Why so?” rejoined MonfrÉville. “DarÉna is cleverer than we are. I think that his method of seduction is all right. After all, the young fellow would go to the OpÉra, if he went to Paris; so what is the harm of letting him see here what he would see on the stage? In fact, it seems to me that the illusion is much less.”

“Very well,” said the notary, resuming his seat; “after all, the end justifies the means.”

The four dancers were on the point of beginning their performance, when Nicole appeared with milk and cups. They pounced upon the latter and declared that they proposed to have something to drink first.

While they were drinking, ChÉrubin kept his eyes constantly on those four women, who were so utterly unlike all the women he had ever before seen. Monsieur GÉrondif poured the milk for the dancers with his own hands.

“Assuredly I bear a resemblance to Ganymede at this moment,” he said to them. “He served Jupiter, I serve Terpsichore and her sisters.”

“I say,” said Malvina, snatching the pail from the professor’s hand, “you make us sick, pouring it out so, drop by drop! I’d rather drink as much as I like—it’s a quicker way.”

“It’s amazing how thirsty they are, for fashionable ladies,” said old Jasmin, rolling his eyes in wonderment.

When the milk was exhausted, the four dancers took their places. The others were seated, DarÉna with his kit. He played the air of the Jota Arragonaise, and the ladies began to dance with much grace and lightness of foot.

The peasants were lost in admiration. Jasmin applauded; Monsieur GÉrondif no longer lowered his eyes, and his whole face was as red and inflamed as his nose.

MonfrÉville and the notary watched ChÉrubin; he seemed fascinated, enchanted by the novel spectacle presented to him, and his eyes did not grow weary of gazing at those young and pretty women, whose steps, whose attitudes, whose slightest movements were instinct with pleasure and licentiousness. DarÉna, observing the effect produced by the dance, played a livelier air, then another in even quicker time. The dancers followed the change of tempo, and their dance became more rapid, more seductive. They seemed to vie with one another in grace and litheness; their eyes, enlivened by the violent exercise, shone brighter and with more fire. Jasmin applauded wildly, Monsieur GÉrondif scratched his nose as if he would demolish it, and ChÉrubin became much moved. At that moment, excited by the zest with which she danced, Mademoiselle Malvina began to hurl her legs into space with such vigor that it was impossible for the spectators to avoid seeing that she wore no drawers.

“They are bayadÈres!” cried Monsieur GÉrondif, whose eyes were almost out of his head; “it’s the Mozambique dance! it’s very interesting!”

Monsieur d’Hurbain, considering that the Mozambique dance went altogether too far, rose and said:

“Very good, mesdames, but that will do; you must be tired.”

“Bah!” cried Mademoiselle Malvina, “I’d like to dance the cancan myself! I’m rather good at the cancan.”

DarÉna, who was desirous that the effect produced by the dance should not be wasted, ran to ChÉrubin and took his arm, saying:

“Now we are going back to Paris; we are to dine at the Rocher de Cancale with these ladies, and they hope that you will join us, for the party would not be complete without you.”

ChÉrubin was excited, and he hesitated. DarÉna made a sign to the dancers, who at once surrounded the youth, saying:

“Oh, yes, monsieur, come to Paris with us!”

“You must go to the OpÉra to-night; you will see us dance there, and it will be rather different from what it was in this room.”

“It would be very mean of you to refuse us.”

“And then,” cried Malvina, “at the Rocher de Cancale! That’s the place to get a good dinner! I’m going to stuff myself, I am!”

“Come, come, you must be one of us!” exclaimed DarÉna.

The Spaniard and the Neapolitan each seized one of ChÉrubin’s arms; he let them drag him away and they carried him, almost dancing, to the cab, which he entered with DarÉna and the four dancers.

“But I have a carriage,” cried the notary; “you will be too crowded with six in there! Let some of the ladies come in my carriage.”

“No, no!” said DarÉna; “we’ll sit in one another’s laps—it’s all the more fun!—Off you go, driver; founder your nags—we’ll pay you for them. To the Rocher de Cancale!”

The cab drove away with ChÉrubin, who had not even had time to bid his nurse good-bye.

“DarÉna has succeeded!” said MonfrÉville; “the bird has left his nest.”

“Yes,” replied Monsieur d’Hurbain, “but this sort of thing must not go too far. And this dinner—with those women; really, I can’t be there. I, a notary, dine with ballet dancers!”

“Oh! bless my soul! just once; you can go incog. Besides, it’s for a good motive, and your presence will prevent the dinner from being too indecent. Let us take my tilbury, we can follow them better.”

Monsieur d’Hurbain entered the tilbury with MonfrÉville, and Monsieur GÉrondif and Jasmin jumped into the carriage.

“They are taking my young master to the Rocher de Cancale,” said the old servant, “and I have ordered a sumptuous banquet at the house, and a reception, with music and flowers and——”

“Never mind, worthy Jasmin,” rejoined the tutor, “all those things will serve as well later; my pupil will have to go home eventually. As for myself, I am Mentor, and I must not abandon Telemachus, even when he goes to dinner at the Rocher de Cancale.”

XI
MONFRÉVILLE.—DARÉNA.—POTERNE

A handsome salon had been engaged and a sumptuous banquet ordered at the Rocher de Cancale, by Comte DarÉna, who had said to himself before he started for Gagny:

“Whatever happens, we shall surely come back to dinner; to be sure, if I happen to be one of those who are to pay, it will be rather hard for me just at this time; but that doesn’t worry me much; I’ll order the dinner none the less.”

To give no thought to anything but pleasure, to pay no heed to the future, to be, in truth, often indifferent concerning affairs of the present, such was DarÉna’s nature. Born of a noble family, he had received an excellent education and had studied diligently. His father, a man of a proud and stern character, having observed in his son early in life a decided taste for independence and dissipation, had thought that he could correct him by depriving him of those amusements and that liberty which are the ordinary means of relaxation after toil and study. Thus, when DarÉna was nineteen years of age, he had never had a franc that he could call his own, or a half hour of freedom. At that time his father died; his mother had died long before, and he suddenly found himself his own master and possessed of a very pretty little fortune. He plunged recklessly into pleasure and dissipation, trying to make up all the time that his father’s severity had caused him to lose, and bade adieu forever to study and to serious things.

Cards, women, horses, the table, became his idols. At first he frequented the best society, to which his name and his wealth gave him access; from the very beginning he had a multitude of love intrigues; but DarÉna was not sentimental, he looked for nothing but pleasure in such affairs, and broke them off as soon as he foreshadowed the slightest exaction or annoyance.

As ladies in good society are not always disposed to form a liaison of a few days only, and as Comte DarÉna’s behavior was no secret, since he plumed himself on not becoming attached to any woman, his amatory triumphs gradually became less numerous in the fashionable world, and he was compelled to pay his addresses to petites bourgeoises, then to ladies of the theatre, then to grisettes, then to courtesans; and finally he had grown to be so unexacting on that point that he had been known to take his mistresses from the most humble ranks of society.

DarÉna’s fortune, like his love-affairs, had sunk constantly lower and lower. At last, at the age of twenty-eight, the count had squandered his whole patrimony and had nothing left save the house in Faubourg Saint-Antoine, which he desired to sell, and upon which he had already borrowed more than it was worth.

But, far from worrying concerning his present plight and his future, so long as he was able to dine well, to drink champagne with a ballet dancer, a figurante, a lace-maker, or even a lady’s maid, DarÉna snapped his fingers at all the rest. To obtain those enjoyments, he was often obliged to resort to doubtful expedients; but the man who is not particular in choosing his acquaintances is not always particular as to his means of existence.

A person named Poterne had seconded DarÉna’s dissipation and ruin to the utmost of his power. This Poterne was a man whose age it was impossible to guess, he was so ugly and unshapely. A gaunt, bony, angular body, supported by thin, knock-kneed legs, was surmounted by an oblong head of excessive length, a nose broken in the centre and hooked at the end, a mouth without lips, a protruding chin, and small eyes of a dull green hue, shaded by bushy eyebrows, and turning incessantly in every direction. Add to these an enormous quantity of thick, dirty brown hair, always cut like the quills of a hedgehog, and you have a faithful image of Monsieur Poterne.

This man had become attached to Comte DarÉna when he was still wealthy; he had offered his services in any capacity; he knew all the places in Paris where a young man of family can ruin himself with the least difficulty. If DarÉna spied, at the play or on the street, a woman who attracted him, Poterne undertook to follow her, and to hand her a letter containing information concerning him. Later, Poterne made it his business to find usurers, money-lenders, accommodating tradesmen; so that he had become indispensable to the count, who treated him sometimes as his friend, sometimes as his servant, cajoled him occasionally, despised him always, and could never do without him.

The reader will assume perhaps that it had been this gentleman’s aim to enrich himself at the expense of the person whom he was assisting to ruin himself. That was Poterne’s idea at first; but his own vices prevented him from taking advantage of another’s failings. As inveterate a gambler and libertine as DarÉna, while the latter was losing thousand-franc notes in a fashionable salon, Poterne was gambling away, in some wine-shop or low resort, the money he had extracted from his intimate friend. While DarÉna entertained some charmer at VÉfour’s or VÉry’s, Poterne betook himself to a gin-shop to squander what money he had with a street peddler, and he was too ugly not to be compelled to be open-handed. And when DarÉna was without a sou he sometimes abused his friend, and accused him of being the author of his ruin. At such times he unceremoniously appropriated all that Poterne possessed; and that worthy, who was also a coward, allowed himself to be despoiled without a murmur, promising himself that he would have his revenge ere long.

It may seem strange that the refined MonfrÉville should be on intimate terms with a man whose tastes, whose conduct, whose very dress, proved his disorderly mode of life. But there are people who, after knowing a person when he was rich and fortunate, dare not turn their backs on him when they meet him with a soiled coat and dingy hat. Moreover, DarÉna still had intervals of prosperity; when the cards had been favorable to him, or when his friend Poterne had discovered some new resource, he instantly reappeared, elegantly and stylishly dressed; he frequented the theatres, the ballrooms and the best restaurants in Paris; and a few days later, a perceptible falling off in his toilet, a certain lack of neatness in some part of his costume, indicated that the situation had changed. But even with a wretched hat and dirty linen, DarÉna succeeded so well in retaining the manners of good society, that it was hard to believe that he consorted with the very lowest.

Indeed, does anyone know aught of the private life of the great majority of the persons with whom he has only a passing connection? Meeting DarÉna arrayed as in the days of his prosperity, seeing him squander money madly in some pleasure resort, no one asked him by what blessed change of luck he had become rich; and for the same reason, when he was seen, in shabby garments, slinking into a wretched twenty-two sou restaurant, no one took pains to inquire what hard luck he had had. In Paris, people do not try to worm themselves into other people’s secrets; and in this respect, discretion very often resembles indifference.

MonfrÉville, who had known DarÉna when he was rich, was well aware that he had squandered his fortune, but he did not believe him to be entirely without resources, having no idea that he would resort to indelicate methods of obtaining money. The count had frequently borrowed a thousand-franc note of him, however, none of which had he ever returned; but Edouard de MonfrÉville was wealthy and attached little importance to those trifling services. And then, too, DarÉna’s society amused him; his sallies, his indifference, sometimes carried to the point of cynicism, made him laugh and banished the melancholy humor which now and then took possession of his mind.

Sometimes people wondered what could be the cause of that pensive air, of that smile, rather bitter than mocking, which often played about MonfrÉville’s mouth. He was rich, he had everything calculated to attract. In society he was sought after, women schemed to gain his notice; he had been known to have a great number of love-affairs, and he was still at an age to have more. But his merriment rarely seemed genuine, and in his conversation he avoided speaking of a sex of which he could hardly have had reason to complain. Some thought that MonfrÉville had reached the point of being surfeited with all sorts of pleasure, and attributed to that fact the clouds that sometimes darkened his brow; others, when they heard him sneer at those of his friends who believed in the constancy of their mistresses, concluded that the handsome and fascinating MonfrÉville had had some unfortunate passion, had been the victim of some treachery. Finally, when he was seen to pass his thirtieth year, and even to approach his fortieth, without apparently thinking of marriage, all sorts of conjectures were indulged in.

“He must have a very low opinion of women,” people said, “as he doesn’t choose to do like other men, and settle down, under the yoke of hymen.”

But Edouard de MonfrÉville paid no heed to what people might think or say of him; he continued to live according to his taste, to do exactly as he chose; sometimes after passing a month in a succession of uproarious debauches, surrounded by a jovial, dissipated crowd, all whose follies he shared, he would hold himself aloof from society for weeks at a time, finding pleasure only in solitude. His friends had finally become accustomed to the eccentricities of his humor, because in society a rich man is always entitled to be original; only the poor devils are denied that privilege.

Now that we are better acquainted with the people whom we are to join, let us enter the Rocher de Cancale, where ChÉrubin had just arrived with the priestesses of Terpsichore.

XII
A DINNER AT THE ROCHER DE CANCALE

ChÉrubin found himself in Paris, and at the Rocher de Cancale, before he had had time to collect his thoughts. All the way to town the ladies had talked so much nonsense, their conversation was so lively, their remarks so amusing, that the boy had not ears enough to hear, and he glanced constantly from one to another of the dancers, to make sure that he was not dreaming.

When they entered the cab, the ladies enveloped themselves in ample cloaks, which concealed their costumes, and pulled hoods over their heads, so that their headdresses could not be seen.

“Why do these ladies all disguise themselves in hoods?” ChÉrubin asked DarÉna in an undertone.

“My dear marquis,” the latter replied aloud, “they do it so that their stage costumes may not be seen when they go into the restaurant, for the Carnival hasn’t come yet.—A modest dress is the correct thing in Paris.”

“Bah! I don’t care a fig for your correct thing!” said Mademoiselle Malvina; “for my part I’d just as lief walk about Paris in a Swiss costume. I say, why mightn’t I be a real Swiss?”

