A CHAIR ON THE BOULEVARD By LEONARD MERRICK WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY A. NEIL LYONS 1921 CONTENTS I THE TRAGEDY OF A COMIC SONG II TRICOTRIN ENTERTAINS III THE FATAL FLOROZONDE IV THE OPPORTUNITY OF PETITPAS V THE CAFÉ OF THE BROKEN HEART VI THE DRESS CLOTHES OF MONSIEUR POMPONNET VII THE SUICIDES IN THE RUE SOMBRE VIII THE CONSPIRACY FOR CLAUDINE IX THE DOLL IN THE PINK SILK DRESS X THE LAST EFFECT XI AN INVITATION TO DINNER XII THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS XIII THE FAIRY POODLE XIV LITTLE-FLOWER-OF-THE-WOOD XV A MIRACLE IN MONTMARTRE XVI THE DANGER OF BEING A TWIN XVII HERCULES AND APHRODITE XVIII "PARDON, YOU ARE MADEMOISELLE GIRARD!" XIX HOW TRICOTRIN SAW LONDON XX THE INFIDELITY OF MONSIEUR NOULENS INTRODUCTION These disjointed thoughts about one of Leonard Merrick's mostarticulate books must begin with a personal confession. For many years I walked about this earth avoiding the works of LeonardMerrick, as other men might have avoided an onion. This insane aversionwas created in my mind chiefly by admirers of what is called the"cheerful" note in fiction. Such people are completely agreed inpronouncing Mr. Merrick to be a pessimistic writer. I hate pessimisticwriters. Years ago, when I was of an age when the mind responds acutely toexterior impressions, some well-meaning uncle, or other fool, gave me apessimistic book to read. This was a work of fiction which the BritishPublic had hailed as a masterpiece of humour. It represented, with anutter fury of pessimism, the spiritual inadequacies of--but why go intodetails. Now, I have to confess that for a long time I did Mr. Merrick theextraordinary injustice of believing him to be the author of thatpopular masterpiece. The mistake, though intellectually unpardonable, may perhaps becondoned on other grounds. By virtue of that process of thought whichwe call the "association of ideas, " I naturally connected Mr. Merrickwith this work of super-pessimism; my friends being so confirmed intheir belief that he was a super-pessimist. But by virtue of a fortunate accident, I at last got the truth aboutMr. Merrick. This event arose from the action of a right-mindedbutcher, who, having exhausted his stock of _The Pigeon-Fancier'sGazette_, sent me my weekly supply of dog-bones wrapped about withLeonard Merrick. These dog-bones happened to reach my house at a moment when no otherkind of literary nutriment was to be had. Having nothing better to readI read the dog-bone wrappers. Thus, by dog-bones, was I brought toMerrick: the most jolly, amusing, and optimistic of all spiritualfriends. The book to which these utterances are prefixed is to my mind one ofthe few _really_ amusing books which have been published inEngland during my lifetime. But, then, I think that all of Mr. Merrick's books are amusing: even his "earnest" books, such as _TheActor-Manager, When Love Flies out o' the Window_, or _ThePosition of Peggy Harper_. It is, of course, true that such novels as these are unlikely to befound congenial by those persons who derive entertainment from fictionlike my uncle's present. On the other hand, there are people in theworld with a capacity for being amused by psychological inquiry. Tosuch people I would say: "Don't miss Merrick. " The extraordinarycheerfulness of Mr. Merrick's philosophy is a fact which will impressitself upon all folk who are able to take a really cheerful view oflife. All of Mr. Merrick's sermons--I do not hesitate to call his novels"sermons, " because no decent novel can be anything else--all hissermons, I say, point to this conclusion: that people who go outdeliberately to look for happiness, to kick for it, and fight for it, or who try to buy it with money, will miss happiness; this being astate of heart--a mere outgrowth, more often to be found by a carelessand self-forgetful vagrant than by the deliberate and self-consciousseeker. A cheerful doctrine this. Not only cheerful, but self-evidentlytrue. How right it is, and how cheerful it is, to think that whilephilosophers and clergymen strut about this world looking out, andsmelling out, for its prime experiences, more careless and lesscelebrated men are continually finding such things, without effort, without care, in irregular and unconsecrated places. In novel after novel, Mr. Merrick has preached the same good-humoured, cheerful doctrine: the doctrine of anti-fat. He asks us to believe--he_makes_ us believe--that a man (or woman) is not merely virtuous, but merely sane, who exchanges the fats of fulfilment for the littlelean pleasures of honourable hope and high endeavour. Oh wise, oh wittyMr. Merrick! Mr. Merrick has not, to my knowledge, written one novel in which hishero is represented as having achieved complacency. Mr. Merrick'sheroes all undergo the very human experience of "hitting a snag. " Theyare none of them represented as _enjoying_ this experience; butnone of them whimper and none of them "rat. " If anybody could prove to me that Mr. Merrick had ever invented a herowho submitted tamely to tame success, to fat prosperity; or who hadstepped, were it ever so lightly, into the dirty morass of acceptedcomfort, then would I cheerfully admit to anybody that Leonard Merrickis a Pessimistic Writer. But until this proof be forthcoming, I stickto my opinion: I stick to the conviction that Mr. Merrick is thegayest, cheer fullest, and most courageous of living humorists. This opinion is a general opinion, applicable to Mr. Merrick's generalwork. This morning, however, I am asked to narrow my field of view: tocontemplate not so much Mr. Merrick at large as Mr. Merrick inparticular: to look at Mr. Merrick in his relationship to this oneparticular book: _A Chair on the Boulevard_. Now, if I say, as I have said, that Mr. Merrick is cheerful in hiscapacity of solemn novelist, what am I to say of Mr. Merrick in hislighter aspect, that of a writer of _feuilletons?_ Addressingmyself to an imaginary audience of Magazine Enthusiasts, I ask them totell me whether, judged even by comparison with their favouritefiction, some of the stories to be found in this volume are notexquisitely amusing? The first story in the book--that which Mr. Merrick calls "The Tragedyof a Comic Song"--is in my view the funniest story of this century:but I don't ask or expect the Magazine Enthusiast to share this view orto endorse that judgment. "The Tragedy of a Comic Song" is essentiallyone of those productions in which the reader is expected tocollaborate. The author has deliberately contrived certain voids ofnarrative; and his reader is expected to populate these anecdotalwastes. This is asking more than it is fair to ask of a MagazineEnthusiast. No genuine Magazine reader cares for the elusive orallusive style in fiction. "The Tragedy of a Comic Song" won't do forBouverie Street, however well and completely it may do for me. But there are other stories in this book. There is that screaming farcecalled "The Suicides in the Rue Sombre. " Now, then, you Magazinezealots, speak up and tell me truly: is there anything too difficultfor you in this? If so, the psychology of what is called "public taste"becomes a subject not suited to public discussion. The foregoing remarks and considerations apply equally to such storiesas "The Dress Clothes of M. Pomponnet" and "Tricotrin Entertains. "There are other stories which delight me, as, for example, "Little-Flower-of-the-Wood": but this jerks us back again to the essential Mr. Merrick: he who demands collaboration. There are, again, other stories, and yet others; but to write down alltheir titles here would be merely to transcribe the index page of thebook. Neither the reader nor I can afford to waste our time like that. I have said nothing about the technical qualities of Mr. Merrick'swork. I don't intend to do so. It has long been a conceit of mine tobelieve that professional vendors of letterpress should reserve theirmutual discussions of technique for technical occasions, such as thosewhen men of like mind and occupation sit at table, with a bottlebetween them. I am convinced that Mr. Merrick is a very great and gifted man, deeplyskilled in his profession. I can bring forth arguments and proofs tosupport this conviction; but I fail utterly to see why I should do so. To people who have a sense of that which is sincere and fresh infiction, these facts will be apparent. To them my arguments andillustrations would be profitless. As for those honest persons to whomthe excellencies of Merrick are not apparent, I can only think thatnothing which I or any other man could say would render them obvious. "Happiness is in ourselves, " as the Vicar remarked to the donkey whowas pulling the lawn-mower. Good luck, Leonard Merrick, and good cheer! I shout my greeting to youacross the ripples of that inky lake which is our common fishery. A. NEIL LYONS. A CHAIR ON THE BOULEVARD THE TRAGEDY OF A COMIC SONG I like to monopolise a table in a restaurant, unless a friend is withme, so I resented the young man's presence. Besides, he had amelancholy face. If it hadn't been for the piano-organ, I don't supposeI should have spoken to him. As the organ that was afflicting LisleStreet began to volley a comic song of a day that was dead, he started. "That tune!" he murmured in French. If I did not deceive myself, tearssprang to his eyes. I was curious. Certainly, on both sides of the Channel, we had long agohad more than enough of the tune--no self-respecting organ-grinderrattled it now. That the young Frenchman should wince at the tune Iunderstood. But that he should weep! I smiled sympathetically. "We suffered from it over here as well, " Iremarked. "I did not know, " he said, in English that reproved my French, "it wassung in London also--'Partant pour le Moulin'?" "Under another name, " I told him, "it was an epidemic. " Clearly, the organ had stirred distressing memories in him, for thoughwe fell to chatting, I could see that he neither talked nor dined withany relish. As luck would have it, too, the instrument of tortureresumed its répertoire well within hearing, and when "Partant pour leMoulin" was reached again, he clasped his head. "You find it so painful?" I inquired. "Painful?" he exclaimed. "Monsieur, it is my 'istory, that comic tune!It is to me romance, tragedy, ruin. Will you hear? Wait! I shall rangemy ideas. Listen:" * * * * * It is Paris, at Montmartre--we are before the door of a laundress. Agirl approaches. Her gaze is troubled, she frowns a little. What ailsher? I shall tell you: the laundress has refused to deliver her washinguntil her bill is paid. And the girl cannot pay it--not till Saturday--and she has need of things to put on. It is a moment of anxiety. She opens the door. Some minutes pass. The girl reappears, holdingunder her arm a little parcel. Good! she has triumphed. In coming outshe sees a young man, pale, abstracted, who stands before the shop. Hedoes not attempt to enter. He stands motionless, regarding the windowwith an air forlorn. "Ah, " she says to herself, "here is another customer who cannot pay hisbill!" But wait a little. After 'alf an hour what happens? She sees the youngman again! This time he stands before a modest restaurant. Does he goin? No, again no! He regards the window sorrowfully. He sighs. Thedejection of his attitude would melt a stone. "Poor boy, " she thought; "he cannot pay for a dinner either!" The affair is not finished. How the summer day is beautiful--she willdo some footing! Figure yourself that once more she perceives the youngman. Now it is before the mont-de-piété, the pawnbroker's. She watcheshim attentively. Here, at least, he will enter, she does not doubt. Sheis wrong. It is the same thing--he regards, he laments, he turns away! "Oh, mon Dieu, " she said. "Nothing remains to him to pawn even!" It is too strong! She addressed him: "Monsieur!" But, when she has said "Monsieur, " there is the question how she shallcontinue. Now the young man regards the girl instead of thepawnbroker's. Her features are pretty--or "pretty well"; her costumehas been made by herself, but it is not bad; and she has chic--aboveall she has chic. He asks: "What can I have the pleasure to do for you?" Remark that she is bohemian, and he also. The conversation was like this: "Monsieur, three times this morning I have seen you. It was impossiblethat I resist speaking. You have grief?" "Frightful!" he said. "Perhaps, " she added timidly, "you have hunger also?" "A hunger insupportable, mademoiselle!" "I myself am extremely hard up, monsieur, but will you permit that Ioffer you what I can?" "Angel!" the young man exclaimed. "There must be wings under your coat. But I beg of you not to fly yet. I shall tell you the reason of mygrief. If you will do me the honour to seat yourself at the caféopposite, we shall be able to talk more pleasantly. " This appeared strange enough, this invitation from a young man who shehad supposed was starving; but wait a little! Her amazement increasedwhen, to pay for the wine he had ordered, her companion threw on to thetable a bank-note with a gesture absolutely careless. She was in danger of distrusting her eyes. "Is it a dream?" she cried. "Is it a vision from the _Thousand andOne Nights_, or is it really a bank-note?" "Mademoiselle, it is the mess of pottage, " the young man answeredgloomily. "It is the cause of my sadness: for that miserable money, andmore that is to come, I have sold my birthright. " She was on a ship--no, what is it, your expression?--"at sea"! "I am a poet, " he explained; "but perhaps you may not know my work; Iam not celebrated. I am Tricotrin, mademoiselle--Gustave Tricotrin, atyour feet! For years I have written, aided by ambition, and an unclewho manufactures silk in Lyons. Well, the time is arrived when he ismonstrous, this uncle. He says to me, 'Gustave, this cannot last--youmake no living, you make nothing but debts. (My tragedies he ignores. )Either you must be a poet who makes money, or you must be a partner whomakes silk, ' How could I defy him?