“If you wore an oyster woman’s costume, my dear girl, it’s much more probable that no one would think that you were disguised.”

“Well! well! that’s a joke, I suppose! how ugly you are! When you’re out-at-elbows the way you sometimes are, you don’t look any too much like a count yourself!”

DarÉna laughed heartily and tapped Malvina on the cheek, saying:

“Come, come, hold your tongue, and above all things behave decently, mesdames; in the country a mild sort of freedom is permissible, but at the Rocher de Cancale, and in the honorable company with which you are to dine, remember, my little shepherdesses, that if you are not discreet I shall be obliged to turn you out of the room.”

“Bless my soul! we know how to behave, monsieur! Do you think we never go into swell society?”

“Why, I often dine with my friend and his brother, who’s one of the biggest butchers in Paris!”

“And I sometimes keep my cousin’s desk; she’s a baker and sells pastry, and only gentlemen with canary-colored gloves come to her little place to eat.”

“Very good, mesdames, very good; we are certain now that you are worthy to go into good society, and that you know how to behave decorously. Oh! if Monsieur d’Hurbain had not come to dine with us! But he has come, for I see him and MonfrÉville getting out of the tilbury. We have arrived; come, my young marquis, hand out the ladies.”

The carriage stopped and the door was opened; a porcupine’s head appeared, surmounting a body clad in an old nut-colored box-coat, the collar of which was marred by some very extensive spots of grease. It was Monsieur Poterne, who had stepped forward to assist the ladies to alight.

Malvina drew back, crying:

“Great God! what sort of thing is that? An owl, a hedgehog?”

“It is my—my business agent,” replied DarÉna; “he has looked to it that everything is properly prepared, and now he has come to assist you to alight; he is an extremely obliging man.”

“He may possibly be obliging, but he is very ugly; isn’t he, Rosina?”

“Yes. Oh! how stupid it is to be ugly like that!”

“And when you look from him to our charming little Monsieur ChÉrubin!”

“Gad! there’s as much difference as there is between the sun and a flea!”

“Come, mesdames, get out of the carriage; you can talk upstairs.”

The company soon assembled in the salon where the table was laid. Messieurs d’Hurbain and MonfrÉville had arrived at the same time with the cab containing ChÉrubin and the dancers. The notary went to DarÉna and said in his ear:

“I trust, my dear count, that your dancers will behave properly here. I agree that by their graceful dancing and their bright eyes they have fascinated this young man; but he is still a mere child, who ought not to consort with ballet dancers——”

“Mon Dieu! don’t be alarmed! You surprise me! It is due to me that this baby of sixteen years and a half consented to leave his nurse, and, instead of thanking me, you preach at me. Be of service to people—exert your imagination—so that they may lecture you afterwards!”

“I say, DarÉna,” said MonfrÉville, scrutinizing Monsieur Poterne, who was sidling by the ladies, casting furtive glances at them, to which they replied by wry faces, “is that horribly dirty person a friend of yours? Do you expect us to dine with him? I must confess that I am not charmed by the prospect of his company. Who is the fellow? He looks very like a hawk.”

“He is my steward.”

“Ah! so you still have a steward? I thought that you had ceased to keep up an establishment.”

“I have kept nobody else. This man looks after my affairs—he’s an invaluable fellow for expedients.”

“In that case, he would do well to devise an expedient for obtaining another coat.”

“Well! aren’t we ever going to dine?” asked Malvina, trying a pas de seul in a corner of the salon.

“Yes, indeed, madame. Come, Monsieur ChÉrubin, be kind enough to take your seat.”

Monsieur d’Hurbain was about to sit beside ChÉrubin, but MonfrÉville stopped him, saying in an undertone:

“Let these girls sit by our pupil, or else we may lose all the fruit of our trouble. I have been watching ChÉrubin among all these people; he sighs sometimes, and if he should have an attack of homesickness, he might absolutely insist on returning to his nurse, and we should have much difficulty in keeping him in Paris.”

Monsieur d’Hurbain submitted; he allowed Mesdemoiselles Rosina and Coelina to seat themselves on each side of ChÉrubin; Malvina, who was too late to obtain a seat next the young man, attempted to force Rosina to give up her chair to her and threatened to strike her; but a stern glance from DarÉna put an end to the dispute, and Mademoiselle Malvina seated herself at the other end of the table, humming:

“You shall not take him away, Nicolas! ‘Tis I whom he will love, tradera!”

There was one vacant place, for Monsieur Poterne had ordered the table laid for nine, and, despite DarÉna’s signs, the gentleman in the box-coat seemed to be on the point of taking the vacant chair, when the door opened and Monsieur GÉrondif appeared, accompanied by Jasmin.

The professor bowed to the company, saying:

“I humbly salute the gentlemen, and I lay my homage at the feet of the ladies simultaneously.”

“What is the man doing to our feet?” Malvina asked DarÉna, who was seated beside her, and whose only reply was a violent blow with his knee.

But ChÉrubin’s face lighted up when he saw the new arrivals, and he cried:

“Ah! here you are, my dear tutor! How glad I am that you came to Paris too! What a pity that—that you——”

ChÉrubin did not finish the sentence; he was thinking of Louise, and something which he could not define told him that his innocent playmate would not be in her proper place in the company of those young ladies who danced so prettily. Monsieur d’Hurbain, who was greatly pleased by the tutor’s arrival, because he saw therein an additional safeguard for ChÉrubin, saluted Monsieur GÉrondif with a gracious smile, and said:

“You did well to follow your pupil, monsieur, and we relied upon your doing so. Pray take a seat at the table—there is a place awaiting you.”

“Yes, yes, sit there, Monsieur GÉrondif,” cried ChÉrubin, pointing to the vacant seat. “And you, my good Jasmin, stand by me.”

“I know my duty, monsieur le marquis, and I will take my proper station.”

As he spoke, the old retainer put a napkin over his arm and planted himself behind ChÉrubin’s chair. As for Monsieur GÉrondif, he did not wait for the invitation to be repeated; he pushed Monsieur Poterne aside, took his seat at the table and swallowed the soup that was placed before him, crying:

“This is the banquet of Belshazzar! It is the feast of Eleusis! the wedding festival of Gamache! Never assuredly was there a more sumptuous repast!”

“I say! that gentleman is talking in poetry,” said Malvina to her neighbor.

“Yes,” replied DarÉna, “I believe that it was monsieur who wrote the tragedy called the Earthquake of Lisbon.”

Monsieur GÉrondif smiled graciously at the count, murmuring with an air of modesty:

“I write verse rather easily, but I never wrote a tragedy, that is sure, certainly.”

“I beg pardon, monsieur, I took you for Master AndrÉ; you have much affinity with him.—But let us drink to monsieur le marquis’s health, and to the pleasure of having him in Paris at last.”

DarÉna’s proposition was eagerly welcomed; the glasses were filled with madeira, and emptied in ChÉrubin’s honor; the four dancers drank without heel-taps, and poured down madeira in a way to arouse an Englishman’s envy.

Meanwhile Monsieur Poterne, having been cheated out of the seat to which he aspired, had decided to remain on his feet and to assist Jasmin, in preference to retiring. So he took his stand behind DarÉna; but while making a pretence of passing him a plate now and then, he asked him in undertones for whatever he saw on the table. DarÉna passed him well filled dishes, and Poterne, instead of serving them to the guests, turned his back and rapidly made away with the contents.

The beginning of the repast was lively, but free from anything offensive to the proprieties; the young women, upon whom DarÉna had enjoined the most rigidly correct behavior, gave their whole attention to doing justice to the dinner, and maintained an irreproachable demeanor, although they bestowed an amiable smile on ChÉrubin from time to time. Malvina alone let slip an occasional remark or jest of a somewhat obscene flavor; but DarÉna always made haste to cover it by beginning to talk. His conversation, which was always piquant or rambling, MonfrÉville’s, who was in an unusually cheerful mood, and the quotations of Monsieur GÉrondif, who, while eating for four, found time to display all that he knew, did not leave ChÉrubin a moment for reflection. Surprised to find himself the hero of that impromptu fÊte, he was dazzled, fascinated, taken captive; the glances that were darted at him, the witty remarks that he heard on all sides, the flattering things that were said to him, and the delicious, dainty, toothsome dinner, which gratified his sense of smell and of taste alike, prevented him from giving a thought to the village; for when his face became grave and indicated the arrival of a memory, his companions redoubled their attentions, their gayety and their pranks, to banish the cloud that had dimmed his eyes.

“I say,” suddenly exclaimed Malvina, who, as she turned her head, happened to see Monsieur Poterne taking away a plate that DarÉna passed him, “so your man of business waits on you at table, does he? Is he your servant too?”

“He serves me in every capacity,” said DarÉna; “I tell you he is an invaluable man; I make whatever I choose of him!”

“Then you’d better make a good-looking man of him!”

“Socrates, Horace, Cicero and Pelisson were hideously ugly,” said GÉrondif, filling the little Swiss maiden’s glass; “a man may be very plain and still have a brilliant intellect.”

“Ah! you fox, you have your reasons for saying so,” retorted Malvina, tossing off her champagne.

The tutor, who did not expect that reply, scratched his nose and called for truffles.

The crash of a breaking plate interrupted the conversation; Jasmin, while trying to remove his young master’s plate, had dropped it on the floor; it was the fourth which had met that fate at his hands, together with two bottles and a carafe.

“I say, is that old fellow Jocrisse?” cried Malvina, with a roar of laughter.

“Such a valet de chambre must be very expensive!” said MonfrÉville, with a smile.

“Excuse me, my dear master,” said Jasmin, who turned scarlet at each new mishap caused by his awkwardness. “You see, it is a long while since I have waited at table; but I shall soon get used to it—it is simply a matter of renewing an old habit.”

“The devil!” said DarÉna, “if he means to go on until he gets used to it, it will be very fine!”

“But why do you stand behind me, my good Jasmin? It is altogether too fatiguing for a man of your years. Sit in the corner yonder; I will call you if I should need you!”

“The idea of it!” said Jasmin, trying to stand erect. “Does monsieur think that I do not know my duty? I will not quit my post, monsieur; I will die first!”

“In other words, all the landlord’s crockery will die!” said DarÉna, laughingly.—”Honor to unlucky pluck!” he added aloud, raising his glass.

“This old servant’s attachment is greatly to his credit and to his master’s,” said MonfrÉville, “I propose a toast to fidelity; it is so rare that we cannot do it too much honor, in whatever guise it appears.”

The toast was drunk with enthusiasm by the company. Monsieur d’Hurbain proposed a toast to the late Monsieur de Grandvilain, and DarÉna to the ballet dancers at the OpÉra. Monsieur GÉrondif rose and exclaimed with great earnestness:

“To the progress of the culinary art in France! The old Romans may have had more dishes than we on their tables, but probably they were less satisfying.”

Mademoiselle Malvina, determined to propose a toast of her own, raised her glass and cried:

“I toast for very long ballets and very short skirts, in the interest of the dancers and of everybody who likes a high kick.”

None of the ladies chose to lag behind; Coelina drank to her squirrel’s health, Rosina to her cat’s, and Foedora to her cousin’s, who was in the Chasseurs d’Afrique. Monsieur Poterne drank to nobody’s health, but he kept his back turned to the table, and swallowed an appalling quantity of champagne. A terrible crash interrupted the toasts: Jasmin had dropped a pile of plates that time, and the floor was strewn with dÉbris of crockery.

“This will be rather an expensive dinner,” said DarÉna; “one must needs be very rich to indulge in such servants as this old Jasmin.”

Meanwhile the frequent toasts had excited the guests to some extent. Malvina, who could not keep still, began to dance a very pronounced cancan; Coelina and Rosina attempted the Cracovienne; Foedora waltzed with DarÉna, and Monsieur GÉrondif, finding that everything about him was in a whirl, although he did not leave his chair, called loudly upon Malvina for a second performance of the Mozambique dance, with all its accessories.

Monsieur d’Hurbain, who had retained his presence of mind, thought that it was time to take ChÉrubin away; he took the young marquis’s arm, motioned to MonfrÉville, and to the tutor, who left the table with regret, and, picking out a path through the broken crockery, they left the restaurant and entered a carriage which took them to the hÔtel de Grandvilain, not observing that Jasmin, who had followed them, had succeeded in climbing up behind, with the assistance of a messenger.

“Aren’t we going back to Gagny?” inquired ChÉrubin, when he found himself in the carriage.

“It is impossible to-night, my dear friend, it is much too late,” said Monsieur d’Hurbain. “To-morrow, or a few days hence, you will think about it. Since you are in Paris, you should at least get acquainted with the city.”

“Yes,” mumbled Monsieur GÉrondif, whose tongue was very thick, “Cras, to-morrow; cras mane, to-morrow morning; perendinus dies, day after to-morrow—no matter when!”

“And with your permission,” said MonfrÉville, “I will undertake to be your guide, and to show you all that a young man of your rank should know.”

ChÉrubin made no reply; he would have liked to return to Gagny; but the delicious repast of which he had just partaken had aroused a new train of ideas in his mind, and he had heard so much of the pleasures that awaited him in Paris, of which he had already had such a pleasant specimen, that he finally said to himself:

“After all, as long as I am in the city, I may as well see at once all the wonderful things I have heard so much about; and when I go back to Louise I shall have lots of things to tell her, at all events.”

The cab arrived at the mansion in Faubourg Saint-Germain; the porte cochÈre was thrown open. The equipage had no sooner entered the courtyard than the ears of the young marquis and his companions were assailed by some most extraordinary music. They heard the strains of several barrel-organs, several violins and two or three clarinets, playing at the same time, but playing different tunes. Male and female voices too, shrill and false, roared ancient airs, laments, or vaudeville choruses. The general result was a horrible medley of sounds.