--he holds the purse. It wasunavoidable that I stooped. He has given me a sum to satisfy mycreditors, and Monday I depart for Lyons. In the meantime, I taketender farewells of the familiar scenes I shall perhaps never beholdagain. " "How I have been mistaken!" she exclaimed. And then: "But the hungeryou confessed?" "Of the soul, mademoiselle, " said the poet--"the most bitter!" "And you have no difficulties with the laundress?" "None, " he groaned. "But in the bright days of poverty that have fledfor ever, I have had many difficulties with her. This morning Ireconstituted the situation--I imagined myself without a sou, andwithout a collar. " "The little restaurant, " she questioned, "where I saw you dining on theodour?" "I figured fondly to myself that I was ravenous and that I dared notenter. It was sublime. " "The mont-de-piété?" "There imagination restored to me the vanished moments when I havemounted with suspense, and my least deplorable suit of clothes. " Hisemotion was profound. "It is my youth to which I am bidding adieu!" hecried. "It is more than that--it is my aspirations and my renown!" "But you have said that you have no renown, " she reminded him. "So much the more painful, " said the young man; "the hussy we could notwin is always the fairest--I part from renown even more despairinglythan from youth. " She felt an amusement, an interest. But soon it was the turn of him tofeel an interest--the interest that had consequences so important, so'eart-breaking, so _fatales_! He had demanded of her, mostnaturally, her history, and this she related to him in a styledramatic. Myself, I have not the style dramatic, though I avow to you Iadmire that. "We are in a provincial town, " she said to the young man, "we are inRouen--the workroom of a modiste. Have no embarrassment, monsieurTricotrin, you, at least, are invisible to the girls who sew! They sewall day and talk little--already they are _tristes_, resigned. Among them sits one who is different--one passionate, ambitious--a girlwho burns to be _divette_, singer, who is devoured by longings forapplause, fashion, wealth. She has made the acquaintance of a littlepastrycook. He has become fascinated, they are affianced. In a monthshe will be married. " The young man, Tricotrin, well understood that the girl she describedwas herself. "What does she consider while she sits sewing?" she continued. "Thatthe pastrycook loves her, that he is generous, that she will do hermost to be to him a good wife? Not at all. Far from that! Sheconsiders, on the contrary, that she was a fool to promise him; sheconsiders how she shall escape--from him, from Rouen, from her ennui--she seeks to fly to Paris. Alas! she has no money, not a franc. And shesews--always she sews in the dull room--and her spirit rebels. " "Good!" said the poet. "It is a capital first instalment. " "The time goes on. There remains only a week to the marriage morning. The little home is prepared, the little pastrycook is full of joy. _Alors_, one evening they go out; for her the sole attraction inthe town is the hall of varieties. Yes, it is third class, it is notgreat things; however, it is the only one in Rouen. He purchases twotickets. What a misfortune--it is the last temptation to her! Theystroll back; she takes his arm--under the moon, under the stars; butshe sees only the lamps of Paris!--she sees only that he can saynothing she cares to hear!" "Ah, unhappy man!" murmured the poet. "They sit at a café table, and he talks, the fiancé, of the bliss thatis to come to them. She attends to not a word, not a syllable. Whileshe smiles, she questions herself, frenzied, how she can escape. Shehas commanded a _sirop_. As she lifts her glass to the syphon, hergaze falls on the ring she wears--the ring of their betrothal. 'To thefuture, cher ange!' says the fiancé. 'To the future, vieux chéri!' shesays. And she laughs in her heart--for she resolves to sell the ring!" Tricotrin had become absolutely enthralled. "She obtained for the ring forty-five francs the next day--and for thelittle pastrycook all is finished. She wrote him a letter--'Good-bye. 'He has lost his reason. Mad with despair, he has flung himself beforean electric car, and is killed.... It is strange, " she added to thepoet, who regarded her with consternation, "that I did not think soonerof the ring that was always on my finger, n'est-ce-pas? It may be thatnever before had I felt so furious an impulse to desert him. It may bealso--that there was no ring and no pastrycook!" And she broke intopeals of laughter. "Ah, mon Dieu, " exclaimed the young man, "but you are enchanting! Letus go to breakfast--you are the kindred soul I have looked for all mylife. By-the-bye, I may as well know your name?" Then, monsieur, this poor girl who had trembled before her laundress, she told him a name which was going, in a while, to crowd theAmbassadeurs and be famous through all Paris--a name which was to meancaprices, folly, extravagance the most wilful and reckless. Sheanswered--and it said nothing yet--"My name is Paulette Fleury. " * * * * * The piano-organ stopped short, as if it knew the Frenchman had reacheda crisis in his narrative. He folded his arms and nodded impressively. "Voilà! Monsieur, I 'ave introduced you to Paulette Fleury! It was herbeginning. " He offered me a cigarette, and frowned, lost in thought, at the ladywho was chopping bread behind the counter. "Listen, " he resumed. * * * * * They have breakfasted; they have fed the sparrows around their chairs, and they have strolled under the green trees in the sunshine. She wassinging then at a little café-concert the most obscure. It is arranged, before they part, that in the evening he shall go to applaud her. He had a friend, young also, a composer, named Nicolas Pitou. I cannotexpress to you the devotion that existed between them. Pitou wasemployed at a publisher's, but the publisher paid him not much betterthan his art. The comrades have shared everything: the loans from themont-de-piété, the attic, and the dreams. In Montmartre it was said"Tricotrin and Pitou" as one says "Orestes and Pylades. " It isbeautiful such affection, hein? Listen! Tricotrin has recounted to his friend his meeting with Paulette, andwhen the hour for the concert is arrived, Pitou accompanied him. Themusician, however, was, perhaps, the more sedate. He has gone withlittle expectation; his interest was not high. What a surprise he has had! He has found her an actress--an artist tothe ends of the fingers. Tricotrin was astonished also. The twofriends, the poet and the composer, said "Mon Dieu!" They regarded theone the other. They said "Mon Dieu!" again. Soon Pitou has requested ofTricotrin an introduction. It is agreed. Tricotrin has presented hisfriend, and invited the _chanteuse_ to drink a bock--a glass ofbeer.... A propos, you take a liqueur, monsieur, yes? What liqueur youtake? Sst, garçon!... Well, you conjecture, no doubt, what I shall say?Before the bock was finished, they were in love with her--both! At the door of her lodging, Paulette has given to each a pressure ofthe hand, and said gently, "Till to-morrow. " "I worship her!" Tricotrin told Pitou. "I have found my ideal!" Pitou answered Tricotrin. It is superb, such friendship, hein? In the mind of the poet who had accomplished tragedies majestic--in themind of the composer, the most classical in Montmartre--there had beenborn a new ambition: it was to write a comic song for Paulette Fleury! It appears to you droll, perhaps? Monsieur, to her lover, the humblest_divette_ is more than Patti. In all the world there can be no joyso thrilling as to hear the music of one's brain sung by the woman oneadores--unless it be to hear the woman one adores give forth one'sverse. I believe it has been accepted as a fact, this; nevertheless itis true. Yes, already the idea had come to them, and Paulette was well pleasedwhen they told her of it. Oh, she knew they loved her, both, and withboth she coquetted. But with their intention she did not coquet; as tothat she was in earnest. Every day they discussed it with enthusiasm--they were to write a song that should make for her a furore. What happened? I shall tell you. Monday, when Tricotrin was to departfor Lyons, he informed his uncle that he will not go. No less thanthat! His uncle was furious--I do not blame him--but naturallyTricotrin has argued, "If I am to create for Paulette her great chance, I must remain in Paris to study Paulette! I cannot create in anatmosphere of commerce. I require the Montmartrois, the boulevards, theinspiration of her presence. " Isn't it? And Pitou--whose very soul had been enraptured in his leisure by afugue he was composing--Pitou would have no more of it. He allowed thefugue to grow dusty, while day and night he thought always of refrainsthat ran "_Zim-la-zim-la zim-boum-boum!_" Constantly theyconferred, the comrades. They told the one the other how they lovedher; and then they beat their heads, and besought of Providence a fineidea for the comic song. It was their thought supreme. The silk manufacturer has washed his'ands of Tricotrin, but he has not cared--there remained to him stillone of the bank-notes. As for Pitou, who neglected everything except tofind his melody for Paulette, the publisher has given him the sack. Their acquaintances ridiculed the sacrifices made for her. But, monsieur, when a man loves truly, to make a sacrifice for the woman isto make a present to himself. Nevertheless I avow to you that they fretted because of her coquetry. One hour it seemed that Pitou had gained her heart; the next herencouragement has been all to Tricotrin. Sometimes they have said toher: "Paulette, it is true we are as Orestes and Pylades, but there can beonly one King of Eden at the time. Is it Orestes, or Pylades that youmean to crown?" Then she would laugh and reply: "How can I say? I like you both so much I can never make up my mindwhich to like best. " It was not satisfactory. And always she added. "In the meantime, where is the song?" Ah, the song, that song, how they have sought it!--on the Butte, and inthe Bois, and round the Halles. Often they have tramped Paris tilldaybreak, meditating the great chance for Paulette. And at last thepoet has discovered it: for each verse a different phase of life, butthrough it all, the pursuit of gaiety, the fever of the dance--thegaiety of youth, the gaiety of dotage, the gaiety of despair! It shouldbe the song of the pleasure-seekers--the voices of Paris when the lampsare lit. Monsieur, if we sat 'ere in the restaurant until it closed, I could notdescribe to you how passionately Tricotrin, the devoted Tricotrin, worked for her. He has studied her without cease; he has studied herattitudes, her expressions. He has taken his lyric as if it werematerial and cut it to her figure; he has taken it as if it wereplaster, and moulded it upon her mannerisms. There was not a_moue_ that she made, not a pretty trick that she had, not a wordthat she liked to sing for which he did not provide an opportunity. Atthe last line, when the pen fell from his fingers, he shouted to Pitou, "Comrade, be brave--I have won her!" And Pitou? Monsieur, if we sat 'ere till they prepared the tables fordéjeuner to-morrow, I could not describe to you how passionately Pitou, the devoted Pitou, worked that she might have a grand popularity by hismusic. At dawn, when he has found that _strepitoso_ passage, whichis the hurrying of the feet, he wakened the poet and cried, "Mon ami, Ipity you--she is mine!" It was the souls of two men when it wasfinished, that comic song they made for her! It was the song the organhas ground out--"Partant pour le Moulin. " And then they rehearsed it, the three of them, over and over, inventingalways new effects. And then the night for the song is arrived. It hasrained all day, and they have walked together in the rain--the singer, and the men who loved her, both--to the little café-concert where shewould appear. They tremble in the room, among the crowd, Pitou and Tricotrin; theyare agitated. There are others who sing--it says nothing to them. Inthe room, in the Future, there is only Paulette! It is very hot in the café-concert, and there is too much noise. Atlast they ask her: "Is she nervous?" She shakes her head: "Mais non!"She smiles to them. Attend! It is her turn. Ouf; but it is hot in the café-concert, andthere is too much noise! She mounts the platform. The audience arecareless; it continues, the jingle of the glasses, the hum of talk. Shebegins. Beneath the table Tricotrin has gripped the hand of Pitou. Wait! Regard the crowd that look at her! The glasses are silent, now, hein? The talk has stopped. To a great actress is come her chance. There is _not_ too much noise in the café-concert! But, when she finished! What an uproar! Never will she forget it. Athousand times she has told the story, how it was written--the song--and how it made her famous. Before two weeks she was the attraction ofthe Ambassadeurs, and all Paris has raved of Paulette Fleury. Tricotrin and Pitou were mad with joy. Certainly Paris did not rave ofPitou nor Tricotrin--there have not been many that remembered who wrotethe song; and it earned no money for them, either, because it was hers--the gift of their love. Still, they were enraptured. To both of themshe owed equally, and more than ever it was a question which would bethe happy man. Listen! When they are gone to call on her one afternoon she was not at'ome. What had happened? I shall tell you. There was a noodle, rich--what you call a "Johnnie in the Stalls"--who became infatuated with herat the Ambassadeurs. He whistled "Partant pour le Moulin" all the days, and went to hear it all the nights. Well, she was not at 'ome becauseshe had married him. Absolutely they were married! Her lovers have beentold it at the door. What a moment! Figure yourself what they have suffered, both! They hadworshipped her, they had made sacrifices for her, they had created forher her grand success; and, as a consequence of that song, she was thewife of the "Johnnie in the Stalls"! * * * * * Far down the street, but yet distinct, the organ revived the tuneagain. My Frenchman shuddered, and got up. "I cannot support it, " he murmured. "You understand? The associationsare too pathetic. " "They must be harrowing, " I said. "Before you go, there is one thing Ishould like to ask you, if I may. Have I had the honour of meetingmonsieur Tricotrin, or monsieur Pitou?" He stroked his hat, and gazed at me in sad surprise. "Ah, but neither, monsieur, " he groaned. "The associations are much more 'arrowing thanthat--I was the 'Johnnie in the Stalls'!" TRICOTRIN ENTERTAINS One night when Pitou went home, an unaccustomed perfume floated tomeet him on the stairs. He climbed them in amazement. "If we lived in an age of miracles I should conclude that Tricotrin wassmoking a cigar, " he said to himself. "What can it be?" The pair occupied a garret in the rue des Trois Frères at this time, where their window, in sore need of repairs, commanded an unrivalledview of the dirty steps descending to the passage des Abbesses. To-night, behold Tricotrin pacing the garret with dignity, betweenhis lips an Havannah that could have cost no less than a franc. Thecomposer rubbed his eyes. "Have they made you an Academician?" he stammered. "Or has your uncle, the silk manufacturer, died and left you his business?" "My friend, " replied the poet, "prepare yourself forthwith for 'a Newand Powerful Serial of the Most Absorbing Interest'! I am no longer theyoung man who went out this evening--I am a celebrity. " "I thought, " said the composer, "that it couldn't be you when I saw thecigar. " "Figure yourself, " continued Tricotrin, "that at nine o'clock I waswandering on the Grand Boulevard with a thirst that could have consumeda brewery. I might mention that I had also empty pockets, but--" "It would be to pad the powerful Serial shamelessly, " said Pitou:"there are things that one takes for granted. " "At the corner of the place de l'Opera a fellow passed me whom I knewand yet did not know; I could not recall where it was we had met. Iturned and followed him, racking my brains the while. Suddenly Iremembered--" "Pardon me, " interrupted the composer, "but I have read _Bel-Ami_myself. Oh, it is quite evident that you are a celebrity--you havealready forgotten how to be original!" "There is a resemblance, it is true, " admitted Tricotrin. "However, Maupassant had no copyright in the place de l'Opera. I say that Iremembered the man; I had known him when he was in the advertisementbusiness in Lyons. Well, we have supped together; he is in a positionto do me a service--he will ask an editor to publish an Interview withme!" "An Interview?" exclaimed Pitou. "You are to be Interviewed? Ah, no, mypoor friend, too much meat has unhinged your reason! Go to sleep--youwill be hungry and sane again to-morrow. " "It will startle some of them, hein? 