The occupants of the carriage were asking one another what it could mean, when they heard a dull thud on the pavement, as if caused by the fall of a heavy body. They recognized Jasmin, who, when he attempted to climb down from behind the cab, had fallen in the middle of the courtyard. But the dauntless retainer was already on his feet, crying:

“It’s nothing; I just slipped.—Monsieur le marquis, I ordered this concert—musicians and singers—in honor of your return to your paternal mansion. Long life to the new Marquis de Grandvilain!”

ChÉrubin thanked Jasmin for his kind intentions, but begged him instantly to dismiss those people, who were making such a horrible din. Monsieur d’Hurbain and MonfrÉville bade the young man good-night, commending him in whispers to the care of his tutor, who was not in a condition to understand what they said; then they left him to enjoy the repose which he was likely to need.

When the strangers had gone, Jasmin asked ChÉrubin if he wished to pass his servants in review; and Mademoiselle Turlurette, who was overjoyed to see her young master, proposed that he inspect the linen closets and the servants’ quarters, so that he might become acquainted with his establishment and see how things had been managed since his father’s death. But ChÉrubin had no desire to take all that trouble; pleasure is fatiguing when one is not accustomed to it, and the young marquis wanted nothing except to go to bed.

When he saw the immense room which was to be his bedroom, where there was an old-fashioned bed, reached by a set of steps, and surrounded by enormous curtains of crimson velvet, ChÉrubin made a wry face and exclaimed:

“Oh! how ugly it is here! I liked my little room at my nurse’s much better; it was more cheerful! I am going back there to-morrow, for it seems to me that I can’t sleep well here.”

But at sixteen years and a half, after a tiresome day, one sleeps well anywhere; and that is what happened to ChÉrubin.

As for Monsieur GÉrondif, after bestowing an affable smile on Mademoiselle Turlurette, whom he called “mesdames,” because, his eyesight being a little blurred, he took her for two persons, he was escorted to his apartment, and was radiant with delight when he saw the fine room that had been prepared for him. He stretched himself out luxuriously in a soft bed, and gently laid his head on a pile of pillows, saying:

“I never slept in such a bed as this! I sink in, I drown! It is enchanting! I would like to pass my life in bed, and dream of the Mozambique dance!”

XIII
TO-MORROW

ChÉrubin woke late; he gazed about him in amazement and tried to collect his thoughts. He asked himself why he had left Gagny, his dear Nicole, and Louise, whom he loved so dearly. Then he thought of the magnificent dinner of the day before and of those four young women, who were so pretty and gay and amusing, and who danced so gracefully, casting soft glances at him the while. It was all well calculated to engross so inexperienced a head and heart.

Suddenly the crash of breaking furniture made ChÉrubin start; he turned his head and saw Jasmin standing in dismay beside a washstand that he had overturned.

“What is all this?” cried the young man, who could not help laughing at the grimace made by his old valet.

“It’s I, monsieur—it was because I didn’t want to make a noise and wake you.”

“So you call that not making a noise?”

“I was walking so carefully that I ran into that little piece of furniture, and it fell. But no matter; you can find those things at all furniture shops.”

“Oh! I am not at all alarmed, Jasmin. I am going to dress and go back to Gagny.”

“What! already, my dear master? Have you examined your cash-box?”

“No; why should I?”

“That is all full of gold, monsieur,” said Jasmin, pointing to the cash drawer in the secretary; “and it’s all yours. And when it’s all gone, there is plenty more; you have only to apply to your banker. And one can enjoy so much in Paris with money.”

“Jasmin, you know that I don’t like to be thwarted. Where are my clothes and my shoes?”

“I threw them all out of the window, monsieur, except what Monsieur de MonfrÉville brought you yesterday.”

“What does that mean? Do you mean that I haven’t any trousers to put on? Are you mad, Jasmin?”

“It was Monsieur de MonfrÉville who advised me to throw away all monsieur’s old things. But there’s a tailor waiting outside, and a boot-maker and a shirt-maker and a hatter, who have brought some things that are more in style. It was Monsieur de MonfrÉville again who sent them all here; they’ve been waiting an hour for you to wake.”

“Let them come in then.”

The tradesmen were admitted. Each of them was attended by a boy laden with merchandise. While ChÉrubin selected those things which pleased him and which he was told were the most fashionable, Comte DarÉna was announced.

DarÉna wore his old ragged coat, his shapeless hat, and his rumpled cravat of the night before; but he appeared with his usual charming and playful manner, and shook the young man’s hand with great heartiness, crying:

“Here I am, my dear fellow; I intended to be here to salute you when you woke. I have come to breakfast with you.—Ah! you are making purchases? You should have left that to me; I would have sent my tradesmen to you. You left very suddenly last night, did you not? The ladies were all terribly surprised when they found that you were no longer there.”

“Monsieur d’Hurbain told me it was time to go—that we ought not to stay any longer at a restaurant,” replied ChÉrubin artlessly.

“Ah! charming! delicious!—In Paris you stay at a restaurant as late as you choose—you even pass the night there when the fancy strikes you. Your Monsieur d’Hurbain is a most estimable man, but he is not of our time, nor on the level of the age we live in. Luckily he won’t always be with you, for he would be a terrible bore.—Aren’t you going to take this blue coat?”

“I have already selected two sack coats and two frock coats.”

“Then I’ll take it; I can see at a glance that it will look well on me. I am also attracted by this little polonaise—it’s a whim. Parbleu! I like the color of these trousers; I’ll take them and these two waistcoats. When I am once started, there is no good reason why I should stop. Here are some shirts which should fit me perfectly. They make shirts now that fit as tight as a coat; I will take this dozen. These boots look as if they were well made.—You have a very pretty foot, ChÉrubin, of the same type as mine. I will take this pair of boots. Are they the same size as the ones selected by monsieur le marquis?”

“Yes, monsieur,” the boot-maker replied, with a bow.

“Then I will keep them.—I am curious to see if my head is the same size as yours, also. Let me see the hat you have chosen.”

Doing his utmost to squeeze his head into a hat which the hatter handed him, and which was much too small for him, DarÉna cried:

“It will fit me—oh! it will end by fitting me. Have you another one like it there, hatter—but a little larger?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“Let me see—that is just right; I will take it.”

The tradesmen glanced at one another with some uneasiness; one could see in their eyes that they were wondering whether they ought to trust this gentleman, who selected so many things without even asking the price, and whose costume did not inspire unbounded confidence. DarÉna put an end to their uncertainty by adding:

“By the way, here I am buying and buying, and I have no money with me! Parbleu! my friend the young Marquis ChÉrubin will pay for my purchases with his own; it is useless to make two bills. Then I will settle with him.—Will that inconvenience you, my young friend?”

“No, monsieur, it will give me great pleasure,” replied ChÉrubin, as he proceeded to dress; “I am delighted to accommodate you!”

And Jasmin whispered to his young master, as he assisted him to put on his waistcoat:

“It’s very good form, too, very noble, to lend to your friends; the late Monsieur de Grandvilain, your father, did it all the time! I will settle with monsieur’s tradesmen.”

Jasmin paid the various accounts.

DarÉna gave the dealers his address, so that they might send him what he had selected, and they took their leave, greatly pleased.

While the old servant went out to give orders for breakfast, DarÉna said to ChÉrubin:

“Now you are dressed in perfect taste—that is very good so far; but it isn’t enough; I propose that my young friend shall have all the little trifles, all the jewelry that is absolutely essential for a Parisian lion.”

“What do you say? a lion?”

“That is the name given to-day to a young man of fashion. Have you a watch?”

“Yes, this one; it belonged to my father.”

As he spoke, ChÉrubin showed DarÉna a gold watch as thick as it was broad. The count roared with laughter as he glanced at it.

“Why, my dear fellow, if you should be seen carrying such an onion, people would laugh in your face.”

“What’s that? Why, it’s gold!”

“I don’t doubt it; and I may add that it is a most respectable watch, as it came from your father; but such watches are not worn now. Put it away carefully in your desk and have a stylish one, as thin as a sheet of paper. I have instructed my steward to find one for you, and to bring you this morning all the jewelry that you ought to have. Stay, I hear him asking for you now in your reception room.—This way, Poterne, this way; monsieur le marquis is visible.”

Poterne’s villainous face appeared at the bedroom door, and ChÉrubin invited him to come in. As he passed DarÉna, he said to him rapidly and in an undertone:

“The dealer wouldn’t trust me with anything; he’s waiting at the door.”

“All right, you will be able to pay him. They’re not false, of course?”

“No, they’re genuine stones.”

“How much does he want for them?”

“Eight hundred francs.”

“Call it two thousand.”

Monsieur Poterne took a pasteboard box from his pocket, containing a very pretty, flat watch, a gold chain, which looked very light but was of beautiful workmanship, and a diamond pin. ChÉrubin uttered a cry of admiration when he saw the baubles.

“These, monsieur le marquis, are the finest and most stylish things to be had,” said Poterne, passing the chain about the young man’s neck, and doing his utmost to assume an honest expression.

“Yes, they’re in the latest style,” said DarÉna. “My dear ChÉrubin, you must have these things; a well-dressed man cannot do without them. I have several chains myself; they are all broken just now, but I am having them mended.”

“Oh! I will buy all these jewels,” cried ChÉrubin. “Who would believe that there was a watch inside of this? What a pretty pin!—How much for them all, monsieur?”

Observing the young man’s enthusiasm over the jewels, Poterne thought that he might add a little more to the price.

“Twenty-five hundred francs in all,” he said.

DarÉna turned his face away and bit his lips, while ChÉrubin ran to his cash drawer.

At sight of that drawer filled with gold pieces, Monsieur Poterne turned blue, his brow became wrinkled, his eyes increased in size and his nose shrunk. DarÉna, observing his excitement, took advantage of the fact that ChÉrubin’s back was turned to administer a kick to his friend, muttering:

“I trust, you villain, that you have no detestable intentions; if I thought that you had, I would break every bone in your body.”

Poterne had no time to reply; he rubbed that portion of his anatomy which had been attacked, received the amount which ChÉrubin counted out to him in gold, and hastily took his leave. But he had hardly passed through the bedroom door when DarÉna ran after him, saying:

“Excuse me, my young friend, I will return in a moment; I forgot to give my steward an important order.”

Hurrying after Poterne, who seemed anxious to avoid being overtaken, DarÉna caught him on the stairs and seized him by his coat collar.

“Don’t go so fast,” he said; “you’re in a great hurry, you old scoundrel. Come, give me two thousand francs, in a hurry.”

“Two thousand francs!” muttered Poterne; “why, I’ve got to give eight hundred to the jeweler, who is waiting downstairs.”

“You can give him five hundred; he will be satisfied to wait for the rest.”

“But I——”

“I’ll break you into six pieces, if you argue. Come, Poterne, be decent! You know that when I am in funds, you never lack anything.”

Monsieur Poterne complied, looking as if he were about to weep. DarÉna pocketed the gold and returned to ChÉrubin, who was admiring himself in the mirror. Jasmin came to say that breakfast was served, and the gentlemen took their seats at the table. They were hardly seated when Monsieur de MonfrÉville was announced.

When he saw DarÉna at table with their young friend of the preceding day, MonfrÉville moved his head imperceptibly and said to the count:

“Here already? The deuce! you must have come quite early.”

“When I am fond of my friends, I am always in haste to see them,” replied DarÉna.—”What wine is this, faithful Jasmin?”

“Beaune, monsieur,” replied the old servant, bowing.

“It is very good; but I like sauterne and chambertin at breakfast. You must have a fine cellar here?”

“Oh, yes, monsieur; and all old wines.”

“I imagine so, if they were laid in by our young friend’s father.—Come, O model of old retainers, go and bring us several more bottles. When a cellar has been left in peace for a generation, it seems to me that it is high time to empty it.”

Jasmin hastened to do as he was requested, and MonfrÉville said to DarÉna:

“But you give orders without even consulting the master of the house!”

“My friend has given me carte blanche, and I am making the most of it.”

“Yes, monsieur,” said ChÉrubin; “pray do whatever you choose in my house.”

DarÉna leaned toward MonfrÉville and said in his ear:

“He was already talking of going back to Gagny this morning; if we don’t make the young fellow giddy, he is capable of returning to his nurse, and that would be downright murder!”

“Aren’t you going to breakfast with us, monsieur?” ChÉrubin asked MonfrÉville.

“Thanks, my young friend, but I have breakfasted. Were you satisfied with the tradespeople whom I sent to you this morning?”

“Oh, yes, monsieur; everything was beautiful. I bought a lot of things, and so did monsieur le comte.”

MonfrÉville glanced at DarÉna, who pretended not to hear and seemed busily occupied helping himself to partridge pie.

“And look at my watch and my gold chain, and this pin. Monsieur DarÉna sent them all to me by his steward. How pretty they are, aren’t they?”

“Did you pay much for them?” MonfrÉville inquired.

“Why, no, only two thousand five hundred francs; I don’t call that dear!”

MonfrÉville looked again at DarÉna, who continued to stuff himself with partridges.

“Why, yes, it was quite enough,” he said; “in fact, it was very dear. In the future, with your permission, I will advise you in your purchases; I fancy that I know at least as much about such matters as monsieur’s steward.”

Jasmin returned with a number of bottles; he broke one when he attempted to put it on the table, and dropped a cream cheese on DarÉna’s head. ChÉrubin was terribly distressed by his servant’s awkwardness; and the old fellow, overwhelmed with confusion by what he had done, slunk out of sight behind a screen. DarÉna was the first to laugh at the accident.

“It’s of no consequence,” he said; “I am not dressed yet.—For all that, my dear marquis, if I may venture to give you a piece of advice, I advise you to relieve your old Jasmin from the duty of waiting at table. His services will be ruinous to you and fatal to your friends. The excellent fellow has abundantly earned retirement and you must give it to him. I will go home to dress, and come back for you; for we will pass the day together, eh, MonfrÉville?”

“That is my wish, if it will not annoy our young friend.”

ChÉrubin hesitated a moment, then said falteringly:

“But I intended to—to go to Gagny—to see my—my nurse.”

“Oh! to-morrow! to-morrow!” cried DarÉna; “we have too many things to do to-day; I will hurry home to dress and return at once.”

DarÉna took his leave. MonfrÉville would have liked to hint to his young friend that he would do well not to place too much confidence in the count’s manifestations of friendship for him; but if he attempted so soon to destroy the young man’s illusions, if he told him to be on his guard against false friends, selfish affections, the wiles of shopkeepers, and all the perils of Paris, would he not run the risk of disgusting him with that city, which he had consented to visit only with regret?

“After all,” said MonfrÉville to himself, “DarÉna is jovial and bright; he has the art of inventing some new pleasure every day, and even if his friendship should cost ChÉrubin a few thousand-franc notes, the youngster is rich, and one must needs pay for one’s apprenticeship in everything. Besides, I will keep an eye on our pupil, and I will try to see to it that his inexperience is not over-abused.—By the way, my young friend,” he said aloud, “what have you done with your tutor? He is to remain with you, is he not? Is he not well?”

“Dear me! you are right!” cried ChÉrubin. “I had entirely forgotten Monsieur GÉrondif!—Jasmin, go and inquire what my tutor is doing; ask him why he doesn’t come to breakfast.”

Jasmin went to Monsieur GÉrondifs room. The ex-schoolmaster was buried in his bed, sound asleep, and entirely hidden by the bedclothes and the pillows, which had fallen over his head. There was nothing save his snoring to indicate that the bed was occupied.

The old servant put out his hand toward the pillow; it came in contact with Monsieur GÉrondifs prominent nose, which he laid hold of and pulled violently, crying out:

“Come, monsieur le savant, wake up; my master is asking for you.”

Monsieur GÉrondif opened his eyes and rescued his nose from the fingers that had grasped it.

“What’s the matter?” he muttered; “what’s the meaning of this violence, and why wake me by the nose? That’s a new way, surely; rosy-fingered Aurora doesn’t treat the fair-haired Phoebus so.”

But, on learning that his pupil had breakfasted, Monsieur GÉrondif decided to rise; he made a hasty toilet and went down to pay his respects to the marquis.

“The delights of Capua enervated Hannibal’s soldiers,” he said, eying the remains of the breakfast, which were very appetizing. “My dear pupil, I became even as a woman on my downy couch. Accept my apologies; hereafter I will certainly rise with the chanticleer.”

And Monsieur GÉrondif seated himself at the table to make up for lost time, while ChÉrubin, to content Mademoiselle Turlurette, went to cast a glance at the different parts of the establishment. MonfrÉville, who had declined to accompany him, went to the tutor and said:

“Monsieur, you have a most important duty to perform; I doubt not that you will do your utmost to succeed.”

Monsieur GÉrondif looked up at MonfrÉville, opened his enormous mouth, apparently annoyed at having to reply instead of eat, and said at last:

“In truth, monsieur, I have a very hearty appetite at this moment; but I hope to succeed in satisfying it with what is on the table.”

“That is not what I referred to, monsieur, but to your pupil, to this young man who should be the object of your utmost care here in Paris, because, although it was absolutely necessary that he should come here, we must see to it that he is not made the dupe of his innocence and his amiable disposition.”

After taking time to swallow a chicken wing, the tutor replied in a magisterial tone:

“In that respect, young ChÉrubin could not be in better hands! Never fear, monsieur, I will draw for my pupil a most appalling picture of the seductions in which people may seek to ensnare him. Morals before everything! That is my motto. St. Paul said: Oportet sapere ad sobrietatem! But I say that, at the marquis’s age, one must be virtuous first of all.”

“No, no, monsieur, that isn’t what I mean,” rejoined MonfrÉville, with a shrug; “it isn’t a question of terrifying the young man and trying to make a Cato of him. Let him enjoy such of the pleasures suited to his years as his means will allow; but prevent his abusing them, and see to it that he is not made the dupe of the schemers and swindlers with whom Paris is overflowing.”

“That is just what I say, monsieur; I will be constantly on the lookout; I will keep my eyes and ears open and my nose in the air, and it will not be my fault if the child succumbs to temptation. Moreover, I have an entirely novel system of education—always in the interest of good morals.—Pardon me if I continue my breakfast.”

“Clearly the man is either a fool or a hypocrite,” thought MonfrÉville, as he turned on his heel. “I trust that he is not both!”

ChÉrubin concluded his inspection of his family mansion, which seemed to him old, dark and dismal. MonfrÉville advised him to have it painted, furnished and decorated according to modern ideas.

DarÉna returned, arrayed in the latest fashion; he had donned a part of the purchases he had made that morning without untying his purse strings, and with the money received from Poterne he had bought what he still lacked. So that his costume was beyond reproach, and he wore it with as much ease and unconstraint as he displayed in his old coat.

ChÉrubin admired DarÉna’s elegant appearance and the grace with which he wore his clothes. MonfrÉville made similar reflections, regretting that a man possessed of so many advantages sometimes descended so low and frequented such wretched company.

“Here I am, at your service,” said DarÉna. “We must take Marquis ChÉrubin somewhere. I can’t make up my mind to say ‘Grandvilain’; indeed, the name doesn’t fit our young friend at all, and if he takes my advice, he will be content with ChÉrubin alone, which is a most gallant name.”

“What!” murmured Jasmin, “is monsieur going to drop his father’s name? I tell you, I object!”

Nobody paid any heed to the old servant, and DarÉna continued:

“First of all, our friend must see everything in Paris that deserves to be seen. That will take time; for a shrewd observer there is a great deal to see.”

“And then,” said MonfrÉville, “ChÉrubin will do well to give a few hours every day to the masters who are quite indispensable; for his education is far too incomplete for him to go into society.”

Monsieur GÉrondif’s fork stopped in the act of conveying food to his mouth, and he cried:

“Who says that my pupil’s education is incomplete? He will surely know as much as I do very soon.”

“Come, come, learned Master AndrÉ, don’t get excited,” said DarÉna, with a laugh; “I have no doubt that you are very strong in the dead languages,—and in the art of carving a chicken; yes, you’re very good at that. But can you teach our friend music, dancing, riding, fencing, boxing?”

“Boxing?” muttered Jasmin, with an air of stupefaction.

“Yes, boxing, and all the fashionable sciences which a young man of rank and fortune must know, unless he wishes to be laughed at.”

“Trust me,” said MonfrÉville, taking ChÉrubin’s arm; “my father was a friend of yours, and even without that, your youth and innocence would be sufficient to awaken my interest and to arouse in me a wish to make an accomplished gentleman of you.”

“And to begin with,” said DarÉna, “a short ride in the saddle; there is nothing pleasanter in the morning. Do you know anything about riding?”

“Oh! I can ride very well, and I’m not afraid,” ChÉrubin replied; “at the village I used to ride all our neighbors’ horses.”

“Good! there’s a livery stable close by where there are some very good horses; let us go there and hire, pending the time when you have horses in your stable—another indispensable thing.”

ChÉrubin went out with his two friends; he was beside himself with delight at the thought of a riding party. Being still a novice in all sorts of pleasure, Nicole’s foster-child had never before ridden anything but plough horses.

They went to the stable-keeper, who ordered his three best horses saddled. Just as the gentlemen were mounting, they heard a voice calling:

“Well! isn’t there a horse for me too?”

Thereupon they discovered Jasmin, who had followed his master, after tightening the waistband of his breeches as much as possible, covering his head with a long-vizored cap, which entirely concealed his eyes and nose, and arming himself with a hunting crop.

ChÉrubin and his friends could not help laughing at the aspect of Jasmin in the garb of a groom, and MonfrÉville exclaimed:

“This old servant’s devotion is becoming very painful.”

“But I don’t need you, Jasmin,” said ChÉrubin; “go back to the house; you can’t come with me, it would tire you too much.”

“I know my duty, monsieur,” replied Jasmin; “my place is always in your rear.”

“Yes, yes, he is right,” said DarÉna; “and as he insists on coming with us, why, let him come.—A horse for this faithful retainer—a good little trotting horse. Jasmin has the look of an excellent rider.”

“He will certainly be thrown,” said ChÉrubin, in an undertone.

“That is what I expect too; but it will do him good. This fellow needs a lesson; he is extremely pig-headed; he insists on breaking your dishes, capping your friends with cheese, climbing up behind carriages, and riding horseback; we must try to cure him of this exuberant zeal.”

A horse was saddled for Jasmin, and, with the aid of two hostlers, he succeeded in climbing to its back. The cavalcade started; in the streets of Paris they went slowly and the old servant was able to follow his master, which he did with much pride, sitting erect in his saddle and bearing heavily on his stirrups; but when they reached the Champs-ElysÉes, ChÉrubin and his two companions started off at a gallop. Jasmin, seeing his young master disappear in a cloud of dust, was determined to follow him, and began to strike his steed with his crop. The beast, desiring nothing more than to join his stable companions, sprang forward and darted in pursuit.

But his old rider had presumed too much on his strength; in a few seconds the horse was galloping alone and Jasmin was rolling in the dust.

When they reached the Bois de Boulogne, ChÉrubin turned and said:

“Well! where on earth is Jasmin?”

“I was certain that he couldn’t keep up with us,” said DarÉna.

“If only he has not fallen and hurt himself!”

“Don’t be alarmed; at his age one falls gently. Somebody must have picked him up, and we must hope that this lesson will correct the old fellow a little, for his attachment needs to be toned down.”

They rode on, the two gentlemen admiring the confidence of their young companion, who needed only a few lessons in grace and style to become an excellent horseman.

After their ride they returned to Paris, sauntered along the boulevards, visited several cafÉs, then went to one of the best restaurants in the Palais-Royal, and after dinner to the play. About midnight ChÉrubin returned home, not having had a single moment during the day to think of the village.

He found that Jasmin was not hurt by his fall, but he admitted to his young master that he should not try again to attend him to the Bois de Boulogne.

The following days were no less thoroughly occupied; MonfrÉville and DarÉna were almost constantly with ChÉrubin; the former sent him teachers in all the social accomplishments; the second talked to him incessantly of the lovely little dancers with whom they had dined.

“Which of the four do you prefer?” he would ask.

And ChÉrubin would reply, lowering his eyes:

“They are very pretty, all four.”

“I understand, you liked them all. That can be arranged, and I will take you to see them whenever you choose; you will be received with open arms.”

At that suggestion ChÉrubin would turn as red as a cherry and stammer:

“Oh, yes! in a few days.”

And while his pupil was being taken about and entertained and dazzled, Monsieur GÉrondif lay idly in his bed, sat for hours at a time at the table, showed his teeth to Mademoiselle Turlurette, and said to Jasmin every day:

“Above all, worthy EumÆus, do not forget the orders to the concierge: if anybody from Gagny, even Madame Frimousset, should call and ask to see monsieur le marquis, she must be told that Monsieur ChÉrubin de Grandvilain is absent, that he is travelling; for if my pupil should see her again, above all if he should see little Louise, although he is beginning to like the city, he might allow himself to be lured away again, and all the fruit of our efforts would be lost! And that would be the greater pity, because, thanks to the advice of his two friends and the lessons I give him, he must necessarily become ere long a most preponderating cavalier.”

Jasmin, who always humbled himself before the tutor’s learning, did not fail to do exactly what he recommended, saying to himself that it could not be wrong to send the nurse away without allowing her to speak with his master, because a man who educates children must be perfectly familiar with the rules of courtesy.

And the days and weeks and months passed in that life of enjoyment, of constant occupation, and of dissipation, which ChÉrubin led at Paris. Whenever he spoke of going to the village, his new friends said:

“Yes, to-morrow; you haven’t time to-day.”

But when DarÉna proposed to ChÉrubin to take him to see one of the little ballet dancers whom he thought so attractive, the marquis replied, blushing to his eyes:

“Yes, to-morrow, to-morrow!”

XIV
A CHILD’S LOVE

While ChÉrubin was enjoying himself in Paris, making merry and thinking of nothing but pleasure, at Gagny his friends were dismal and bored, and shed frequent tears. It is often so in life: the happiness of one is acquired only at the expense of others’ misery. Is it not too high a price to pay? If we always reflected upon causes and effects, we should sometimes regret being happy.

On returning from Montfermeil, where, it will be remembered, she was sent by Monsieur GÉrondif, Louise, who had discovered that he had had no other object than to get her out of the way, asked anxiously where ChÉrubin was; and Nicole, weeping bitterly, told her that the youth whom she still delighted to call her fieu had gone to Paris with several gentlemen, and some charming ladies, evidently foreigners, judging from their costumes, who had danced in her house in a style utterly unlike any village dance.

Louise wept a long while; her heart was torn. There was one pang more cruel than all the rest in her suffering; at fourteen and a half a girl may well know what it is to love; and with love jealousy had made its appearance.

“You let him go!” said Louise, sobbing; “but he promised never to leave me; those people must have taken him by force.”

“No, my child, ChÉrubin went away of his own free will, in high spirits, in fact, and almost dancing with those little hussies, who twirled round and round longer than the tops my boys used to spin when they were little.”

Louise wept more bitterly still.

“Why did you let those horrid women come into your house?” she cried. “Oh! I detest them!”

“Bless my soul, child, it was one of the gentlemen who brought ‘em; they drank milk just like cats; and then they danced like kids.”

“And ChÉrubin went away with them!—But he’ll come back to-morrow, won’t he, mother dear?”

“Let us hope so, my child.”

But the morrow and several more days passed without bringing ChÉrubin back to the village. Louise was so depressed that Nicole forgot her own grief to comfort her.

“But something must have happened to him!” the girl constantly exclaimed. “Probably they are keeping him in Paris against his will; for, if not, he would have come back. Let’s go after him, mother, let’s go after him.”