'Gustave Tricotrin at Home'--inthe illustrated edition of _Le Demi-Mot?_" "Illustrated?" gasped Pitou. He looked round the attic. "Did Iunderstand you to say 'illustrated'?" "Well, well, " said Tricotrin, "we shall move the beds! And, when theconcierge nods, perhaps we can borrow the palm from the portals. With apalm and an amiable photographer, an air of splendour is easily arrivedat. I should like a screen--we will raise one from a studio in the rueRavignan. Mon Dieu! with a palm and a screen I foresee the most opulenteffects. 'A Corner of the Study'--we can put the screen in front of thewashhand-stand, and litter the table with manuscripts--you will admitthat we have a sufficiency of manuscripts?--no one will know that theyhave all been rejected. Also, a painter in the rue Ravignan might lendus a few of his failures--'Before you go, let me show you my pictures, 'said monsieur Tricotrin: 'I am an ardent collector'!" In Montmartre the sight of two "types" shifting household gods makesno sensation--the sails of the remaining windmills still revolve. Onthe day that it had its likeness taken, the attic was temporarilytransformed. At least a score of unappreciated masterpieces concealedthe dilapidation of the walls; the broken window was decorated with anEastern fabric that had been a cherished "property" of half theateliers in Paris; the poet himself--with the palm drooping gracefullyabove his head--mused in a massive chair, in which Solomon had beenpronouncing judgment until 12:15, when the poet had called for it. Theappearance of exhaustion observed by admirers of the poet's portraitwas due to the chair's appalling weight. As he staggered under it upthe steps of the passage des Abbesses, the young man had feared hewould expire on the threshold of his fame. However, the photographer proved as resourceful as could be desired, and perhaps the most striking feature of the illustration was thespaciousness of the apartment in which monsieur Tricotrin was presentedto readers of _Le Demi-Mot. _ The name of the thoroughfare was notobtruded. With what pride was that issue of the journal regarded in the rue desTrois Frères! "Aha!" cried Tricotrin, who in moments persuaded himself that hereally occupied such noble quarters, "those who repudiated me in thedays of my struggles will be a little repentant now, hein? Stone Heartwill discover that I was not wrong in relying on my genius!" "I assume, " said Pitou, "that 'Stone Heart' is your newest pet-name forthe silk-manufacturing uncle?" "You catch my meaning precisely. I propose to send a copy of the paperto Lyons, with the Interview artistically bordered by laurels; I cannotdraw laurels myself, but there are plenty of persons who can. We willfind someone to do it when we palter with starvation at the Café du BelAvenir this evening--or perhaps we had better fast at the LucullusJunior, instead; there is occasionally some ink in the bottle there. Ishall put the address in the margin--my uncle will not know where itis, and on the grounds of euphony I have no fault to find with it. Itwould not surprise me if I received an affectionate letter and abank-note in reply--the perversity of human nature delights in generositiesto the prosperous. " "It is a fact, " said Pitou. "That human nature!" "Who knows?--he may even renew the allowance that he used to make me!" "Upon my word, more unlikely things have happened, " Pitou conceded. "Mon Dieu, Nicolas, we shall again have enough to eat!" "Ah, visionary!" exclaimed Pitou; "are there no bounds to yourimagination?" Now, the perversity to which the poet referred did inspire monsieurRigaud, of Lyons, to loosen his purse-strings. He wrote that herejoiced to learn that Gustave was beginning to make his way, andenclosed a present of two hundred and fifty francs. More, after anavuncular preamble which the poet skipped--having a literary hatred ofdigression in the works of others--he even hinted that the allowancemight be resumed. What a banquet there was in bohemia! How the glasses jingled afterwardsin La Lune Rousse, and oh, the beautiful hats that Germaine andMarcelle displayed on the next fine Sunday! Even when the last ripplesof the splash were stilled, the comrades swaggered gallantly on theboulevard Rochechouart, for by any post might not the first instalmentof that allowance arrive? Weeks passed; and Tricotrin began to say, "It looks to me as if weneeded another Interview!" And then came a letter which was no less cordial than its predecessor, but which stunned the unfortunate recipient like a warrant for hisexecution. Monsieur Rigaud stated that business would bring him toParis on the following evening and that he anticipated the pleasure ofvisiting his nephew; he trusted that his dear Gustave would meet him atthe station. The poet and composer stared at each other with bloodlessfaces. "You must call at his hotel instead, " faltered Pitou at last. "But you may be sure he will wish to see my elegant abode. " "'It is in the hands of the decorators. How unfortunate!'" "He would propose to offer them suggestions; he is a born suggester. " "'Fever is raging in the house--a most infectious fever'; we will ask amedical student to give us one. " "It would not explain my lodging in a slum meanwhile. " "Well, let us admit that there is nothing to be done; you will have toown up!" "Are you insane? It is improvident youths like you, who come to lamenttheir wasted lives. If I could receive him this once as he expects tobe received, we cannot doubt that it would mean an income of twothousand francs to me. Prosperity dangles before us--shall I fail toclutch it? Mon Dieu, what a catastrophe, his coming to Paris! Whycannot he conduct his business in Lyons? Is there not enough money inthe city of Lyons to satisfy him? O grasper! what greed! Nicolas, mymore than brother, if it were night when I took him to a sumptuousapartment, he might not notice the name of the street--I could talkbrilliantly as we turned the corner. Also I could scintillate as I ledhim away. He would never know that it was not the rue des TroisFrères. " "You are right, " agreed Pitou; "but which is the pauper in our socialcircle whose sumptuous apartment you propose to acquire?" "One must consider, " said Tricotrin. "Obviously, I am compelled toentertain in somebody's; fortunately, I have two days to find it in. Ishall now go forth!" It was a genial morning, and the first person he accosted in the rueRavignan was Goujaud, painting in the patch of garden before thestudios. "Tell me, Goujaud, " exclaimed the poet, "have you any gildedacquaintance who would permit me the use of his apartment for two hoursto-morrow evening?" Goujaud reflected for some seconds, with his head to one side. "I havenever done anything so fine as this before, " he observed; "regard theatmosphere of it!" "It is execrable!" replied Tricotrin, and went next door to Flamant. "My old one, " he explained, "I have urgent need of a regal apartmentfor two hours to-morrow--have you a wealthy friend who wouldaccommodate me?" "You may beautify your bedroom with all my possessions, " returnedFlamant heartily. "I have a stuffed parrot that is most decorative, butI have not a friend that is wealthy. " "You express yourself like a First Course for the Foreigner, " saidTricotrin, much annoyed. "Devil take your stuffed parrot!" The heat of the sun increased towards midday, and drops began totrickle under the young man's hat. By four o'clock he had called uponsixty-two persons, exclusive of Sanquereau, whom he had been unable towake. He bethought himself of Lajeunie, the novelist; but Lajeuniecould offer him nothing more serviceable than a pass for the Elysée-Montmartre. "Now how is it possible that I spend my life among suchimbeciles?" groaned the unhappy poet; "one offers me a parrot, andanother a pass for a dancing-hall! Can I assure my uncle, who is amarried man, and produces silk in vast quantities, that I reside in adancing-hall? Besides, we know those passes--they are available onlyfor ladies. " "It is true that you could not get in by it, " assented Lajeunie, "but Igive it to you freely. Take it, my poor fellow! Though it may appearinadequate to the occasion, who knows but what it will prove to be thebasis of a fortune?" "You are as crazy as the stories you write, " said Tricotrin, "Still, itcan go in my pocket. " And he made, exhausted, for a bench in the placeDancourt, where he apostrophised his fate. Thus occupied, he fell asleep; and presently a young woman saunteredfrom the sidewalk across the square. In the shady little place Dancourtis the little white Theatre Montmartre, and she first perused theplay-bill, and then contemplated the sleeping poet. It may have been thatshe found something attractive in his bearing, or it may have been thatragamuffins sprawled elsewhere; but, having determined to wait awhile, she selected the bench on which he reposed, and forthwith woke him. "Now this is nice!" he exclaimed, realising his lapse with a start. "Oh, monsieur!" said she, blushing. "Pardon; I referred to my having dozed when every moment is ofconsequence, " he explained. "And yet, " he went on ruefully, "upon mysoul, I cannot conjecture where I shall go next!" Her response was so sympathetic that it tempted him to remain a littlelonger, and in five minutes she was recounting her own perplexities. Ittranspired that she was a lady's-maid with a holiday, and the problembefore her was whether to spend her money on a theatre, or on a ball. "Now that is a question which is disposed of instantly, " saidTricotrin, "You shall spend your money on a theatre, and go to a ballas well. " And out fluttered the pink pass presented to him by Lajeunie. The girl's tongue was as lively as her gratitude. She was, she toldhim, maid to the famous Colette Aubray, who had gone unattended thatafternoon to visit the owner of a villa in the country, where she wouldstay until the next day but one. "So you see, monsieur, we poorservants are left alone in the flat to amuse ourselves as best we can!" "Mon Dieu!" ejaculated Tricotrin, and added mentally, "It was decidedlythe good kind fairies that pointed to this bench!" He proceeded to pay the young woman such ardent attentions that sheassumed he meant to accompany her to the ball, and her disappointmentwas extreme when he had to own that the state of his finances forbadeit. "All I can suggest, my dear Léonie, " he concluded, "is that I shallbe your escort when you leave. It is abominable that you must haveother partners in the meantime, but I feel that you will be constant tome in your thoughts. I shall have much to tell you--I shall whisper asecret in your ear; for, incredible as it may sound, my sweet child, you alone in Paris have the power to save me!" "Oh, monsieur!" faltered the admiring lady's-maid, "it has always beenmy great ambition to save a young man, especially a young man who usedsuch lovely language. I am sure, by the way you talk, that you must bea poet!" "Extraordinary, " mused Tricotrin, "that all the world recognises me asa poet, excepting when it reads my poetry!" And this led him to reflectthat he must sell some of it, in order to provide refreshment forLéonie before he begged her aid. Accordingly, he arranged to meet herwhen the ball finished, and limped back to the attic, where he made upa choice assortment of his wares. He had resolved to try the office of _Le Demi-Mot;_ but hisreception there was cold. "You should not presume on our good nature, "demurred the Editor; "only last month we had an article on you, sayingthat you were highly talented, and now you ask us to publish your workbesides. There must be a limit to such things. " He examined the collection, nevertheless, with a depreciatorycountenance, and offered ten francs for three of the finest specimens. "From _Le Demi-Mot_ I would counsel you to accept low terms, " hesaid, with engaging interest, "on account of the prestige you, derivefrom appearing in it. " "In truth it is a noble thing, prestige, " admitted Tricotrin; "but, monsieur, I have never known a man able to make a meal of it when hewas starving, or to warm himself before it when he was without a fire. Still--though it is a jumble-sale price--let them go!" "Payment will be made in due course, " said the Editor, and becameimmersed in correspondence. Tricotrin paled to the lips, and the next five minutes were terrible;indeed, he did not doubt that he would have to limp elsewhere. At lasthe cried, "Well, let us say seven francs, cash! Seven francs in one'sfist are worth ten in due course. " And thus the bargain was concluded. "It was well for Hercules that none of his labours was the extractionof payment from an editor!" panted the poet on the doorstep. But he wasnow enabled to fête the lady's-maid in grand style, and--not to beoutdone in generosity--she placed mademoiselle Aubray's flat at hisdisposal directly he asked for it. "You have accomplished a miracle!" averred Pitou, in the small hours, when he heard the news. Tricotrin