Nicole tried to make Louise listen to reason.

“Listen, my dear,” she would say, “it’s a long, long while since Monsieur Jasmin began to tell me: ‘My young master will have to go to Paris some time; he can’t pass his whole life out at nurse! If it was known that he’s still with you, I should be scolded.’ And a lot of things like that. The fact is, my child, that they usually take children away from a wet-nurse when they begin to talk, unless—unless——”

And the good woman stopped, for she was on the point of saying:

“Unless they do like your mother, and don’t take ‘em away at all.”

Louise had that instinct of the heart which enables its possessor to read one’s inmost thoughts; she divined the words that died on Nicole’s lips, and she said, sobbing and pressing her hand convulsively:

“Nobody came for me, I know that. My mother didn’t want me, and yet I couldn’t have been naughty then—I was too young. And if it hadn’t been for you, for your kindness, what would have become of me? Oh! dear Nicole, how can a mother ever abandon her child? I would have loved my mother so dearly, and she didn’t want to take me back, or even to kiss me! Oh! she must have died, I am sure, or else she’d have come after me, or at least have come to see me sometimes.”

“Yes,” said Nicole, kissing Louise, “you are right, my child, your mother must have died and not had time to send for you; perhaps she wasn’t able to tell where her child was. Bless my soul! people die so sudden sometimes! That’s the way it must have been. But let’s not say any more about it; you know, I don’t like to get into that subject, for it always makes you sad.”

“That is why I so seldom mention it, my dear Nicole, although I think about it almost all the time; but when ChÉrubin was with me, I used to forget sometimes that I don’t know who my parents are. He told me that he would always love me—and now he has abandoned me too.”

After this conversation Louise went to the end of the garden, where she could weep at her ease. In vain did Nicole say to her:

“He’ll come back, my child, he’ll come back!”

Time passed and they saw nothing of ChÉrubin.

At last, yielding to the girl’s entreaties, Nicole started with her for Paris one morning; and all the way Louise kept saying:

“We are going to see him. I’ll tell him how sad I am when I am away from him; I’ll tell him that I cry almost all the time, that there’s nothing to amuse me in the village, and he’ll come back with us, mother; oh! I am sure that he’ll come back with us.”

Nicole shook her head with a doubtful expression, and murmured:

“At any rate, we shall find out whether he’s happy and well; that’s the main thing.”

In due time they reached the old mansion in Faubourg Saint-Germain.

“This is his house,” said Nicole; “I recognize it all right! This is the very house where I came to get him when he was a spindling little thing, as thin as a rail. I made a fine boy of him, thank God! And then I came here two or three times to bring him to his father, when the old gentleman was alive.”

Louise gazed wonderingly at the old structure, whose severe aspect and time-blackened walls almost frightened her. Meanwhile, they had entered the courtyard, and Nicole said to the concierge:

“Monsieur, I’ve come to see my fieu—my nursling, young ChÉrubin, your master. He left us to come here, but we don’t like not having a chance to kiss him for so long; we couldn’t stand it any longer, so here we are.”

The concierge, who had his orders, replied:

“You can’t see monsieur le marquis, my master, for he isn’t in the house.”

“Gone out, has he? Oh well! he’ll come back! We’ll wait, won’t we, Louise?”

“Oh, yes, mother, we will wait; for we must see him when we came to Paris on purpose.”

The concierge rejoined with exasperating indifference:

“It won’t do you any good to wait; Monsieur de Grandvilain is travelling and he may not come home for ten days or a fortnight.”

“Travelling!” cried Louise; “oh dear! it’s very annoying! Where is he travelling, monsieur? in which direction? Has he gone far?”

“My master didn’t tell me.”

“But tell us at least whether he’s well?” said Nicole; “is he happy? is he enjoying himself in Paris?”

“Monsieur le marquis is in perfect health.”

“Thank God! But why does he go travelling without coming to see us?—Monsieur, are those young foreign ladies who dance so well travelling with—with Monsieur ChÉrubin?”

“I couldn’t tell you.”

Nicole and the young girl returned to Gagny, sadly disappointed that they had not been able to embrace ChÉrubin; but the nurse said to Louise:

“Never mind, we know he’s well, and that’s a great deal.”

“Yes, dear mother, and no doubt he’ll come to see us when he returns from this journey; if he doesn’t, we’ll go to Paris again, for he won’t always be away.”

But once more the days and weeks passed without a word or a sign from the youth whom they loved so dearly and whom they were always expecting. Conquered by Louise’s tears and entreaties, Nicole consented to go to Paris again, but the second trip was no more fortunate than the first. That time, however, the concierge said that monsieur le marquis had gone to pass some time at the chÂteau of one of his friends.

The two women returned to Gagny more depressed than ever.

“My dear child,” said Nicole, weeping with her, “I believe that the little fellow I nursed doesn’t mean to see me again. You see that he’s forgotten us, for he doesn’t come to the village or send us any word. And when folks in Paris don’t want to see anyone, why they just say that they’re out.”

“O mother! do you really think that ChÉrubin doesn’t want to see us, that he would be ashamed of us?”

“I don’t say that, my child; but this much is certain: that I won’t go to his house in Paris again; for they must have told him that we came, and if he still cared anything about us, it seems to me that he wouldn’t have lost any time before coming to see us.”

Louise could think of nothing to reply; she longed to defend ChÉrubin in Nicole’s mind, when in the depths of her own heart she retained only a glimmer of hope. After the second trip to Paris, the girl’s depression became more and more marked; in the presence of her foster-mother she tried to conceal her distress, her sorrow, but when she was alone she gave way to them with a sort of enjoyment; for, in extreme unhappiness, it is almost a consolation not to be disturbed in one’s musings, one’s regrets, one’s memories.

Louise did like all those who have lost a beloved object—she haunted all the spots which she had often visited and admired with him. When we revisit the places where we have been happy, it seems that we must be happy again; our memory recalls all the circumstances of our previous visits, and the most trivial and futile things become of inestimable value when they have some connection with the one we love. By dint of identifying ourselves with our memories, we fancy that we are still living in that bitterly-regretted past—our heart dilates with a thrill of joy. But alas! how brief its duration! The present returns with its overwhelming truth; we look about—we are alone, all alone—we find in the depths of our hearts naught save a ghastly void, and no unalloyed joy in the days to come.

One morning Nicole was working, Jacquinot sleeping, and Louise in the garden, where she was thinking of ChÉrubin as usual, when a gentleman entered the rustic dwelling.

“O agrestis and rusticus abode!” he cried; “I salute thee, but I do not regret thee. My tastes do not agree with Virgil’s, I prefer the city to the country.”

Nicole uttered a joyful exclamation at sight of Monsieur GÉrondif, and she made haste to call Louise, saying:

“Come quick, my child, here’s the schoolmaster come back; no doubt ChÉrubin will soon be here too.”

It was in fact the tutor, who wore a hat so shiny that it looked as if it were varnished, with his hair carefully oiled beneath it; his gloves were glazed and his handkerchief drenched with Portugal water, but his nose was redder than ever.

Louise rushed into the house. Never had Monsieur GÉrondif’s presence caused her such pleasure; she longed, yet feared to speak to him, but at last she gave him her hand and said in a hesitating tone:

“Ah! what happiness, monsieur! You are going to tell us about him.”

Monsieur GÉrondif, for his part, was speechless with admiration at sight of the girl, for it was eight months since he had left Gagny, and in that period a tremendous change had taken place in Louise, altogether to her advantage. She was no longer a child, a little maid; she was a tall, well-built, charming girl, who had every qualification to attract, and to whom anybody would have given credit for seventeen years and a swarm of suitors.

“It is most extraordinary!” cried the tutor; “it is sorcery surely! What a gratifying change!”

“You find Louise grown, don’t you, monsieur?”

“Grown at least twelve centimetres, and her figure much more solid, more palpable!”

“But ChÉrubin, monsieur, tell us about ChÉrubin! Never mind me. Is he coming, monsieur? Shall we see him soon? Does he think about us? Does he speak of us sometimes?”

“Is he very fat and healthy, and happy, the dear fieu? And when shall we have a chance to embrace him? Why don’t he come to Gagny?”

“Monsieur le marquis is very well indeed,” replied GÉrondif, still ogling Louise. “You ask why he doesn’t come to see you? Why, my dear Madame Frimousset, it’s plain that you know nothing of life in Paris, and especially the life led by a young man in fashionable society! My pupil hasn’t a moment to himself: in the morning he fences, rides horseback, dances, sings and boxes; why, he hardly has time for his meals. Then he has to go into society—theatres, concerts, balls! How in the devil do you expect him to find a moment to come to this village? It’s impossible! Even I had infinite difficulty in making the trip to-day; I was obliged to hurry my breakfast, and I don’t like to eat fast.”

“So we shan’t see him any more?” murmured Louise, whose heart had grown heavy again, and whose eyes were filled with tears.

“I do not say that, adorable lass! but I say that you must be sensible and not expect monsieur le marquis to interrupt his important occupations for you.”

“Oh! I don’t expect anything! We’d have gone to Paris again to see him, but they always tell us he’s away.”

“Don’t come to Paris, you will simply waste your time; how do you expect to catch a young man on the wing who has five hundred things to do in the day?”

“Five hundred things! Bless my soul! but the poor boy must get all tired out!”

“As if he went on foot! He’s always in a carriage or on horseback; and he rides at full speed.”

“And he can’t come as far as this!” said Louise, with a profound sigh. “And those lovely ladies who dance so well—he goes to see them, of course?”

“The ballet dancers! fie, fie! What about morals! We used those mountebanks just as we use the magnet to attract a lot of things; but afterward—retro, Satanas!”

“But I hope he still thinks of us!” said Nicole.

“The proof that he thinks of you, Dame Nicole, is that he has instructed me to hand you this; for he wants you to be happy and to have everything you need. And he’s very generous, is my pupil. Here, take it; there’s a thousand francs in it. That’s a very pretty sum.”

As he spoke, Monsieur GÉrondif handed Nicole a bag of money. She took it, exclaiming:

“A thousand francs! Oh! that’s too much, a thousand francs. It’s a handsome present, but if I could have given him a kiss at the same time, I’d have enjoyed it much better.”

Jacquinot, who had just waked up, looked at the bag of money and muttered sleepily:

“A thousand francs! How many casks does that make at six sous the litre?”

“And didn’t he give you anything for me, monsieur?” inquired Louise. But in a moment she added hastily: “Oh! it’s not a present, it’s not money that I mean; but a kind word, a remembrance, a word to show me that he hasn’t forgotten me. Pray try to remember, monsieur.”

Monsieur GÉrondif scratched his nose and replied:

“No, my sweet girl, the marquis gave me no message for you in particular, but he told me to wish you all the best of health.”

Louise turned pale and averted her eyes. Whereupon the tutor went to her side and said in an undertone:

“Pray do not grieve, mia cara bella. Although the marquis forgets you, there is one who will never forget you, who will watch over your future, and will not allow you to vegetate in obscurity in this village. Patience; you are still very young, although perfectly developed already. Let us wait a bit; Penelope waited a long while for the return of Ulysses, but he came at last and killed all her suitors. That man shot perfectly with the bow!”

Louise gazed at Monsieur GÉrondif in surprise, as if to ask him what he meant; but he had turned to Nicole.

“Now, I must bid you adieu,” he said.

“What, already, Monsieur GÉrondif, without eating a mouthful, and without taking a drop to drink?”

“Have a glass of wine,” said Jacquinot; “nobody ever refuses that.”

“Pardon me, my dear Frimousset, but it’s very easy to refuse it, when you are in the habit, as I am, of drinking fine wines; your sour stuff would make me sick now.”

“But why are you in such a hurry to go?”

“Excellent Nicole, I know that there are potted quail for dinner to-day,—Mademoiselle Turlurette told me so,—and it would be uncivil to myself not to take my share of them. Au revoir, virtuous country folk; Nicole, watch over this little pearl—margarita; I commend her to your care. And you, sweet Louise, do not give way to sorrow; you have a grand future before you assuredly! This oracle is more reliable than the oracle of Calchas. I wish you all the best of health, and I fly to Villemonble to take the diligence.”

As he spoke, Monsieur GÉrondif bestowed an expansive smile upon each in turn; he added to the young girl’s smile an exceedingly ardent glance, and took his leave, resuming his shiny hat and his glazed gloves.

“He tells me not to give way to sorrow,” thought Louise, when he had gone; “and ChÉrubin gave him no message for me!”

XV
MONSIEUR POTERNE’S TRADE

ChÉrubin must inevitably appear ungrateful and fickle in his affection, for he seems to have forgotten very quickly good Nicole, who had reared him, and little Louise, his playmate, whom he said that he loved so dearly. But such ingratitude and inconstancy are too natural in man for us to be surprised at finding them in a mere boy. ChÉrubin had just entered his eighteenth year; he was surrounded by people whose only aim was to make life in Paris attractive to him, who were constantly occupied in affording him new pleasures, and who did not fail to make sport of him and rally him on account of the time he had passed at his nurse’s. Ridicule is a very potent weapon among the French; grown men fear and do everything to avoid it; could a child of seventeen be expected to set it at naught?

However, ChÉrubin was not so forgetful as one might suppose. He had often longed to go to see Nicole and Louise; but, in order to divert him from that design, they had, in the first place, carefully concealed from him the nurse’s two visits to the house; then they had told him that Madame Frimousset had sent Louise away to a kinswoman in Bretagne, in order to help her to forget the grief caused by her young friend’s departure.

The prospect of not finding Louise at Gagny had considerably cooled the young man’s longing to revisit the village. But, as he was still desirous that his nurse should be happy, he had, as we have seen, despatched Monsieur GÉrondif to her with money, begging him also to inquire about Louise, to ascertain whether she was likely to return to Gagny soon—in short, to satisfy himself concerning her future.

On returning from his visit to Nicole, Monsieur GÉrondif did not fail to inform his young master that Louise was still in Bretagne, in the family of a respectable, well-to-do farmer, who treated her like his own daughter; and that she was very happy there.

ChÉrubin smiled faintly at the thought that his former playmate had entirely forgotten him so soon; he felt a pang of sadness and regret, and for a moment he thought of going to Bretagne, to reproach Louise for changing so and for ceasing to love him.

For we are like that at every age: we are quite ready to forget other people, but we are not willing that they should forget us; we are inconstant and unfaithful, but we hope that others will be constant and faithful to us; in short, we have no hesitation in deceiving, but we do not wish to be deceived.

DarÉna’s arrival always brought animation to the hÔtel de Grandvilain; and, while seeking to divert ChÉrubin, he availed himself of the acquaintance to turn Monsieur Poterne’s talents to account.

For instance, the ugly hanger-on brought the young marquis two saddle horses one morning, and, assuring him that it was a magnificent opportunity, which he must not let slip, induced him to pay three thousand francs for a pair of nags that were worth five hundred at the very most.

At another time, it was a tilbury which Poterne had bought from a Russian prince; at another, some fine hunting dogs of a very rare breed; in short, Monsieur Poterne had reached the point where he dealt in everything; he never appeared at the house without offering ChÉrubin something at a bargain; he even brought canes, silk handkerchiefs, parrots and cats. The young man bought everything, and paid with the most absolute confidence. But Jasmin, who was beginning to consider that Monsieur Poterne’s bargains were terribly extravagant, was in very ill humor whenever he saw him enter the house; and he tried to devise some means by which he could rid his master of his visits. Unfortunately the old servant had never had a brilliant imagination, and as he grew old that faculty had become more confined instead of developing.

MonfrÉville might have thwarted DarÉna’s schemes and Poterne’s little commercial ventures; but he had been obliged to go for some time to an estate that he owned in the neighborhood of Fontainebleau, where considerable repairs were necessary. When he left Paris, however, he urged his young friend to distrust Monsieur Poterne’s services and obliging disposition; but ChÉrubin was too young not to be trustful; and moreover, DarÉna always seemed amazed at the good bargains which his steward found for the young marquis.

While MonfrÉville was absent, the mansion became crowded with horses, hunting-dogs, birds of all varieties, gothic vases, and objects said to be rare or curious, which Monsieur Poterne brought thither every day.

At last, Jasmin said to his young master, one morning:

“If this goes on, monsieur, your house will look like a bric-À-brac shop! You can’t turn around here! This Monsieur Poterne induces you to buy too many things; these antique, rare vases look very ugly to me; the hunting dogs make a frightful noise, and when they are let go, they bite everybody’s legs. And then the parrots shriek so, and you have five of them! That so-called Spanish cat he sold you has changed color, and is nothing but a common white cat now. And you have nineteen canes, my dear master; I have counted them. What do you mean to do with nineteen canes? Monsieur le marquis, your father, had only one, and he never carried more at one time.”

“Hush, Jasmin,” ChÉrubin replied, laughing at his old servant’s distress; “am I not rich? haven’t I the means to gratify my whims?”

“Excuse me, my dear master, but you buy all these things because Monsieur Poterne tells you they’re magnificent, great bargains, and a thousand other things to tempt you; why, you would never have taken it into your head to have ten dogs, nineteen canes, five parrots and a turtle, and to fill this house with old vases and strange looking jugs, which I call hideous, as I do the turtle, which frightens me.”

“Because you don’t know about such things. Monsieur DarÉna always congratulates me on my purchases; he thinks everything is very fine and not dear.”

“Oh! as to Monsieur DarÉna,” said Jasmin, shaking his head, “I don’t call him economical! By the way, my dear master, has he ever repaid the money that you paid the tailor, the shirt-maker and the boot-maker for him?”

“No; but that isn’t very important. He has probably forgotten it. Besides, Jasmin, you told me then that it was very good form to lend money to one’s friends, and that my father often did it.”

“That is true, monsieur, but all the difference is that your father’s friends paid back what they borrowed.”

This conversation was interrupted by Poterne’s arrival; he still wore his shabby box-coat, beneath which he carried something of considerable size, which he kept carefully out of sight. Jasmin made a very significant grimace at the appearance of the very person of whom he had been speaking. But Monsieur Poterne came forward with a most humble air, bowing to the ground, and trying to assume a pleasant expression.

“Ah! it’s Monsieur Poterne!” said ChÉrubin, laughing at his old servant’s pantomime. “I was just talking about you with Jasmin, who declares that my Spanish cat is turning white.”

Monsieur Poterne replied, with a sneering laugh that sounded like the rattling of copper sous in a saucepan:

“Monsieur Jasmin is joking! The cat that I had the honor to sell you is very valuable; he used to belong to a Spanish grandee. It is possible that he may turn white temporarily; he may not be well; but the color will all come back if you take good care of him.”

“Do you mean that you think that animals aren’t well fed in our house?” demanded Jasmin haughtily.

“I didn’t mean that, my dear monsieur; but Spanish cats are very delicate, and——”

“All right,” said ChÉrubin, “we have talked enough about a cat. Doubtless you have come to offer me something new, Monsieur Poterne? for you are an invaluable man! With you one has no time to form a wish.”

“Monsieur le marquis is too kind; as it happens, I have something.”

As he spoke, Monsieur Poterne bestowed a savage glance on the old valet, whose presence embarrassed him; but Jasmin did not budge, and as his master did not tell him to go, Monsieur Poterne was fain to make up his mind to exhibit before him what he had under his coat.

“Well, what have you brought me to-day?” asked ChÉrubin.

“What I have brought you, monsieur le marquis,—is a bargain.”

“Always bargains,” muttered Jasmin; “we know all about that.”

“I have just come from the sale at an ex-minister’s house; he was a great epicure. At your age, monsieur le marquis, young people like sweetmeats—good things—especially those that are hard to get. Faith, when this was put up for sale, I thought that you might like it.”

As he spoke, Monsieur Poterne produced from beneath his coat a huge jar of blue china, carefully sealed with parchment.

“What is there in that, Monsieur Poterne?”

“Indian preserve, monsieur le marquis; it’s a very popular sweetmeat in hot countries, and very rare in France, on account of the difficulty of bringing it here; this is made of pineapples.”

“The deuce!” muttered Jasmin; “he’s taken to bringing us eatables now! This is the finishing touch!”

“A jar of this size is ordinarily worth a hundred francs at Chevet’s, when he has any. I got this for fifty, and I bought it with the intention of offering it to you.”

“Thanks, Monsieur Poterne; pineapple preserve should be delicious, in very truth.—Jasmin, give Monsieur Poterne fifty francs, then take this preserve to the pantry.”

Jasmin took the jar which the ugly knave handed him.

“We don’t need preserves,” he muttered. “Mademoiselle Turlurette makes very good ones, and it wasn’t worth while——”

A glance from ChÉrubin imposed silence on the old retainer, who walked, still grumbling, to the secretary and took out the money, while Poterne said to the young man:

“I shall soon have something very interesting to offer to monsieur le marquis. It’s a monkey of the large species, extremely bright and intelligent, whose owner would not dispose of him except that he has failed in business. I mean to seize the opportunity, and you will have a monkey worthy of a king.”

“A monkey!” cried Jasmin; “that would be the bouquet! Our house would be a complete menagerie then!”

“Hush, Jasmin,” said ChÉrubin; “and do you, Monsieur Poterne, bring me the monkey as soon as you obtain it. I am very anxious to own it.”

Monsieur Poterne bowed, took the fifty francs which the old servant, with a horrible grimace, counted out to him, and left the room, repeating that he would try to get the monkey at a reasonable figure.

ChÉrubin, who had an appointment with DarÉna and several other young men to breakfast at the CafÉ de Paris, hastily completed his toilet and dismissed his old servant, who was in despair at the idea of having a monkey. He left the room, after casting an angry glance at the jar for which his master had just paid fifty francs.

A few minutes later, ChÉrubin, attended by a genuine groom, entered his tilbury and drove away, paying no heed to Jasmin, who shouted to him from a window in the pantry:

“He’s taken us in, monsieur! It’s grape jelly and nothing else!”

XVI
MONSIEUR POTERNE CONTINUES HIS LITTLE TRICKS

At the CafÉ de Paris, ChÉrubin found DarÉna and two young dandies whose acquaintance he had made in the foyer of the OpÉra. Intimacies are quickly formed at eighteen years; we proffer and give our friendship as if it were the most commonplace thing in the world. As we grow older, we often discover that we gave nothing and received nothing.

ChÉrubin’s two new friends were only a few years older than he. One of them, whose name was BenoÎt Mousseraud, called himself de Mousseraud, and never mentioned his Christian name, which he considered vulgar. The other, on the contrary, whose name was Oscar Chiponard, used his Christian name only, and never mentioned his family name.

The former was a tall, slender young man of twenty-two, not ill-looking, although his eyes lacked expression and his hair, which he declared to be blond, bordered closely on the red; he was a brainless chatterbox, who boasted of making a conquest of every woman he saw, and of being the best dressed man in Paris.

The other was twenty-four years of age; he was small, dark, yellow-skinned, and would have been decidedly ugly, except that his black eyes were so full of fire and animation that they imparted much expression to his countenance. He might have passed for a clever fellow, if he had not had the folly to blush for his family and to lose his temper whenever anyone mentioned the name of his father.

Both these gentlemen belonged to wealthy families. Mousseraud was the son of a provincial notary and proposed to purchase a brokerage business in Paris; Chiponard, whose father was a retired watchmaker, proposed to do nothing at all.

They both displayed great friendliness to DarÉna because he was of noble birth, and he reciprocated because they were rich. In society there is an almost constant interchange of these selfish sentiments.

“Come, come, Marquis ChÉrubin,” said DarÉna, “we are waiting for you; the breakfast is all ordered, and it will be rather fine; I understand such matters.”

“You’re a little late,” said Oscar.

“He has probably been to bid one of his mistresses good-morning,” added the tall Mousseraud, stroking his chin.

“My mistresses!” repeated ChÉrubin artlessly; “oh! I haven’t any.”

“Hasn’t any, indeed!” cried DarÉna, nudging him; “I trust that you don’t believe that! The fact is that he has them in all quarters; he is a downright villain with the women already.—Don’t say that you have no mistresses,” he added in ChÉrubin’s ear; “people will laugh at you and point their fingers at you as a curiosity. And it’s a fact, my dear fellow, that for a young man of eighteen, you are very backward.”

ChÉrubin blushed and hastily took his seat at the table. During the breakfast Mousseraud talked incessantly of his bonnes fortunes, while Oscar from time to time made malicious comments upon what his friend said. DarÉna ate, drank, and laughed at their speeches. ChÉrubin listened to everything with the utmost good faith, simply uttering exclamations of wonder when their adventures seemed to him extraordinary.

“Yes, messieurs,” said the tall red-blond, “at this moment I have five mistresses, without counting two others who are on the waiting list.”

“Waiting for what?” sneered Oscar.

“Parbleu! that is plain enough: waiting for the intrigue to be consummated; it will be arranged this week, or next at the latest.”

“Then you will have seven mistresses, just like a rooster!”

“Oh! you may pretend to joke, Oscar, but it’s the truth. Indeed, I sometimes have more.”

“You are getting to be a terrible fellow, Monsieur de Mousseraud!” said DarÉna; “however, if your conquests are pretty, accept my congratulations.”

“Four of them are enchanting, two very nice, and one passable. But I shall let the last three go; I intend to keep only the first quality.”

“What’s that! can you let a mistress go?” inquired ChÉrubin with a surprised expression.

“I say, marquis, where have you come from? One would think, to hear you, that you are a novice in love; whereas monsieur le comte assures us that you are his pupil. That would not do him credit.”

DarÉna emptied his glass and cried:

“Do you mean to say that you believe our young Adonis? Don’t you see that he’s making sport of you—a man who keeps a damsel three days at most? He takes us all in with his little innocent expression! And if he deceives us men, tell me whether the women are not likely to fall into his toils?”

“Monsieur ChÉrubin is favored in every respect,” said Oscar.

“Monsieur is not the only one!” rejoined tall Mousseraud, with a conceited air; “I only say this, because it’s a fact, but, on my word of honor, I have never met a woman who could resist me.”

“Oh! that’s not surprising with you!” retorted Oscar, in a mocking tone; “you have such an ardent nature—anyone can see that from the color of your hair.”

“What do you mean by that?” demanded the tall young man, while his cheeks became as red as his locks. “Do you dare to say that I have red hair?”

“It seems to me that there is no need for me to say so.”

“Come, come, messieurs; are we going to quarrel?” said DarÉna. “We met here to breakfast, to laugh and talk nonsense; and we lose our temper, and sulk! That is most execrable form—and all about a matter of hair! Mon Dieu! I wish that mine were red; I should be delighted! It is much less common in France than dark or fair hair. And it proves too that the hair is not dyed.—Fill my glass, Oscar, and you, de Mousseraud, serve what is on that dish.”

“Yes, yes!” cried ChÉrubin; “instead of losing your temper, tell me what you do with your seven mistresses?”

“Parbleu! what you do with yours, I presume.”

“I? Why, I haven’t——” A glance from DarÉna checked ChÉrubin, and he continued: “I don’t do anything at all with mine.”

“In that case they must play some amusing tricks on you.”

“I,” said Oscar, “have a fascinating little grisette just now; I give her a cap every week and a dress every month, and she is perfectly satisfied.”

“Among my seven mistresses,” said Mousseraud, “there is an Englishwoman who costs me a lot of money; but she is an admirable creature!”

“What a braggart he is with his seven mistresses! He reminds me of Blue Beard. Take them all out walking some day—you’ll look like a boarding-school master.”