waved a careless hand. "To a man of resource all things arepossible!" he murmured. The next evening the silk manufacturer was warmly embraced on theplatform, and not a little surprised to learn that his nephew expecteda visit at once. However, the young man's consternation was so profoundwhen objections were made that, in the end, they were withdrawn. Tricotrin directed the driver after monsieur Rigaud was in the cab, and, on their reaching the courtyard, there was Léonie, all frills, ready to carry the handbag. "Your servant?" inquired monsieur Rigaud, with some disapproval, asthey went upstairs; "she is rather fancifully dressed, hein?" "Is it so?" answered Tricotrin. "Perhaps a bachelor is not sufficientlyobservant in these matters. Still, she is an attentive domestic. Takeoff your things, my dear uncle, and make yourself at home. What joy itgives me to see you here!" "Mon Dieu, " exclaimed the silk manufacturer, looking about him, "youhave a place fit for a prince! It must have cost a pretty penny. " "Between ourselves, " said Tricotrin, "I often reproach myself for whatI spent on it; I could make very good use to-day of some of the money Isquandered. " "What curtains!" murmured monsieur Rigaud, fingering the silkenraptured. "The quality is superb! What may they have charged you forthese curtains?" "It was years ago--upon my word I do not remember, " drawled Tricotrin, who had no idea whether he ought to say five hundred francs, or fivethousand. "Also, you must not think I have bought everything you see--many of the pictures and bronzes are presents from admirers of my work. It is gratifying, hein?" "I--I--To confess the truth, we had not heard of your triumphs, "admitted monsieur Rigaud; "I did not dream you were so successful. " "Ah, it is in a very modest way, " Tricotrin replied. "I am not amillionaire, I assure you! On the contrary, it is often difficult tomake both ends meet--although, " he added hurriedly, "I live with theutmost economy, my uncle. The days of my thoughtlessness are past. Aman should save, a man should provide for the future. " At this moment he was astonished to see Léonie open the door andannounce that dinner was served. She had been even better than herword. "Dinner?" cried monsieur Rigaud. "Ah, now I understand why you were sodejected when I would not come!" "Bah, it will be a very simple meal, " said his nephew, "but after ajourney one must eat. Let us go in. " He was turning the wrong way, butLéonie's eye saved him. "Come, " he proceeded, taking his seat, "some soup--some good soup! Whatwill you drink, my uncle?" "On the sideboard I see champagne, " chuckled monsieur Rigaud; "youtreat the old man well, you rogue!" "Hah, " said Tricotrin, who had not observed it, "the cellar, I own, isan extravagance of mine! Alone, I drink only mineral waters, or alittle claret, much diluted; but to my dearest friends I must give thedearest wines. Léonie, champagne!" It was a capital dinner, and thecigars and cigarettes that Léonie put on the table with the coffee wereof the highest excellence. Agreeable conversation whiled away somehours, and Tricotrin began to look for his uncle to get up. But it wasraining smartly, and monsieur Rigaud was reluctant to bestir himself. Another hour lagged by, and at last Tricotrin faltered: "I fear I must beg you to excuse me for leaving you, my uncle; it ismost annoying, but I am compelled to go out. The fact is, I haveconsented to collaborate with Capus, and he is so eccentric, this dearAlfred--we shall be at work all night. " "Go, my good Gustave, " said his uncle readily; "and, as I am verytired, if you have no objection, I will occupy your bed. " Tricotrin's jaw dropped, and it was by a supreme effort that hestammered how pleased the arrangement would make him. To intensify thefix, Leonie and the cook had disappeared--doubtless to the mansarde inwhich they slept--and he was left to cope with the catastrophe alone. However, having switched on the lights, he conducted the elderlygentleman to an enticing apartment. He wished him an affectionate"good-night, " and after promising to wake him early, made for home, leaving the manufacturer sleepily surveying the room's imperialsplendour. "What magnificence!" soliloquised monsieur Rigaud. "What toiletarticles!" He got into bed. "What a coverlet--there must be twentythousand francs on top of me!" He had not slumbered under them long when he was aroused by such acommotion that he feared for the action of his heart. Blinking in theglare, he perceived Léonie in scanty attire, distracted on her knees--and, by the bedside, a beautiful lady in a travelling cloak, ragingwith the air of a lioness. "Go away!" quavered the manufacturer. "What is the meaning of thisintrusion?" "Intrusion?" raved the lady. "That is what you will explain, monsieur!How comes it that you are in my bed?" "Yours?" ejaculated monsieur Rigaud. "What is it you say? You aremaking a grave error, for which you will apologise, madame!" "Ah, hold me back, " pleaded the lady, throwing up her eyes, "hold meback or I shall assault him!" She flung to Leonie. "Wretched girl, youshall pay for this! Not content with lavishing my champagne and myfriend's cigars on your lover, you must put him to recuperate in myroom!" "Oh!" gasped the manufacturer, and hid his head under the pricelesscoverlet. "Such an imputation is unpardonable, " he roared, reappearing. "I am monsieur Rigaud, of Lyons; the flat belongs to my nephew, monsieur Tricotrin; I request you to retire!" "Imbecile!" screamed the lady; "the flat belongs to _me_--ColetteAubray. And your presence may ruin me--I expect a visitor on mostimportant business! He has not my self-control; if he finds you here hewill most certainly send you a challenge. He is the best swordsman inParis! I advise you to believe me, for you have just five minutes tosave your life!" "Monsieur, " wailed Léonie, "you have been deceived!" And, between hersobs, she confessed the circumstances, which he heard with the greatestdifficulty, owing to the chattering of his teeth. The rain was descending in cataracts when monsieur Rigaud got outside, but though the trams and the trains had both stopped running, and cabswere as dear as radium, his fury was so tempestuous that nothing coulddeter him from reaching the poet's real abode. His attack on the frontdoor warned Tricotrin and Pitou what had happened, and they raisedthemselves, blanched, from their pillows, to receive his curses. It wasimpossible to reason with him, and he launched the most frightfuldenunciation at his nephew for an hour, when the abatement of thedownpour permitted him to depart. More, at noon, who should arrive butLeonie in tears! She had been dismissed from her employment, and cameto beg the poet to intercede for her. "What calamities!" groaned Tricotrin. "How fruitless are man's noblestendeavours without the favouring breeze! I shall drown myself at eighto'clock. However, I will readily plead for you first, if your mistresswill receive me. " By the maid's advice he presented himself late in the day, and when hehad cooled his heels in the salon for some time, a lady entered, whowas of such ravishing appearance that his head swam. "Monsieur Tricotrin?" she inquired haughtily. "I have heard your namefrom your uncle, monsieur. Are you here to visit my servant?" "Mademoiselle, " he faltered, "I am here to throw myself on your mercy. At eight o'clock I have decided to commit suicide, for I am ruined. Theonly hope left me is to win your pardon before I die. " "I suppose your uncle has disowned you?" she said. "Naturally! It was apretty situation to put him in. How would you care to be in ityourself?" "Alas, mademoiselle, " sighed Tricotrin, "there are situations to whicha poor poet may not aspire!" After regarding him silently she exclaimed, "I cannot understand what aboy with eyes like yours saw in Léonie?" "Merely good nature and a means to an end, believe me! If you wouldease my last moments, reinstate her in your service. Do not let medrown with the knowledge that another is suffering for my fault!Mademoiselle, I entreat you--take her back!" "And why should I ease your last moments?" she demurred. "Because I have no right to ask it; because I have no defence for mysin towards you; because you would be justified in trampling on me--andto pardon would be sublime!" "You are very eloquent for my maid, " returned the lady. He shook his head. "Ah, no--I fear I am pleading for myself. For, ifyou reinstate the girl, it will prove that you forgive the man--and Iwant your forgiveness so much!" He fell at her feet. "Does your engagement for eight o'clock press, monsieur?" murmured thelady, smiling. "If you could dine here again to-night, I might relentby degrees. " "And she is adorable!" he told Pitou. "I passed the most deliciousevening of my life!" "It is fortunate, " observed Pitou, "for that, andyour uncle's undying enmity, are all you have obtained by yourimposture. Remember that the evening cost two thousand francs a year!" "Ah, misanthrope, " cried Tricotrin radiantly, "there must be a crumpledroseleaf in every Eden!" THE FATAL FLOROZONDE Before Pitou, the composer, left for the Hague, he called on Théophilede Fronsac, the poet. _La Voix Parisienne_ had lately appointed deFronsac to its staff, on condition that he contributed no poetry. "Good-evening, " said de Fronsac. "Mon Dieu! what shall I write about?" "Write about my music, " said Pitou, whose compositions had beenrejected in every arrondissement of Paris. "Let us talk sanely, " demurred de Fronsac. "My causerie is half acolumn short. Tell me something interesting. " "Woman!" replied Pitou. De Fronsac flicked his cigarette ash. "You remind me, " he said, "howmuch I need a love affair; my sensibilities should be stimulated. Tocontinue to write with fervour I require to adore again. " "It is very easy to adore, " observed Pitou. "Not at forty, " lamented the other; "especially to a man in Class A. Don't forget, my young friend, that I have loved and been lovedpersistently for twenty-three years. I cannot adore a repetition, andit is impossible for me to discover a new type. " "All of which I understand, " said Pitou, "excepting 'Class A. '" "There are three kinds of men, " explained the poet. "Class A are themen to whom women inevitably surrender. Class B consists of those whomthey trust by instinct and confide in on the second day; these menacquire an extensive knowledge of the sex--but they always fall shortof winning the women for themselves. Class C women think of merely as'the others'--they do not count; eventually they marry, and try topersuade their wives that they were devils of fellows when they wereyoung. However, such reflections will not assist me to finish mycauserie, for I wrote them all last week. " "Talking of women, " remarked Pitou, "a little blonde has come to liveopposite our lodging. So far we have only bowed from our windows, but Ihave christened her 'Lynette, ' and Tricotrin has made a poem about her. It is pathetic. The last verse--the others are not written yet--goes: "'O window I watched in the days that are dead, Are you watched by a lover to-day? Are glimpses caught now of another blonde head By a youth who lives over the way? Does _she_ repeat words that Lynette's lips have said-- And does _he_ say what _I_ used to say?'" "What is the answer?" asked de Fronsac. "Is it a conundrum? In any caseit is a poor substitute for a half a column of prose in _La Voix_. How on earth am I to arrive at the bottom of the page? If I am short inmy copy, I shall be short in my rent; if I am short in my rent, I shallbe put out of doors; if I am put out of doors, I shall die of exposure. And much good it will do me that they erect a statue to me in the nextgeneration! Upon my word, I would stand a dinner--at the two-francplace where you may eat all you can hold--if you could give me asubject. " "It happens, " said Pitou, "that I can give you a very strange one. As Iam going to a foreign land, I have been to the country to bid farewellto my parents; I came across an extraordinary girl. " "One who disliked presents?" inquired de Fronsac. "I am not jesting. She is a dancer in a travelling circus. The flareand the drum wooed me one night, and I went in. As a circus, well, youmay imagine--a tent in a fair. My fauteuil was a plank, and theorchestra surpassed the worst tortures of the Inquisition. And then, after the decrepit horses, and a mangy lion, a girl came into the ring, with the most marvellous eyes I have ever seen in a human face. Theyare green eyes, with golden lights in them. " "Really?" murmured the poet. "I have never been loved by a girl who hadgreen eyes with golden lights in them. " "I am glad you have never been loved by this one, " returned thecomposer gravely; "she has a curious history. All her lovers, withoutexception, have committed suicide. " "What?" said de Fronsac, staring. "It is very queer. One of them had just inherited a hundred thousandfrancs--he hanged himself. Another, an author from Italy, took poison, while all Rome was reading his novel. To be infatuated by her isharmless enough, but to win her is invariably fatal within a few weeks. Some time ago she attached herself to one of the troupe, and soonafterwards he discovered she was deceiving him. He resolved to shoother. He pointed a pistol at her breast. She simply laughed--and_looked at him_. He turned the pistol on himself, and blew hisbrains out!" De Fronsac had already written: "Here is the extraordinary history of agirl whom I discovered in a fair. " The next moment: "But you repeat a rumour, " he objected. "_La Voix Parisienne_ hasa reputation; odd as the fact may appear to you, people read it. Ifthis is published in _La Voix_ it will attract attention. Soon shewill be promoted from a tent in a fair to a stage in Paris. Well, whathappens? You tell me she is beautiful, so she will have hundreds ofadmirers. Among the hundreds there will be one she favours. And then?Unless he committed suicide in a few weeks, the paper would be proved aliar. I should not be able to sleep of nights for fear he would notkill himself. " "My dear, " exclaimed Pitou with emotion, "would I add to youranxieties? Rather than you should be disturbed by anybody's living, letus dismiss the subject, and the dinner, and talk of my new Symphony. Onthe other hand, I fail to see that the paper's reputation is youraffair--it is not your wife; and I am more than usually empty to-day. " "Your argument is sound, " said de Fronsac. "Besides, the Editor refusesmy poetry. " And he wrote without cessation for ten minutes. The two-franc table-d'hôte excelled itself that evening, and Pitou didample justice to the menu. Behold how capricious is the jade, Fame! The poet whose verses had lefthim obscure, accomplished in ten minutes a paragraph that fascinatedall Paris. On the morrow people pointed it out to one another; themorning after, other journals referred to it; in the afternoon theEditor of _La Voix Parisienne_ was importuned with questions. Noone believed the story to be true, but not a soul could help wonderingif it might be so. When a day or two had passed, Pitou received from de Fronsac a notewhich ran: "Send to me at once, I entreat thee, the name of that girl, and saywhere she can be found. The managers of three variety theatres of thefirst class have sought me out and are eager to engage her. " "Decidedly, " said Pitou, "I have mistaken my vocation--I ought to havebeen a novelist!" And he replied: "The girl whose eyes suggested the story to me is called on theprogrammes 'Florozonde. ' For the rest, I know nothing, except that thoudidst offer a dinner and I was hungry. " However, when he had written this, he destroyed it. "Though I am unappreciated myself, and shall probably conclude in theMorgue, " he mused, "that is no excuse for my withholding prosperityfrom others. Doubtless the poor girl would rejoice to appear at threevariety theatres of the first class, or even at one of them. " Heanswered simply: "Her name is 'Florozonde'; she will be found in a circus at Chartres"--and nearly suffocated with laughter. Then a little later the papers announced that Mlle. Florozonde--whoselove by a strange series of coincidences had always proved fatal--wouldbe seen at La Coupole. Posters bearing the name of "Florozonde"--yellowon black--invaded the boulevards. Her portrait caused crowds toassemble, and "That girl who, they say, deals death, that Florozonde!"was to be heard as constantly as ragtime. By now Pitou was at the Hague, his necessities having driven him intothe employment of a Parisian who had opened a shop there for the saleof music and French pianos. When he read the Paris papers, Pitoutrembled so violently that the onlookers thought he must have ague. Hilarity struggled with envy in his breast. "Ma foi!" he would say tohimself, "it seems that my destiny is to create successes for others. Here am I, exiled, and condemned to play cadenzas all day in a pianowarehouse, while she whom I invented, dances jubilant in Paris. I donot doubt that she breakfasts at Armenonville, and dines atPaillard's. " And it was a fact that Florozonde was the fashion. As regards her eyes, at any rate, the young man had not exaggerated more than was to beforgiven in an artist; her eyes were superb, supernatural; and now thatthe spangled finery of a fair was replaced by the most triumphant ofaudacities--now that a circus band had been exchanged for the orchestraof La Coupole--she danced as she had not danced before. You say that agorgeous costume cannot improve a woman's dancing? Let a woman realisethat you improve her appearance, and you improve everything that shecan do! Nevertheless one does not pretend that it was owing to her talent, orher costume, or the weird melody proposed by the chef d'orchestre, thatshe became the rage. Not at all. That was due to her reputation. Sceptics might smile and murmur the French for "Rats!" but, again, nobody could say positively that the tragedies had not occurred. Andabove all, there were the eyes--it was conceded that a woman with eyeslike that _ought_ to be abnormal. La Coupole was thronged everynight, and the stage doorkeeper grew rich, so numerous were the daringspirits, coquetting with death, who tendered notes inviting the FatalOne to supper. Somehow the suppers were rather dreary. The cause may have been thatthe guest was handicapped by circumstances--to be good company withoutdiscarding the fatal air was extremely difficult; also the cause mayhave been that the daring spirits felt their courage forsake them in atête-à-tête; but it is certain that once when Florozonde drove home inthe small hours to the tattered aunt who lived on her, she exclaimedviolently that, "All this silly fake was giving her the hump, and thatshe wished she were 'on the road' again, with a jolly good fellow whowas not afraid of her!" Then the tattered aunt cooed to her, reminding her that littleducklings had run to her already roasted, and adding that she (thetattered aunt) had never heard of equal luck in all the years she hadbeen in the show business. "Ah, zut!" cried Florozonde. "It does not please me to be treated as ifI had scarlet fever. If I lean towards a man, he turns pale. " "Life is good, " said her aunt philosophically, "and men have no wish todie for the sake of an embrace--remember your reputation! II fautsouffrir pour être fatale. Look at your salary, sweetie--and you havehad nothing to do but hold your tongue! Ah, was anything ever heardlike it? A miracle of le bon Dieu!" "It was monsieur de Fronsac, the journalist, who started it, " saidFlorozonde. "I supposed he had made it up, to give me a lift; but, mafoi, I think _he_ half believes it, too! What can have put it inhis head? I have a mind to ask him the next time he comes behind. " "What a madness!" exclaimed the old woman; "you might queer your pitch!Never, never perform a trick with a confederate when you can workalone; that is one of the first rules of life. If he thinks it is true, so much the better. Now get to bed, lovey, and think of pleasantthings--what did you have for supper?" Florozonde was correct in her surmise--de Fronsac did half believe it, and de Fronsac was accordingly much perturbed. Consider his dilemma!The nature of his pursuits had demanded a love affair, and he hadendeavoured conscientiously to comply, for the man was nothing if notan artist. But, as he had said to Pitou, he had loved so much, and somany, that the thing was practically impossible for him, He was likethe pastrycook's boy who is habituated and bilious. Then suddenly a newtype, which he had despaired of finding, was displayed. His curiosityawoke; and, fascinated in the first instance by her ghastly reputation, he was fascinated gradually by her physical charms. Again he foundhimself enslaved by a woman--and the woman, who owed her fame to hisservices, was clearly appreciative. But he had a strong objection tocommitting suicide. His eagerness for her love was only equalled by his dread of what mighthappen if she gave it to him. Alternately he yearned, and shuddered, OnMonday he cried, "Idiot, to be frightened by such blague!" and onTuesday he told himself, "All the same, there may be something in it!"It was thus tortured that he paid his respects to Florozonde at thetheatre on the evening after she complained to her aunt. She was in herdressing-room, making ready to go. "You have danced divinely, " he said to her. "There is no longer aprogramme at La Coupole--there is only 'Florozonde. '" She smiled the mysterious smile that she was cultivating. "What haveyou been doing with yourself, monsieur? I have not seen you all theweek. " De Fronsac sighed expressively. "At my age one has the wisdom to avoidtemptation. " "May it not be rather unkind to temptation?" she suggested, raising hermarvellous eyes. De Fronsac drew a step back. "Also I have had a great deal to do, " headded formally; "I am a busy man. For example, much as I should like toconverse with you now. --" But his resolution forsook him and he wasunable to say that he had looked in only for a minute. "Much as you would like to converse with me--?" questioned Florozonde. "I ought, by rights, to be seated at my desk, " he concluded lamely. "I am pleased that you are not seated at your desk, " she said. "Because?" murmured de Fronsac, with unspeakable emotions. "Because I have never thanked you enough for your interest in me, and Iwant to tell you that I remember. " She gave him her hand. He held it, battling with terror. "Mademoiselle, " he returned tremulously, "when I wrote the causerie yourefer to, my interest in you was purely the interest of a journalist, so for that I do not deserve your thanks. But since I have had thehonour to meet you I have experienced an interest altogether different;the interest of a man, of a--a--" Here his teeth chattered, and hepaused. "Of a what?" she asked softly, with a dreamy air. "Of a friend, " he muttered. A gust of fear had made the "friend" aniceberg. But her clasp tightened. "I am glad, " she said. "Ah, you have been good to me, monsieur! And if, in spite of everything, I am sometimes sad, I am, at least, neverungrateful. " "You are sad?" faltered the vacillating victim. "Why?" Her bosom rose. "Is success all a woman wants?" "Ah!" exclaimed de Fronsac, in an impassioned quaver, "is that notlife? To all of us there is the unattainable--to you, to me!" "To you?" she murmured. Her eyes were transcendental. Admiration andalarm tore him in halves. "In truth, " he gasped, "I am the most miserable of men! What is genius, what is fame, when one is lonely and unloved?" She moved impetuously closer--so close that the perfume of her hairintoxicated him. His heart seemed to knock against his ribs, and hefelt the perspiration burst out on his brow. For an instant hehesitated--on the edge of his grave, he thought. Then he dropped herhand, and backed from her. "But why should I bore you with my griefs?"he stammered. "Au revoir, mademoiselle!" Outside the stage door he gave thanks for his self-control. Also, palewith the crisis, he registered an oath not to approach her again. Meanwhile the expatriated Pitou had remained disconsolate. Though thepeople at the Hague spoke French, they said foreign things to him init. He missed Montmartre--the interests of home. While he waxedeloquent to customers on the tone of pianos, or the excellence of rivalcomposers' melodies, he was envying Florozonde in Paris. Florozonde, whom he had created, obsessed the young man. In the evening he readabout her at Van der Pyl's; on Sundays, when the train carried him todrink beer at Scheveningen, he read about her in the Kurhaus. And thenthe unexpected happened. In this way: Pitou was discharged. Few things could have surprised him more, and, to tell the truth, fewthings could have troubled him less. "It is better to starve in Paristhan grow fat in Holland, " he observed. He jingled his capital in histrouser-pocket, in fancy savoured his dinner cooking at the Café du BelAvenir, and sped from the piano shop as if it had been on fire. The clock pointed to a quarter to six as Nicolas Pitou, composer, emerged from the gare du Nord, and lightly swinging the valise thatcontained his wardrobe, proceeded to the rue des Trois Frères. Neverhad it looked dirtier, or sweeter. He threw himself on Tricotrin'sneck; embraced the concierge--which took her breath away, since she wasill-favoured and most disagreeable; fared sumptuously for one francfifty at the Café du Bel Avenir--where he narrated adventures abroadthat surpassed de Rougemont's; and went to La Coupole. And there, jostled by the crowd, the poor fellow looked across thetheatre at the triumphant woman he had invented--and fell in love withher. One would have said there was more than the width of a theatre betweenthem--one would have said the distance was interminable. Who in theaudience could suspect that Florozonde would have been unknown but fora boy in the Promenoir? Yes, he fell in love--with her beauty, her grace--perhaps also with thecircumstances. The theatre rang with plaudits; the curtain hid her; andhe went out, dizzy with romance. He could not hope to speak to herto-night, but he was curious to see her when she left. He decided that onthe morrow he would call upon de Fronsac, whom she doubtless knew now, and ask him for an introduction. Promising himself this, he reached thestage door--where de Fronsac, with trembling limbs, stood giving thanksfor his self-control. "My friend!" cried Pitou enthusiastically, "how rejoiced I am to meetyou!" and nearly wrung his hand off. "Aïe! Gently!" expostulated de Fronsac, writhing. "Aïe, aïe! I did notknow you loved me so much. So you are back from Sweden, hein?" "Yes. I have not been there, but why should we argue about geography?What were you doing as I came up--reciting your poems? By the way, Ihave a favour to ask; I want you to introduce me to Florozonde. " "Never!" answered the poet firmly; "I have too much affection for you--I have just resolved not to see her again myself. Besides, I thoughtyou knew her in the circus?" "I never spoke to her there--I simply admired her from the plank. Come, take me inside, and present me!" "It is impossible, " persisted de Fronsac; "I tell you I will notventure near her any more. Also, she is coming out--that is her coupéthat you see waiting. " She came out as he spoke, and, affecting not to recognise him, movedrapidly towards the carriage. But this would not do for Pitou at all. "Mademoiselle!" he exclaimed, sweeping his hat nearly to the pavement. "Yes, well?" she said sharply, turning. "I have just begged my friend de Fronsac to present me to you, and hefeared you might not pardon his presumption. May I implore you topardon mine?" She smiled. There was the instant in which neither the man nor thewoman knows who will speak next, nor what is to be said--the instant onwhich destinies hang. Pitou seized it. "Mademoiselle, I returned to France only this evening. All the journeymy thought was--to see you as soon as I arrived!" "Your friend, " she said, with a scornful glance towards de Fronsac, whosauntered gracefully away, "would warn you that you are rash. " "I am not afraid of his warning. " "Are you not afraid of _me_?" "Afraid only that you will banish me too soon. " "Mon Dieu! then you must be the bravest man in Paris, " she said. "At any rate I am the luckiest for the moment. " It was a delightful change to Florozonde to meet a man who was notalarmed by her; and it pleased her to show de Fronsac that hiscowardice had not left her inconsolable. She laughed loud enough forhim to hear. "I ought not to be affording you the luck, " she answered. "I havefriends waiting for me at the Café de Paris. " "I expected some suchblow, " said Pitou. "And how can I suppose you will disappoint yourfriends in order to sup with me at the Café du Bel Avenir instead?" "The Café du--?" She was puzzled. "Bel Avenir. " "I do not know it. " "Nor would your coachman. We should walk there--and our supper wouldcost three francs, wine included. " "Is it an invitation?" "It is a prayer. " "Who are you?" "My name is Nicolas Pitou, " "Of Paris?" "Of bohemia. " "What do you do in it?" "Hunger, and make music. " "Unsuccessful?" "Not to-night!" "Take me to the Bel Avenir, " she