“I give women nothing but my heart now,” said DarÉna; “and they are much more fond of me since I put them on that diet.”

“And you, ChÉrubin, do you squander money on your charmers?”

“I—I don’t know—that depends,” stammered ChÉrubin, playing with his knife.

“Really, you are too close-mouthed,” said Mousseraud; “one can get nothing out of you.”

ChÉrubin, who was much embarrassed by the turn that the conversation had taken, drew his watch, pretending that he had an appointment.

While he was looking at the time, Oscar Chopinard, who was beside him, examined his watch.

“It’s very pretty, very thin, isn’t it?” asked ChÉrubin, holding the watch for his neighbor to see.

That gentleman took it, scrutinized it again very closely, and exclaimed:

“This is very strange! Is it a wager? Let me see the chain. Parbleu! the chain too. It would be curious if the pin—Allow me, my dear ChÉrubin.”

And Monsieur Oscar, who, after examining ChÉrubin’s watch, had scrutinized and weighed in his hand the chain that he wore about his neck, turned his attention to his diamond pin.

“What makes you stare at me like this?” queried ChÉrubin; “what is there about me that is so extraordinary?”

“You have upon you objects that I am much surprised to see you wear,” replied Oscar; “a young man as rich as you are. You certainly didn’t pay much for your watch and chain and pin?”

“Why, no, not too much—twenty-five hundred francs in all. To be sure, I got them at a bargain.”

“Twenty-five hundred francs!” cried Oscar, bringing his hands together violently; “well, my dear fellow, in that case, you have been robbed! yes, absolutely robbed! The three articles are worth about sixty francs; the stones are imitation, and the watch and chain are gilded copper.”

“Copper!” cried ChÉrubin; while DarÉna muttered between his teeth:

“Ah! the villain! I almost suspected as much!”

“Why, it’s impossible! Monsieur DarÉna’s man of business sold me all these things.”

“I promise you that I am sure of what I say.”

“Parbleu!” cried tall Mousseraud, in a sneering tone, “Oscar ought to know: his father was a watchmaker, and he was brought up in the shop.”

“How can this be?” said ChÉrubin, addressing DarÉna. “You are well aware that it was Poterne who brought me all these things.”

DarÉna broke a plate with his glass, crying:

“If it is true, Poterne is a miserable villain who has deceived me outrageously; but I will shatter him like this plate.”

ChÉrubin could not believe that they had told him the truth. They left the restaurant and entered the first jeweler’s shop they saw. The jeweler had no sooner examined the objects produced by the young man than he said in a most courteous, but slightly sarcastic tone:

“Oh! how can you wear such trash, monsieur? I would not give fifteen francs for the whole lot.”

ChÉrubin took off his chain, his pin and his watch, and dashed them all on the floor, in a passion which was due, not to the loss of his money, but to his vexation at being deceived. Then he gave the jeweler his address.

“Please bring me to-morrow,” he said, “all that I believed that I really owned—the handsomest things that you have; you will see, monsieur, that I have the means to pay for genuine jewels.”

The jeweler bowed, assuring him that he should be obeyed; and they left the shop.

“As for your Monsieur Poterne,” cried ChÉrubin to DarÉna, “I advise him not to show his face at my house again.”

DarÉna, making a show of being furious, seized ChÉrubin’s hand and shook it violently.

“My friend,” he said, “I am the involuntary cause of all this; that rascally Poterne deceived me as he did you. I am sure that he is robbing me shamefully too. But it is for me to punish him; I am going to find him now and give him a thrashing.”

With that, he hastily took his leave of the three young men and went home.

DarÉna at this time occupied a small, but attractive apartment on Rue Neuve-BrÉda. Thanks to Poterne’s transactions with the young marquis, of which DarÉna received a share of the profits, he had been in funds for some time. His man of business occupied a small room above his apartment.

“Is Poterne in my rooms?” asked DarÉna, as he passed the concierge.

“In yours or else in his, monsieur,” was the reply; “he’s upstairs. I just saw him go in with the little boy who’s been coming to see him every day for a fortnight.”

“Aha! so a little boy comes to see him every morning? About how old a boy?”

“Oh! perhaps ten or twelve years old; but he’s got a very sharp face. He ain’t handsome, but in spite of that, he’s got such a sly expression that you’d almost call him good-looking.”

“What in the deuce can Poterne be doing with this boy?” said DarÉna to himself as he went upstairs. “Can it be his son? Oh, no! a man like him never acknowledges a child; he would have to take care of him. It’s probably some urchin whom he has hired to do his errands and polish his boots; but I supposed that he did all that himself.”

DarÉna entered his room, and, not finding Poterne there, went up another flight and knocked at the door of his agent’s chamber.

Instantly there was a great commotion inside; it was as if chairs were being upset, and closet doors opened and shut. At last Monsieur Poterne’s shrill, unmusical voice inquired:

“Who’s there?”

“Parbleu! it’s I. Let me in, you old scoundrel.”

“Why don’t you let me know who it is at once?” asked Poterne, as he opened the door. “I was very busy—your knock disturbed me—as I didn’t know who it was.”

DarÉna glanced about the room, which was in great disorder; then, fastening his eyes on Poterne, who seemed to be anxious to set things to rights, he said:

“You weren’t alone here, you had a small boy with you. What devilish mystery are you brewing now, with this child? Come, answer quickly; I am in no joking mood, I promise you!”

Monsieur Poterne’s only reply was to call out:

“Come, Bruno, come; you can show yourself; it was my intimate friend, there’s no danger!”

Instantly a closet opened and a small boy of twelve years or more emerged and rolled across the floor, uttering a shrill noise not unlike the cry of a savage. The singularity of his behavior was intensified by the fact that he was clad from head to foot in a sort of greenish skin, hairy in spots; that that skin, which covered his hands and feet as well, ended at those extremities in something like claws; and that a very slender and exceedingly long tail depended from his posterior. His face alone was uncovered.

“What in the devil is this?” asked DarÉna, examining the boy, who went through a multitude of leaps and capers on the floor, and seemed perfectly accustomed to walking on his hands.

Monsieur Poterne emitted a hollow rumble, as if he were laughing internally, and replied:

“This is a monkey I am training.”

“A monkey! For whom, pray?”

“For our young marquis. I wanted to sell him a large and handsome monkey, but I had no desire to put out the money for one. I had noticed this little bootblack at the corner; the rascal always did what errands I gave him, to my entire satisfaction; I saw that he was a bright little devil, so I proposed to him to play the monkey, for a handsome remuneration. I bought this orang-outang’s costume, which is very lifelike; Bruno comes here every morning and puts it on; then he practises jumping and capering. He is doing very well, and he’s more amusing than a real monkey. I have a mask, but I haven’t made up my mind whether to have him wear one. As he is horribly ugly, I think that, by staining his face and gluing hair on his eyebrows and chin, I could make a fine monkey of him! Ha! ha!”

DarÉna threw himself into a chair; he could not help laughing with his agent, as he rejoined:

“This is shocking! it is horrible! and yet I cannot help laughing! Really, this idea of manufacturing a monkey—Poterne, it’s a pity that you are such a vile knave, for you have much imagination. But let us suppose that ChÉrubin has bought this counterfeit monkey—is Monsieur Bruno inclined to remain an animal all his life?”

“Why, no,” replied Poterne; “once in the house, he will cleverly choose the moment to take flight; he will escape in one way or another—by the chimney, if need be; for he has been a sweep, and he is perfectly at home climbing chimneys. That part of it doesn’t concern me, you see; I sell a monkey and get my money; it isn’t my fault if you let him escape. Ha! ha!”

The boy, hearing Poterne laugh, followed his example, imitating anew the monkey’s wild chatter, and leaping over all the furniture in the room in order to develop his talent.

“Well,” said DarÉna, after a moment, “you will lose the expense of educating him, Poterne; this little scamp may play the monkey on the boulevards, but he won’t do it in our young pupil’s house!”

“Why not, pray?”

“Why not? Because you are a villain, a swindler, a thief!”

Monsieur Poterne looked at the count with an expression which said plainly enough: “You’ve known that a long while; why pretend to be so surprised?”

“I have no objection to your selling things at rather a high figure to my young friend, because tradesmen always get as much as they can. That is business and nothing else. But I do not propose that you shall abuse ChÉrubin’s confidence to the point of cheating him outrageously; and that is just what you have done, master thief!”

Poterne rolled his eyes in amazement, muttering:

“I don’t see where the great harm comes in! I told him they were preserved pineapples, and they’re turnips; but they can’t hurt him; on the contrary, they’re less heating.”

“I am not talking about turnips—I don’t know about that episode, you must tell me about it!—I am talking about the watch and chain and pin; they are all sham, horribly sham; and you had the face to tell me that they were worth eight hundred francs! You robbed me too, you villain!”

“It’s very lucky that they weren’t worth as much as that!” replied Poterne coolly; “for, out of the twenty-five hundred francs I got for them, you left me only five hundred to pay the dealer on account, and you’ve never given me the rest since.”

“Because I had a sort of presentiment of your knavery! The idea of selling trash, gilded copper, to my young friend! it is infamous!”

“Bah! look you, it seems to me that you’ve been living comfortably at your young friend’s expense for eighteen months past.”

“Hold your tongue, Poterne, hold your tongue. I am tempted to break every bone in your body, and you deserve it. See what a fine thing you have done in not being content with the honest profits you might have made on such things as you sold ChÉrubin; now you can never go to his house again. I had thrown open an excellent house to you, and you have closed it by your thirst for gold—and as a result you have injured me considerably. I have derived some profit from your little transactions—and that was no more than fair; as it was I who made you acquainted with this rich youngster.”

“Some profit! In other words, you took the whole!” muttered Poterne, with a horrible grimace.

“Once more, hold your tongue, or I cannot restrain myself!—Now, how shall I maintain my position, my life of luxury? I can borrow of ChÉrubin occasionally, to be sure, but that resource will soon fail me: the most obliging people get tired of lending, especially when they are never paid. I have tried to instil into my young friend a taste for cards, telling him that it was the passion of fashionable people; but I could not do it, cards are a bore to him; and then that devil of a MonfrÉville has strongly advised him not to touch them. So that there is but one way left for me to feather my own nest by making myself useful to ChÉrubin, and that is—love. When a wealthy young man is in love, he usually does all sorts of foolish things for the woman he loves. If there are obstacles, he spends money lavishly to overcome them,—and we should have had no difficulty in placing obstacles in his path whenever we chose. Well! by some fatality which I cannot understand, ChÉrubin, who exclaims in admiration at sight of a pretty face, who seemed to be dead in love with my four little ballet dancers, who cannot look at a grisette without a thrill, who, in short, acts as if he were tremendously in love with all women, hasn’t yet engaged in any intrigue or taken a mistress. I have proposed twenty times to take him to Malvina, or Rosina, or Foedora; he will agree at first, then refuse, saying: ‘Later; we’ll see about it; I don’t dare!’ And my sarcasms, my jests, fail to overcome his timidity.—That is where I stand now, monsieur; I was justified, you see, in saying that your knavery has placed me in an unpleasant position.”

Poterne, who had listened very attentively to DarÉna, reflected for some moments on what he had heard, and replied at last:

“If the young man has no love-affairs on hand, it is probably because he has not yet met a woman who has really attracted him. Those dancers of yours who seemed to be throwing themselves at his head—that’s not the way to captivate a wholly inexperienced heart, which wants illusions, ardent passion. Never fear, I’ll find what he needs, and before long I will involve him in a most romantic and complicated intrigue.”

“Remember that you cannot show your face before ChÉrubin, who is quite capable of kicking you downstairs. He is in a terrible rage with you, I warn you.”

“Oh! don’t be alarmed; if I appear before him, I will take good care that he doesn’t recognize me.”

“Poterne, if you succeed in arousing a passionate love in our young man’s heart, I will give you back my esteem.”

“Oh, yes! I shall succeed! But first, you must give me time to find a pretty girl, and then to learn whether—I say, Bruno! Bruno! where are you going, you little rascal?”

During the foregoing conversation between DarÉna and Poterne, the small boy, who had understood that he was not to play the part of a monkey, as he had been led to expect, had resumed his ordinary garb; but, when he had finished his toilet, Monsieur Bruno, presuming that no one was paying any heed to him, rolled the monkey’s skin around the mask, put it under his arm, and left the room.

“My skin! my monkey’s skin, Bruno!” cried Monsieur Poterne, running out to the landing. “Ah! you little vagabond! don’t you mean to give it back to me?”

But Monsieur Bruno, who had become very skilful in gymnastic exercises, thanks to the lessons he had taken in playing the monkey, ran down the stairs so rapidly that he was at the foot before Poterne had covered three stairs. The latter ran after the little thief none the less; and while DarÉna returned to his room, laughing at the episode, Monsieur Poterne ran through the street after the bootblack, crying:

“My skin! my skin! stop that little scamp—he’s stolen my skin!”

XVII
ADVICE OF A FRIEND

On returning home, ChÉrubin sent for Jasmin and said to him:

“If Monsieur Poterne should ever dare to appear here again, I order you to have him thrown out of doors; you may even go so far as to order the concierge to thrash him; but you must not undertake it yourself, for you are too old and he would return the compliment.”

Jasmin uttered a joyful exclamation, and said:

“What! really, monsieur? And without taking the monkey?”

“Oh! I forbid you above all things to take anything whatever from him.”

And ChÉrubin told his old servant what had happened.

“You see, monsieur,” said Jasmin, “that Poterne is an outrageous swindler—I was sure of it. His so-called Indian preserves—I gave ‘em to Mademoiselle Turlurette to taste; they gave her a very bad stomach ache, and she’s been out of order ever since. I’m very much afraid, monsieur, that everything you have bought of that Poterne is like your watch!—And this Monsieur DarÉna whose man of business he is—hum!”