said, and sent the carriage away. De Fronsac, looking back as they departed, was distressed to see theyoung man risking his life. At the Bel Avenir their entrance made a sensation. She removed hercloak, and Pitou arranged it over two chairs. Then she threw her glovesout of the way, in the bread-basket; and the waiter and theproprietress, and all the family, did homage to her toilette. "Who would have supposed?" she smiled, and her smile forgot to bemysterious. "That the restaurant would be so proud?" "That I should be supping with you in it! Tell me, you had no hope ofthis on your journey? It was true about your journey, hein?" "Ah, really! No, how could I hope? I went round after your dance simplyto see you closer; and then I met de Fronsac, and then--" "And then you were very cheeky. Answer! Why do I interest you? Becauseof what they say of me?" "Not altogether. " "What else?" "Because you are so beautiful. Answer! Why did you come to supper withme? To annoy some other fellow?" "Not altogether. " "What else?" "Because you were not frightened of me. Are you sure you are notfrightened? Oh, remember, remember your horrible fate if I should likeyou too much!" "It would be a thumping advertisement for you, " said Pitou. "Let meurge you to try to secure it. " "Reckless boy!" she laughed, "Pour out some more wine. Ah, it is good, this! it is like old times. The strings of onions on the dear, dirtywalls, and the serviettes that are so nice and damp! It was inrestaurants like this, if my salary was paid, I used to sup on fêtedays. " "And if it was not paid?" "I supped in imagination. My dear, I have had a cigarette for a supper, and the grass for a bed. I have tramped by the caravan while the starsfaded, and breakfasted on the drum in the tent. And you--on a bench inthe Champs Elysées, hein?" "It has occurred. " "And you watched the sun rise, and made music, and wished _you_could rise, too? I must hear your music some day. You shall write me adance. Is it agreed?" "The contract is already stamped, " said Pitou. "I am glad I met you--it is the best supper I have had in Paris. Whyare you calculating the expenses on the back of the bill of fare?" "I am not. I am composing your dance, " said Pitou. "Don't speak for aminute, it will be sublime! Also it will be a souvenir when you havegone. " But she did not go for a long while. It was late when they left theCafé du Bel Avenir, still talking--and there was always more to say. Bythis time Pitou did not merely love her beauty--he adored the woman. Asfor Florozonde, she no longer merely loved his courage--she approvedthe man. Listen: he was young, fervid, and an artist; his proposal was madebefore they reached her doorstep, and she consented! Their attachment was the talk of the town, and everybody waited to hearthat Pitou had killed himself. His name was widely known at last. Butweeks and months went by; Florozonde's protracted season came to anend; and still he looked radiantly well. Pitou was the most unpopularman in Paris. In the rue Dauphine, one day, he met de Fronsac. "So you are still alive!" snarled the poet. "Never better, " declared Pitou. "It turns out, " he addedconfidentially, "there was nothing in that story--it was all fudge. " "Evidently! I must congratulate you, " said de Fronsac, lookingbomb-shells. THE OPPORTUNITY OF PETITPAS In Bordeaux, on the 21st of December, monsieur Petitpas, a clerk withbohemian yearnings, packed his portmanteau for a week's holiday. InParis, on the same date, monsieur Tricotrin, poet and pauper, wascommissioned by the Editor of _Le Demi-Mot_ to convert a roughtranslation into literary French. These two disparate incidents weredestined by Fate--always mysterious in her workings--to be united in anarrative for the present volume. Three evenings later the poet's concierge climbed the stairs and rappedperemptorily at the door. "Well?" cried Tricotrin, raising bloodshot eyes from the manuscript;"who disturbs me now? Come in!" "I have come in, " panted madame Dubois, who had not waited for hisinvitation, "and I am here to tell you, monsieur, that you cannot beallowed to groan in this agonised fashion. Your lamentations can beheard even in the basement. " "Is it in my agreement, madame, that I shall not groan if I am sodisposed?" inquired the poet haughtily. "There are things tacitly understood. It is enough that you are inarrears with your rent, without your doing your best to drive away theother tenants. For two days they have all complained that it would beless disturbing to reside in a hospital. " "Well, they have my permission to remove there, " said Tricotrin. "Nowthat the matter is settled, let me get on with my work!" And with thegroan of a soul in Hades, he perused another line. "There you go again!" expostulated the woman angrily, "It is not to beendured, monsieur. What is the matter with you, for goodness' sake?" "With me, madame, there is nothing the matter; the fault lies with aninfernal Spanish novel. A misguided editor has commissioned me torewrite it from a translation made by a foreigner. How can I avoidgroans when I read his rot? Miranda exclaims, 'May heaven confound you, bandit!' And the fiancé of the ingénue addresses her as 'Angel of thishouse!'" "Well, at least groan quietly, " begged the concierge; "do not bellowyour sufferings to the cellar. " "To oblige you I will be as Spartan as I can, " agreed Tricotrin. "Now Ihave lost my place in the masterpiece. Ah, here we are! 'I feel shebrings bad tidings--she wears a disastrous mien. ' It is sprightlydialogue! If the hundred and fifty francs were not essential to keep aroof over my head, I would send the Editor a challenge for offering methe job. " Perspiration bespangled the young man's brow as he continued his task. When another hour had worn by he thirsted to do the foreign translatora bodily injury, and so intense was his exasperation that, by way ofinterlude, he placed the manuscript on the floor and jumped on it. Butthe climax was reached in Chapter XXVII; under the provocation of thelove scene in Chapter XXVII frenzy mastered him, and with a yell oftorture he hurled the whole novel through the window, and burst intohysterical tears. The novel, which was of considerable bulk, descended on the landlord, who was just approaching the house to collect his dues. "What does it mean, " gasped monsieur Gouge, when he had recovered hisequilibrium, and his hat; "what does it mean that I cannot approach myown property without being assaulted with a ton of paper? Who has daredto throw such a thing from a window?" "Monsieur, " stammered the concierge, "I do not doubt that it was thetop-floor poet; he has been behaving like a lunatic for days. " "Aha, the top-floor poet?" snorted monsieur Gouge. "I shall soondispose of _him_!" And Tricotrin's tears were scarcely dried when_bang_ came another knock at his door. "So, monsieur, " exclaimed the landlord, with fine satire, "your poemsare of small account, it appears, since you use them as missiles? Thevalue you put upon your scribbling does not encourage me to wait for myrent!" "Mine?" faltered Tricotrin, casting an indignant glance at the muddymanuscript restored to him; "you accuse _me_ of having perpetratedthat atrocity? Oh, this is too much! I have a reputation to preserve, monsieur, and I swear by all the Immortals that it was no work ofmine. " "Did you not throw it?" "Throw it? Yes, assuredly I threw it. But I did not write it. " "Morbleu! what do I care who wrote it?" roared monsieur Gouge, purplewith spleen. "Does its authorship improve the condition of my hat? Mygrievance is its arrival on my head, not its literary quality. Let metell you that you expose yourself to actions at law, pitching weightslike this from a respectable house into a public street. " "I should plead insanity, " said Tricotrin; "twenty-seven chapters ofthat novel, translated into a Spaniard's French, would suffice topeople an asylum. Nevertheless, if it arrived on your hat, I owe you anapology. " "You also owe me two hundred francs!" shouted the other, "and I haveshown you more patience than you deserve. Well, my folly is finished!You settle up, or you get out, right off!" "Have you reflected that it is Christmas Eve--do we live in amelodrama, that I should wander homeless on Christmas Eve? Seriously, you cannot expect a man of taste to lend himself to so hackneyed asituation? Besides, I share this apartment with the composer monsieurNicolas Pitou. Consider how poignant he would find the room'sassociations if he returned to dwell here alone!" "Monsieur Pitou will not be admitted when he returns--there is not apin to choose between the pair of you. You hand me the two hundredfrancs, or you go this minute--and I shall detain your wardrobe tillyou pay. Where is it?" "It is divided between my person and a shelf at the pawnbroker's, "explained the poet; "but I have a soiled collar in the left-hand cornerdrawer. However, I can offer you more valuable security for thistrifling debt than you would dare to ask; the bureau is full of pearls--metrical, but beyond price. I beg your tenderest care of them, especially my tragedy in seven acts. Do not play jinks with thecontents of that bureau, or Posterity will gibbet you and the name of'Gouge' will one day be execrated throughout France. Garbage, farewell!" "Here, take your shaving paper with you!" cried monsieur Gouge, flinging the Spanish novel down the stairs. And the next moment the manof letters stood dejected on the pavement, with the fatal manuscriptunder his arm. "Ah, Miranda, Miranda, thou little knowest what mischief thou hastdone!" he murmured, unconsciously plagiarising. "She brought badtidings indeed, with her disastrous mien, " he added. "What is to becomeof me now?" The moon, to which he had naturally addressed this query, made noanswer; and, fingering the sou in his trouser-pocket, he trudged in thedirection of the rue Ravignan. "The situation would look well inprint, " he reflected, "but the load under my arm should, dramatically, be a bundle of my own poems. Doubtless the matter will be put right bymy biographer. I wonder if I can get half a bed from Goujaud?" Encouraged by the thought of the painter's hospitality, he proceeded tothe studio; but he was informed in sour tones that monsieur Goujaudwould not sleep there that night. "So much the better, " he remarked, "for I can have all his bed, insteadof half of it! Believe me, I shall put you to no trouble, madame. " "I believe it fully, " answered the woman, "for you will not comeinside--not monsieur Goujaud, nor you, nor any other of his vagabondfriends. So, there!" "Ah, is that how the wind blows--the fellow has not paid his rent?"said Tricotrin. "How disgraceful of him, to be sure! FortunatelySanquereau lives in the next house. " He pulled the bell there forthwith, and the peal had scarcely soundedwhen Sanquereau rushed to the door, crying, "Welcome, my Beautiful!" "Mon Dieu, what worthless acquaintances I possess!" moaned the unhappypoet. "Since you are expecting your Beautiful I need not go intodetails. " "What on earth did you want?" muttered Sanquereau, crestfallen. "I came to tell you the latest Stop Press news--Goujaud's landlord hasturned him out and I have no bed to lie on. Au revoir!" After another apostrophe to the heavens, "That inane moon, which makesno response, is beginning to get on my nerves, " he soliloquised. "Letme see now! There is certainly master Criqueboeuf, but it is a longjourney to the quartier Latin, and when I get there his socialengagements may annoy me as keenly as Sanquereau's. It appears to me Iam likely to try the open-air cure to-night. In the meanwhile I may aswell find Miranda a seat and think things over. " Accordingly he bent his steps to the place Dancourt, and havingdeposited the incubus beside him, stretched his limbs on a benchbeneath a tree. His attitude, and his luxuriant locks, to say nothingof his melancholy aspect, rendered him a noticeable figure in thelittle square, and monsieur Petitpas, from Bordeaux, under the awningof the café opposite, stood regarding him with enthusiasm. "Upon my word of honour, " mused Petitpas, rubbing his hands, "I believeI see a Genius in the dumps! At last I behold the Paris of my dreams. If I have read my Murger to any purpose, I am on the verge of an epoch. What a delightful adventure!" Taking out his Marylands, Petitpas sauntered towards the bench with agreat show of carelessness, and made a pretence of feeling in hispockets for a match. "Tschut!" he exclaimed; then, affecting to observeTricotrin for the first time, "May I beg you to oblige me with a light, monsieur?" he asked deferentially. A puff of wind provided an excusefor sitting down to guard the flame; and the next moment the Genius hadaccepted a cigarette, and acknowledged that the weather was mild forthe time of year. Excitement thrilled Petitpas. How often, after business hours, he hadperused his well-thumbed copy of _La Vie de Bohème_ and in fancyconsorted with the gay descendants of Rodolphe and Marcel; how often hehad regretted secretly that he, himself, did not woo a Muse and jest atwant in a garret, instead of totting up figures, and eating three mealsa day in comfort! And now positively one of the fascinating beings ofhis imagination lolled by his side! The little clerk on a holidaylonged to play the generous comrade. In his purse he had a couple oflouis, designed for sight-seeing, and, with a rush of emotion, hepictured himself squandering five or six francs in half an hour andstartling the artist by his prodigality. "If I am not mistaken, I have the honour to address an author, monsieur?" he ventured. "Your instincts have not misled you, " replied the poet; "I amTricotrin, monsieur--Gustave Tricotrin. The name, however, is to befound, as yet, on no statues. " "My own name, " said the clerk, "is Adolphe Petitpas. I am a stranger inParis, and I count myself fortunate indeed to have made monsieurTricotrin's acquaintance so soon. " "He expresses himself with some discretion, this person, " reflectedTricotrin. "And his cigarette was certainly providential!" "To meet an author has always been an ambition of mine, " Petitpascontinued; "I dare to say that I have the artistic temperament, thoughcircumstances have condemned me to commercial pursuits. You have noidea how enviable the literary life appears to me, monsieur!" "Its privileges are perhaps more monotonous than you suppose, " drawledthe homeless poet. "Also, I had to work for many years before Iattained my present position. " "This noble book, for instance, " began the clerk, laying a reverenthand on the abominable manuscript. "Hein?" exclaimed its victim, starting. "To have written this noble book must be a joy compared with which myown prosperity is valueless. " "The damned thing is no work of mine, " cried Tricotrin; "and if we areto avoid a quarrel, I will ask you not to accuse me of it! A joy, indeed? In that block of drivel you view the cause of my deepestmisfortunes. " "A thousand apologies!" stammered his companion; "my inference washasty. But what you say interests me beyond words. This manuscript, ofseeming innocence, is the cause of misfortunes? May I crave an enormousfavour; may I beg you to regard me as a friend and give me yourconfidence?" "I see no reason why I should refuse it, " answered Tricotrin, on whomthe boast of "prosperity" had made a deep impression. "You must know, then, that this ineptitude, inflicted on me by an eccentric editor fortranslation, drove me to madness, and not an hour ago I cast it from mywindow in disgust. It is a novel entirely devoid of taste and tact, andit had the clumsiness to alight on my landlord's head. Being a man ofsmall nature, he retaliated by demanding his rent. " "Which it was not convenient to pay?" interrupted Petitpas, all thepages of _La Vie de Bohème_ playing leapfrog through his brain. "I regret to bore you by so trite a situation. 'Which it was notconvenient to pay'! Indeed, I was not responsible for all of it, for Ioccupied the room with a composer named Pitou. Well, you can constructthe next scene without a collaborator; the landlord has a speech, andthe tragedy is entitled 'Tricotrin in Quest of a Home. '" "What of the composer?" inquired the delighted clerk; "what has becomeof monsieur Pitou?" "Monsieur Pitou was not on in that Act. The part of Pitou will attainprominence when he returns and finds himself locked out. " "But, my dear monsieur Tricotrin, in such an extremity you should havesought the services of a friend. " "I had that inspiration myself; I sought a painter called Goujaud. Andobserve how careless is Reality in the matter of coincidences! I learntfrom his concierge that precisely the same thing had befallen monsieurGoujaud. He, too, is Christmassing alfresco. " "Mon Dieu, " faltered the clerk, "how it rejoices me that I have metyou! All my life I have looked forward to encountering a genius in sucha fix. " "Alas!" sighed Tricotrin, with a pensive smile, "to the genius the fixis less spicy. Without a supper--" "Without a supper!" crowed Petitpas. "Without a bed--" "Without a bed!" babbled Petitpas, enravished. "With nothing but a pen and the sacred fire, one may be forgivensadness. " "Not so, not so, " shouted Petitpas, smacking him on the back. "You areomitting _me_ from your list of assets! Listen, I am staying at anhotel. You cannot decline to accord me the honour of welcoming youthere as my guest for the night. Hang the expense! I am no longer inbusiness, I am a bohemian, like yourself; some supper, a bed, and alittle breakfast will not ruin me. What do you say, monsieur?" "I say, drop the 'monsieur, ' old chap, " responded Tricotrin. "Yoursuggestions for the tragedy are cordially accepted. I have never knowna collaborator to improve a plot so much. And understand this: I feelmore earnestly than I speak; henceforth we are pals, you and I. " "Brothers!" cried Petitpas, in ecstasy. "You shall hear all about anovel that I have projected for years. I should like to have youropinion of it. " "I shall be enchanted, " said Tricotrin, his jaw dropping. "You must introduce me to your circle--the painters, and the models, and the actresses. Your friends shall be _my_ friends in future. " "Don't doubt it! When I tell them what a brick you are, they will beproud to know you. " "No ceremony, mind!" "Not a bit. You shall be another chum. Already I feel as if we had beenconfidants in our cradles. " "It is the same with me. How true it is that kindred spirits recogniseeach other in an instant. What is environment? Bah! A man may be abohemian and an artist although his occupations are commercial?" "Perfectly! I nearly pined amid commercial occupations myself. " "What an extraordinary coincidence! Ah, that is the last bond betweenus! You can realise my most complex moods, you can penetrate to themost distant suburbs of my soul! Gustave, if I had been free to choosemy career, I should have become a famous man. " "My poor Adolphe!Still, prosperity is not an unmixed evil. You must seek compensation inyour wealth, " murmured the poet, who began to think that one might paytoo high a price for a bed. "Oh--er--to be sure!" said the little clerk, reminded that he waspledged to a larger outlay than he had originally proposed. "That is tosay, I am not precisely 'wealthy. '" He saw his pocket-money during thetrip much curtailed, and rather wished that his impulse had been lessexpansive. "A snug income is no stigma, whether one derives it from Parnassus orthe Bourse, " continued Tricotrin. "Hold! Who is that I see, slouchingover there? As I live, it's Pitou, the composer, whose dilemma I toldyou of!" "Another?" quavered the clerk, dismayed. "Hé, Nicolas! Turn your symphonic gaze this way! 'Tis I, Gustave!" "Ah, mon vieux!" exclaimed the young musician joyfully; "I waswondering what your fate might be. I have only just come from thehouse. Madame Dubois refused me admission; she informed me that you hadbeen firing Spanish novels at Gouge's head. Why Spanish? Is the Spanishvariety deadlier? So the villain has had the effrontery to turn usout?" "Let me make your affinities known to each other, " said Tricotrin. "Mybrother Nicolas--my brother Adolphe. Brother Adolphe has received ascenario of the tragedy already, and he has a knack of inventingbrilliant 'curtains. '" Behind Pitou's back he winked at Petitpas, as if to say, "He littlesuspects what a surprise you have in store for him!" "Oh--er--I am grieved to hear of your trouble, monsieur Pitou, " saidPetitpas feebly. "What? 'Grieved'? Come, that isn't all about it!" cried Tricotrin, whoattributed his restraint to nothing but diffidence. In an undertone headded, "Don't be nervous, dear boy. Your invitation won't offend him inthe least!" Petitpas breathed heavily. He aspired to prove himself a true bohemian, but his heart quailed at the thought of such expense. Two suppers, twobeds, and two little breakfasts as a supplement to his bill would be nojoke. It was with a very poor grace that he stammered at last, "I hopeyou will allow me to suggest a way out, monsieur Pitou? A room at myhotel seems to dispose of the difficulty. " "Hem?" exclaimed Pitou. "Is that room a mirage, or are you serious?" "'Serious'?" echoed Tricotrin. "He is as serious as an Englishadaptation of a French farce. " He went on, under his breath, "Youmustn't judge him by his manner, I can see that he has turned a littleshy. Believe me, he is the King of Trumps. " "Well, upon my word I shall be delighted, monsieur, " responded Pitou. "It was evidently the good kind fairies that led me to the placeDancourt. I would ask you to step over the way and have a bock, but myfinances forbid. " "Your finances need cause no drought--Adolphe will be paymaster!"declared Tricotrin gaily, shouldering his manuscript. "Come, let usadjourn and give the Réveillon its due!" Petitpas suppressed a moan. "By all means, " he assented; "I was aboutto propose it myself. I am a real bohemian, you know, and think nothingof ordering several bocks at once. " "Are you sure he is all you say?" whispered Pitou to Tricotrin, withmisgiving. "A shade embarrassed, that is all, " pronounced the poet. And then, asthe trio moved arm-in-arm toward the café, a second solitary figureemerged from the obscurity of the square. "Bless my soul!" ejaculated Tricotrin; "am I mistaken, or--Look, look, Adolphe! I would bet ten to one in sonnets that it is Goujaud, thepainter, whose plight I mentioned to you!" "Yet another?" gasped Petitpas, panic-stricken. "Sst! Hé, Goujaud! Come here, you vagrant, and be entertaining!" "Well met, you fellows!" sighed Goujaud. "Where are you off to?" "We are going to give Miranda a drink, " said the poet; "she is drierthan ever. Let there be no strangers--my brother Adolphe, my brotherThéodose! What is your secret woe, Théo? Your face is as long as thisSpaniard's novel, Adolphe, have you a recipe in your pocket for thehump?" "Perhaps monsieur Goujaud will join us in a glass of beer?" saidPetitpas very coldly. "There are more unlikely things than that!" affirmed the painter; andwhen the café was entered, he swallowed his bock like one who has avoid to fill. "The fact is, " he confided to the group, "I was about tocelebrate the Réveillon on a bench. That insolent landlord of mine haskicked me out. " "And you will not get inside, " said Tricotrin, "'not you, nor I, norany other of your vagabond friends. So there!' I had the privilege ofconversing with your concierge earlier in the evening. " "Ah, then, you know all about it. Well, now that I have run across you, you can give me a shakedown in your attic. Good business!" "I discern only one drawback to the scheme, " said Pitou; "we haven'tany attic. It must be something in the air--all the landlords seem tohave the same complaint. " "But if you decide in the bench's favour, after all, you may pillowyour curls on Miranda, " put in Tricotrin. "She would be exhilaratingcompany for him, Adolphe, hein? What do you think?" He murmured aside, "Give him a dig in the ribs and say, 'You silly ass, _I_ can fixyou up all right!' That's the way we issue invitations in Montmartre. " The clerk's countenance was livid; his tongue stuck to his front teeth. At last, wrenching the words out, he groaned, "If monsieur Goujaud willaccept my hospitality, I shall be charmed!" He was not without a hopethat his frigid bearing would beget a refusal. "Ah, my dear old chap!" shouted Goujaud without an instant'shesitation, "consider it done!" And now there were to be three suppers, three beds, and three little breakfasts, distorting the account! Petitpas sipped his bock faintly, affecting not to notice that hisguests' glasses had been emptied. With all his soul he repented theimpulse that had led to his predicament. Amid the throes of his mentalarithmetic he recognised that he had been deceived in himself, that hehad no abiding passion for bohemia. How much more pleasing than toboard and lodge this disreputable collection would have been the dailyround of amusements that he had planned! Even now--he caught hisbreath--even now it was not too late; he might pay for the drinks andescape! Why shouldn't he run away? "Gentlemen, " cried Petitpas, "I shall go and fetch a cab for us all. Make yourselves comfortable till I come back!" When the café closed, messieurs Tricotrin, Goujaud, and Pitou creptforlornly across the square and disposed themselves for slumber on thebench. "Well, there is this to be said, " yawned the poet, "if the littlebounder had kept his word, it would have been an extraordinaryconclusion to our adventures--as persons of literary discretion, we canhardly regret that a story did not end so improbably.... My children, Miranda, good-night--and a Merry Christmas!" THE CAFÉ OF THE BROKEN HEART On the last day of the year, towards the dinner-hour, a young andattractive woman, whose costume proclaimed her a widow, entered theCafé of the Broken Heart. That modest restaurant is situated near theCemetery of Mont-martre. The lady, quoting from an announcement overthe window, requested the proprietor to conduct her to the "Apartmentreserved for Those Desirous of Weeping Alone. " The proprietor's shoulders became apologetic. "A thousand regrets, madame, " he murmured; "the Weeping Alone apartment is at presentoccupied. " This visibly annoyed the customer. "It is the second anniversary of my bereavement, " she complained, "andalready I have wept here twice. The woe of an habituée should find awelcome!" Her reproof, still more her air of being well-to-do, had an effect onBrochat. He looked at his wife, and his wife said hesitatingly: "Perhaps the young man would consent to oblige madame if you asked himnicely. After all, he engaged the room for seven o'clock, and it is notyet half-past six. " "That is true, " said Brochat. "Alors, I shall see what can be arranged!I beg that madame will put herself to the trouble of sitting down whileI make the biggest endeavours. " But he returned after a few minutes to declare that the young man'ssorrow was so profound that no reply could be extracted from him. The lady showed signs of temper. "Has this person the monopoly ofsorrowing on your premises?" she demanded. "Whom does he lament? Surelythe loss of a husband should give me prior claim?" "I cannot rightly say whom the gentleman laments, " stammered Brochat;"the circumstances are, in fact, somewhat unusual. I would mention, however, that the apartment is a spacious one, as madame doubtlessrecalls, and no further mourners are expected for half an hour. If inthe meantime madame would be so amiable as to weep in the young man'spresence, I can assure her that she would find him too stricken tostare. " The widow considered. "Well, " she said, after the pause, "if you canguarantee his abstraction, so be it! It is a matter of conscience withme to behave in precisely the same way each year, and, rather than missmy meditations there altogether, I am willing to make the best of him. " Brochat, having taken her order for refreshments--for which he alwayscharged slightly higher prices on the first floor--preceded her up thestairs. The single gas-flame that had been kindled in the room was verylow, and the lady received but a momentary impression of a man's figurebowed over a white table. She chose a chair at once with her backtowards him, and resting her brow on her forefinger, disposed herselffor desolation. It may have been that the stranger's proximity told on her nerves, orit may have been that Time had done something to heal the wound. Whatever the cause, the frame of mind that she invited was slow inarriving, and when the bouillon and biscottes appeared she was notaverse from trifling with them. Meanwhile, for any sound that he hadmade, the young man might have been as defunct as Henri IV; but as shetook her second sip, a groan of such violence escaped him that shenearly upset her cup. His abandonment of despair seemed to reflect upon her owninsensibility; and, partly to raise herself in his esteem, the lady amoment later uttered a long-drawn, wistful sigh. No sooner had she doneso, however, than she deeply regretted the indiscretion, for itstimulated the young man to a howl positively harrowing. An impatient movement of her graceful shoulders protested against thesedemonstrations, but as she had her back to him, she could