“DarÉna was even more furious than I with that man; he swore that he’d thrash him. He was deceived too; it isn’t his fault.”

“All the same, my dear master, I very much prefer your other friend, Monsieur de MonfrÉville. Ah! such a difference! he doesn’t borrow your tailor; he doesn’t induce you to buy things; he doesn’t let his steward loose on you.”

ChÉrubin smiled at Jasmin’s reflections, but it did not enter his mind that DarÉna could be a confederate in his agent’s wrongdoing. His heart was too frank, too trustful, to suspect cunning and perfidy, and he would have been unable to believe in Monsieur Poterne’s shameless rascality had it been less abundantly demonstrated to him.

As for Monsieur GÉrondif, who passed a large part of his time in sleep, and another large part at the table, and who had adopted the habit of reading Voltaire or Racine to Mademoiselle Turlurette of an evening, telling her that he had composed the lines that morning, when he learned what Monsieur Poterne had done, he exclaimed:

“That man never read Deuteronomy, where it says: Non furtum facies; or else he mistranslated it.”

A few days after this adventure, MonfrÉville, returning from the country, came at once to see ChÉrubin. When he spied the pack of hounds, the parrots, the turtle, the canes, the gothic vases, and all the alleged rare objects with which his young friend’s house was filled to overflowing, he uttered an exclamation which was not of delight, and said to ChÉrubin:

“Mon Dieu! what on earth induced you to buy all this stuff?”

“They are all bargains. I was told that they were very fine.”

“Fine! Why, they are all horrible, in wretched taste, and of no value whatever. Your parrots are wretched cockatoos, your dogs are miserable curs that I would not have to guard chickens! Even your canes are common sticks of wood; this rattan is an imitation, it was never what it pretends to be.”

“What did I say?” cried Jasmin; “that Poterne is an infernal pickpocket; he has taken us in with everything, just as he did with the jewels.—Tell monsieur the story of our watch, my dear master.”

ChÉrubin told MonfrÉville what had happened to him.

“If it was Monsieur Poterne who sold you all this,” said MonfrÉville, “I am surprised no longer! But DarÉna—do you still see him?”

“Yes,” replied ChÉrubin; “he was indignant at his agent’s conduct, and he has told me since that he had beaten him and dismissed him from his service.”

MonfrÉville smiled faintly; then he took ChÉrubin’s hand and said:

“My friend, you are still very young, and you cannot be expected to understand men; the knowledge of the world which one acquires only by experience and familiarity, unless one is blessed in youth with a most observant mind, that knowledge is rather melancholy than agreeable! For men are rarely what they choose to appear; frankness is not esteemed as a virtue in society; on the contrary, the man would be considered a fool or a boor who should say frankly what he thought, at the risk of wounding the self-esteem of this one or the susceptibility of that one. We consider those people delightful who never have any but agreeable and flattering words in their mouths, and we do not worry as to whether they mean what they say. In the world, every man acts as his interest or his passions impel him, and they who make the most parade of their virtues, their honor, their good faith, are the ones whom we should trust least; for people who are really virtuous and upright deem it perfectly natural to be so, and quite unnecessary to proclaim it. I have not said all this to you earlier, for I regret to deprive you of the illusions which make a large part of the charm of youth, and with which we begin life; but I take too deep an interest in you not to try to put you on your guard against the snares which may be laid for you.”

“What, my dear MonfrÉville,” said ChÉrubin sadly, “can’t we trust anybody in the world?”

“I don’t mean to go so far as that. I do not want to make a misanthrope of you—God forbid! But I warn you that you must be particular in the choice of your friends.”

“Monsieur GÉrondif has often told me that when a man became learned he became a man to be feared, because a learned man can never be cheated by anybody, as he knows more than other men.”

“I don’t know whether your tutor is very strong on his authors, but he is rather weak in knowledge of the human heart. In the first place, a person may be very learned without a spark of wit—we have proofs of that every day; and in the second place, those who have the most wit are almost always the ones who are most easily cheated; doubtless Providence so ordained as a recompense to fools.”

“So you feel sure that people will try to cheat me?”

“You are young and rich, and you have had very little experience. There are numbers of people who would like to take advantage of that combination. All this that I am saying is very sad—but you will realize later that I am right.”

“Have you been caught often, Monsieur de MonfrÉville?”

This artless question brought a smile to the lips of him to whom it was addressed; he heaved a sigh, however, as he replied:

“Like other men, my friend. Take my advice and do not form an intimacy with DarÉna. I dislike to speak harshly of anyone; but the more I observe the count, the more strongly I feel that his acquaintance is not at all suitable for you.”

“But he is very amusing, very agreeable, very clever.”

“I know it, and that makes him all the more dangerous. He has already borrowed money from you, has he not?”

“Why, yes—sometimes.”

“He will never pay you.”

“Do you think not?”

“I am sure of it. He will urge you to play.”

“Yes, he has often proposed it.”

“It is the most fatal of passions. He is a gambler and he has ruined himself. When a man has reached that point, he tries too often to ruin others; for an unlucky gambler is sometimes far from delicate in the methods to which he resorts to obtain money, in order to gratify his passion. DarÉna has reached that point.”

“As you have so bad an opinion of DarÉna, how does it happen that he is a friend of yours? Why did he come to Gagny with you?”

“Your question is perfectly just; but in society one accepts a man’s good qualities and does not concern oneself enough about his bad ones. DarÉna bears an honorable name; he is able to behave most becomingly when he chooses; in fact, he has most agreeable and fascinating manners; and nobody asks for anything more in society. But, I tell you again, one should look for something more in a friend.”

“And the women, my dear MonfrÉville, the women—must I distrust them too? Ah! that would be a great pity, women are so pretty!”

“It’s different with women! As a general rule, men are too fickle to be exacting in the choice of their mistresses, and for that reason such liaisons are not at all dangerous. What does it matter that you are in love with a coquette, with a woman whose reputation is more than shady, with an actress who will make a fool of you? That love will soon be replaced by another, which, in its turn, will be as quickly forgotten! A man’s reputation has nothing to fear from all that; on the contrary, the more love-affairs you have, the more flattered the ladies will be to win your love; that fact says more for their self-esteem than for their hearts.”

“What do you say? to attract the women, one must deceive them?” cried ChÉrubin, gazing at MonfrÉville with an incredulous expression. “Do you mean that it is all the same to them whether we forget them and abandon them?”

MonfrÉville turned pale, his brow darkened, and he kept his eyes on the floor for a long while; not for some moments did he reply:

“There are women who never forgive inconstancy, but they are not ordinarily the ones who love you the best; for true love makes one indulgent. It forgives, provided that you return in all sincerity. I tell you, ChÉrubin, that the shrewdest man knows nothing about a woman’s heart. There has been much discussion of the subject, and no two persons ever agreed. Tertullian declares that the devil is not so spiteful as woman, and Confucius says that a woman’s soul is the masterwork of creation. Cato maintains that wisdom and virtue are incompatible with the female mind, and Tibullus that woman’s love brings us back to virtue. How are we to form an opinion about it?—But I believe that at this moment I am too much like your tutor, who overwhelms you with his learning. I conclude, my young friend, by informing you that the best way to be happy is to form no attachment. Love all women! Your life will glide along amid pleasures and folly. But if you love only one, you must expect much sorrow in exchange for a little happiness.”

“Love all women, you say! I ask nothing better! I fall in love with all I see—when they are pretty.”

“But I believe that you have not yet formed any liaison? I have not heard that you have any mistress!”

“No—you see—it seems to me that I shall never dare to tell a woman that I love her. A man must be very bold to say that, do you know?”

“Ha! ha! this is the result of a sojourn of sixteen years with your nurse. But you must cast off this timidity, which will be much more injurious than advantageous to you, especially with the fair sex. You are more than eighteen years old—you must make a start, show yourself in society. You must not serve your apprenticeship in love with grisettes or supernumeraries from the theatre. You will find something better than that. In the fashionable society to which I propose to introduce you, a thousand women will contend for your favor, and they will do you credit, at all events. Moreover, it is high time that you should know something besides the theatres, cafÉs and restaurants of Paris; the salons are where a man gets his training, and I will take you to those where refined manners are the rule. With your name you will be welcomed everywhere. This is the season for receptions; Madame CÉlival has resumed her assemblies, which are very brilliant affairs; the best people in Paris go there. I will introduce you to her house.”

ChÉrubin trembled at the idea of going into society; he was afraid of being awkward and clumsy, and of being unable to talk. But MonfrÉville encouraged him, promised to be his guide and to stay with him, and the young man consented to allow himself to be taken to Madame CÉlival’s reception.

The day arrived too quickly for ChÉrubin, who, having never attended any such function, was greatly excited at the mere thought of finding himself in the midst of a large company, exposed to everybody’s glances and remarks.

“What shall I say?”—That was always the result of ChÉrubin’s reflections; and, pending MonfrÉville’s arrival, he went to Monsieur GÉrondif, to consult him as to what a young man may find to say when he makes his first appearance in society.

Monsieur GÉrondif was learning some of La Fontaine’s poetry by heart, intending to recite it to Mademoiselle Turlurette as his own. The tutor was not enamored of the housekeeper; he considered her over-developed for him, and he had views elsewhere; but Mademoiselle Turlurette’s functions included the department of preserves, sweetmeats and liqueurs, and Monsieur GÉrondif was very fond of all such dainties.

When he saw his pupil enter his room, the tutor was thunderstruck; it was the first time that ChÉrubin had paid him a visit since they had been in Paris. He imagined that he wished to resume his studies, and he said:

“Everything is ready, my noble pupil. I am always expecting you. I have prepared abstracts of history, mythology and geology for you. I am always at work in your service. At this moment, as you are taking lessons in savate, I am trying to find the origin of that form of exercise in Plutarch’s lives of illustrious men. I find the cestus, boxing and wrestling, but I haven’t yet found savate.”

“I thank you, Monsieur GÉrondif,” replied ChÉrubin, “but that is not what I have come about. This evening Monsieur de MonfrÉville is to take me into society; he declares that it is necessary for me to go there, that I shall acquire refined manners there; he is probably right, and I have promised to let him take me. But what do people say at a fashionable reception? How should one behave? Do you talk with people whom you don’t know?—I thought that you could tell me that, you know so many things; for as yet I haven’t been anywhere except to the theatre and concerts, and to cafÉs; and I must confess that I am terribly afraid of cutting a foolish figure in company.”

“Foolish!” cried GÉrondif; “that is impossible! You forget that you are my pupil; you are not equal to me in Horace and Virgil, but you know some passages—you must repeat them when you are talking with men. With the ladies, it is different; employ those figures of speech, those metaphors, which embellish discourse; compare them to Venus, Diana, Juno, Hebe, and you will certainly win a surprising triumph. But, if you wish me to go with you, I will stand behind you and prompt you.”

ChÉrubin did not consider it necessary to be attended in company by his tutor; he believed that MonfrÉville would keep his promise and would not leave him.

MonfrÉville called for his young friend at the hour appointed. He was dressed in the most perfect taste; his slender and shapely figure was encased in an exquisitely fitting coat, which he wore with much grace. His youthful bearing, his beautiful dark hair and his still charming face made him seem barely thirty years old, although he was near forty.

ChÉrubin, who was dressed in the latest style, still retained a trace of the awkwardness characteristic of village youths; but as he was well-built and had a most attractive face, the awkwardness of his carriage sometimes resembled the innocent coquetry of a schoolboy.

They entered the carriage, and MonfrÉville said:

“I am taking you into fashionable society, but, in order to dispel any feeling of shyness, that may injure your prospects, say to yourself first of all that you are of as good family as any of the people you will see there; say to yourself in the second place, that, thanks to your fortune and your rank, you need no support. When a person can say that to himself, my dear ChÉrubin, he should be perfectly self-possessed in society; indeed, some people are too much so. In default of the advantages which you have, and which everybody cannot have, a philosopher would say: ‘Why should I allow myself to be awed by this man’s title, or by that man’s fortune? Are they not men like myself, after all? Imagine all these vain, proud people in the costume of our first parents in the Garden of Eden; strip them of these decorations, these jewels, these costly clothes, in which their whole merit often consists,—will they be so imposing to me then? No, indeed; it is probable that they will make me laugh, and that is all.’—My dear fellow, a few such reflections are enough to put one entirely at his ease in the most exalted company.”

“You encourage me,” said ChÉrubin; “I shall talk Latin with the men, and with the ladies I shall talk about Venus, Diana and Phoebe. Monsieur GÉrondif advised that.”

“If you want to make people laugh at you, that would be the best of all ways. I suspected that your tutor was a fool, now I am sure of it.”

“Mon Dieu! what shall I say then, if anyone speaks to me?”

“Reply to what they say.”

“But suppose I don’t know what to reply—suppose I can’t think of anything to say?”

“Keep silent then. A person is never stupid in society when he knows how to keep silent; indeed there are people who owe their reputation for wit to their silence.”

“But suppose I see any lovely women, who take my fancy?”

“Tell them so with your eyes; they will understand you perfectly.”

“But if I want to make their acquaintance, to pay court to them?”

“Say whatever comes into your head; but above all things don’t try to be bright, for you would make yourself a terrible bore.”

“But suppose nothing comes into my head?”

“You still have the resource of silence and eloquent glances; there are many people who stop there.”

“But this lady to whose house you are taking me?”

“True, I must tell you something about her. Madame CÉlival must be about thirty-six, but she is very good-looking; she is an alluring brunette; her eyes are most expressive, she has a lovely figure and graceful outlines; there is something fascinating, something voluptuous in her whole aspect, which seduces all the men. Madame CÉlival is a coquette, too, and is not supposed to be too cruel to those who sigh for her; but that is whispered only. She is her own mistress, however; she is the widow of a general, yes, a real general, who actually lived and left her a handsome fortune and no children. You may judge that the lovely widow does not lack adorers.—But, attention; here we are.”