not tellwhether he observed her. Stealing a glance, she discovered that hisface was buried in his hands, and that the white table seemed to belaid for ten covers. Scrutiny revealed ten bottles of wine around it, the neck of each bottle embellished with a large crape bow. Curiositynow held the lady wide-eyed, and, as luck would have it, the young man, at this moment, raised his head. "I trust that my agony does not disturb you, madame?" he inquired, meeting her gaze with some embarrassment. "I must confess, monsieur, " said she, "that you have been carrying itrather far. " He accepted the rebuke humbly. "If you divined the intensity of mysufferings, you would be lenient, " he murmured. "Nevertheless, it wasdishonest of me to moan so bitterly before seven o'clock, when my claimto the room legally begins. I entreat your pardon. " "It is accorded freely, " said the lady, mollified by his penitence. "She would be a poor mourner who quarrelled with the affliction ofanother. " Again she indulged in a plaintive sigh, and this time the young man'sresponse was tactfully harmonious. "Life is a vale of tears, madame, " he remarked, with more solicitudethan originality. "You may indeed say so, monsieur, " she assented. "To have lost one whowas beloved--" "It must be a heavy blow; I can imagine it!" He had made a curious answer. She stared at him, perplexed. "You can 'imagine' it?" "Very well. " "But you yourself have experienced such a loss, monsieur?" faltered thewidow nervously. Had trouble unhinged his brain? "No, " said the young man; "to speak by the clock, my own loss has notyet occurred. " A brief silence fell, during which she cast uneasy glances towards thedoor. He added, as if anxious that she should do him justice: "But I wouldnot have you consider my lamentations premature. " "How true it is, " breathed the lady, "that in this world no human soulcan wholly comprehend another!" "Mine is a very painful history, " he warned her, taking the hint; "yetif it will serve to divert your mind from your own misfortune, I shallbe honoured to confide it to you. Stay, the tenth invitation, which anaccident prevented my dispatching, would explain the circumstancestersely: but I much fear that the room is too dark for you to decipherall the subtleties. Have I your permission to turn up the gas?" "Do so, by all means, monsieur, " said the lady graciously. And thelight displayed to her, first, as personable a young man as she couldhave desired to see; second, an imposing card, which was inscribed asfollows: MONSIEUR ACHILLE FLAMANT, ARTIST, Forewarns you of the DEATH OF HIS CAREER The Interment will take place at the Café of the Broken Heart on December 31st. _Valedictory N. B. --A sympathetic costume Victuals will be appreciated. 7 p. M. _ "I would call your attention to the border of cypress, and to the tombin the corner, " said the young man, with melancholy pride. "You mayalso look favourably on the figure with the shovel, which, of course, depicts me in the act of burying my hopes. It is a symbolic touch thatno hope is visible. " "It is a very artistic production altogether, " said the widow, dissembling her astonishment. "So you are a painter, monsieur Flamant?" "Again speaking by the clock, I am a painter, " he concurred; "but atmidnight I shall no longer be in a position to say so--in the morning Iam pledged to the life commercial. You will not marvel at my miserywhen I inform you that the existence of Achille Flamant, the artist, will terminate in five hours and twenty odd minutes!" "Well, I am commercial myself, " she said. "I am madame Aurore, theBeauty Specialist, of the rue Baba. Do not think me wanting in thefiner emotions, but I assure you that a lucrative establishment is nota calamity. " "Madame Aurore, " demurred the painter, with a bow, "your own businessis but a sister art. In your atelier, the saffron of a bad complexionblooms to the fairness of a rose, and the bunch of a lumpy figure ismodelled to the grace of Galatea. With me it will be a different pairof shoes; I shall be condemned to perch on a stool in the office of awine-merchant, and invoice vintages which my thirty francs a week willnot allow me to drink. No comparison can be drawn between your lot andmy little. " "Certainly I should not like to perch, " she confessed. "Would you rejoice at the thirty francs a week?" "Well, and the thirty francs a week are also poignant. But you mayrise, monsieur; who shall foretell the future? Once I had to make bothends meet with less to coax them than the salary you mention. Even whenmy poor husband was taken from me--heigho!" she raised a miniaturehandkerchief delicately to her eyes--"when I was left alone in theworld, monsieur, my affairs were greatly involved--I had practicallynothing but my resolve to succeed. " "And the witchery of your personal attractions, madame, " said thepainter politely. "Ah!" A pensive smile rewarded him. "The business was still in itsinfancy, monsieur; yet to-day I have the smartest clientèle in Paris. Imight remove to the rue de la Paix to-morrow if I pleased. But, I say, why should I do that? I say, why a reckless rental for the sake of afashionable address, when the fashionable men and women come to mewhere I am?" "You show profound judgment, madame, " said Flamant. "Why, indeed!" "And you, too, will show good judgment, I am convinced, " continuedmadame Aurore, regarding him with approval. "You have an air ofintellect. If your eyebrows were elongated a fraction towards thetemples--an improvement that might be effected easily enough by regularuse of my Persian Pomade--you would acquire the appearance of a bornconqueror. " "Alas, " sighed Flamant, "my finances forbid my profiting by the tip!" "Monsieur, you wrong me, " murmured the specialist reproachfully. "I wasspeaking with no professional intent. On the contrary, if you willpermit me, I shall take joy in forwarding a pot to you gratis. " "Is it possible?" cried Flamant: "you would really do this for me? Youfeel for my sufferings so much?" "Indeed, I regret that I cannot persuade you to reduce the sufferings, "she replied. "But tell me why you have selected the vocation of awine-merchant's clerk. " "Fate, not I, has determined my cul-de-sac in life, " rejoined hercompanion. "It is like this: my father, who lacks an artistic soul, consented to my becoming a painter only upon the understanding that Ishould gain the Prix de Rome and pursue my studies in Italy free of anyexpense to him. This being arranged, he agreed to make me a minuteallowance in the meanwhile. By a concatenation of catastrophes uponwhich it is unnecessary to dwell, the Beaux-Arts did not accord theprize to me; and, at the end of last year, my parent reminded me of ourcompact, with a vigour which nothing but the relationship prevents mydescribing as 'inhuman'. He insisted that I must bid farewell toaspiration and renounce the brush of an artist for the quill of aclerk! Distraught, I flung myself upon my knees. I implored him toreconsider. My tribulation would have moved a rock--it even moved hisheart!" "He showed you mercy?" "He allowed me a respite. " "It was for twelve months?" "Precisely. What rapid intuitions you have!--if I could remain inParis, we should become great friends. He allowed me twelve months'respite. If, at the end of that time, Art was still inadequate tosupply my board and lodging, it was covenanted that, without any moreado, I should resign myself to clerical employment at Nantes. Themerchant there is a friend of the family, and had offered todemonstrate his friendship by paying me too little to live on. Enfin, Fame has continued coy. The year expires to-night. I have begged a fewcomrades to attend a valedictory dinner--and at the stroke of midnight, despairing I depart!" "Is there a train?" "I do not depart from Paris till after breakfast to-morrow; but atmidnight I depart from myself, I depart psychologically--the AchilleFlamant of the Hitherto will be no more. " "I understand, " said madame Aurore, moved. "As you say, in my own way Iam an artist, too, there is a bond between us. Poor fellow, it isindeed a crisis in your life!... Who put the crape bows on thebottles? they are badly tied. Shall I tie them properly for you?" "It would be a sweet service, " said Flamant, "and I should be grateful. How gentle you are to me--pomade, bows, nothing is too much for you!" "You must give me your Nantes address, " she said, "and I will post thepot without fail. " "I shall always keep it, " he vowed--"not the pomade, but the pot--as asouvenir. Will you write a few lines to me at the same time?" Her gaze was averted; she toyed with her spoon. "The directions will beon the label, " she said timidly. "It was not of my eyebrows I was thinking, " murmured the man. "What should I say? The latest quotation for artificial lashes, or adevelopment in dimple culture, would hardly be engrossing to you. " "I am inclined to believe that anything that concerned you wouldengross me. " "It would be so unconventional, " she objected dreamily. "To send a brief message of encouragement? Have we not talked likeconfidants?" "That is queerer still. " "I admit it. Just now I was unaware of your existence, and suddenly youdominate my thoughts. How do you work these miracles, madame? Do youknow that I have an enormous favour to crave of you?" "What, another one?" "Actually! Is it not audacious of me? Yet for a man on the verge ofparting from his identity, I venture to hope that you will strain apoint. " "The circumstances are in the man's favour, " she owned. "Nevertheless, much depends on what the point is. " "Well, I ask nothing less than that you accept the invitation on thecard that you examined; I beg you to soothe my last hours by remainingto dine. " "Oh, but really, " she exclaimed. "I am afraid--" "You cannot urge that you are required at your atelier so late. And asto any social engagement, I do not hesitate to affirm that myapproaching death in life puts forth the stronger claim. " "On me? When all is said, a new acquaintance!" "What is Time?" demanded the painter. And she was not prepared with areply. "Your comrades will be strangers to me, " she argued. "It is a fact that now I wish they were not coming, " acknowledged thehost; "but they are young men of the loftiest genius, and some day itmay provide a piquant anecdote to relate how you met them all in theperiod of their obscurity. " "My friend, " she said, hurt, "if I consented, it would not be to garneranecdotes. " "Ah, a million regrets!" he cried; "I spoke foolishly. " "It was tactless. " "Yes--I am a man. Do you forgive?" "Yes--I am a woman. Well, I must take my bonnet off!" "Oh, you are not a woman, but an angel! What beautiful hair you have!And your hands, how I should love to paint them!" "I have painted them, myself--with many preparations. My hands haveknown labour, believe me; they have washed up plates and dishes, andoften the dishes had provided little to eat. " "Poor girl! One would never suspect that you had struggled like that. " "How feelingly you say it! There have been few to show me sympathy. Oh, I assure you, my life has been a hard one; it is a hard one now, inspite of my success. Constantly, when customers moan before my mirrors, I envy them, if they did but know it. I think: 'Yes, you have a doublechin, and your eyes have lost their fire, and nasty curly little veinsare spoiling the pallor of your nose; but you have the affection ofhusband and child, while _I_ have nothing but fees. ' What is mydestiny? To hear great-grandmothers grumble because I cannot give themback their girlhood for a thousand francs! To devote myself to makingother women beloved, while _I_ remain loveless in my shop!" "Honestly, my heart aches for you. If I might presume to advise, Iwould say, 'Do not allow the business to absorb your youth--you weremeant to be worshipped. ' And yet, while I recommend it, I hate to thinkof another man worshipping you. " "Why should you care, my dear? But there is no likelihood of that; I amfar too busy to seek worshippers. A propos an idea has just occurred tome which might be advantageous to us both. If you could inform yourfather that you would be able to earn rather more next year byremaining in Paris than by going to Nantes, would it be satisfactory?" "Satisfactory?" ejaculated Flamant. "It would be ecstatic! But howshall I acquire such information?" "Would you like to paint a couple of portraits of me?" "I should like to paint a thousand. " "My establishment is not a picture-gallery. Listen. I offer you acommission for two portraits: one, present day, let us say, moderatelyattractive--" "I decline to libel you. " "O, flatterer! The other, depicting my faded aspect before I discoveredthe priceless secrets of the treatment that I practise in the rue Baba. I shall hang them both in the reception-room. I must look at least adecade older in the 'Before' than in the 'After, ' and it must, ofcourse, present the appearance of having been painted some years ago. That can be faked?" "Perfectly. " "You accept?" "I embrace your feet. You have saved my life; you havepreserved my hopefulness, you have restored my youth!" "It is my profession to preserve and restore. " "Ah, mon Dieu!" gasped Flamant in a paroxysm of adoration. "Aurore, Ican no longer refrain from avowing that--" At this instant the door opened, and there entered solemnly nine youngmen, garbed in such habiliments of woe as had never before been seenperambulating, even on the figures of undertakers. The foremost bore awreath of immortelles, which he laid in devout silence on the dinner-table. "Permit me, " said Flamant, recovering himself by a stupendous effort:"monsieur Tricotrin, the poet--madame Aurore. " "Enchanted!" said the poet, in lugubrious tones. "I have a heavy cold, thank you, owing to my having passed the early hours of Christmas Dayon a bench, in default of a bed. It is superfluous to inquire as to thehealth of madame. " "Monsieur Goujaud, a colleague. " "Overjoyed!" responded Goujaud, with a violent sneeze. "Goujaud was with me, " said Tricotrin. "Monsieur Pitou, the composer. " "I ab hodoured. I trust badabe is dot dervous of gerbs? There isnothing to fear, " said Pitou. "So was Pitou!" added Tricotrin. "Monsieur Sanquereau, the sculptor; monsieur Lajeunie, the novelist, "continued the host. But before he could present the rest of thecompany, Brochat was respectfully intimating to the widow that herposition in the Weeping Alone apartment was now untenable. He wasimmediately commanded to lay another cover. "Madame and comrades, " declaimed Tricotrin, unrolling a voluminousmanuscript, as they took their seats around the pot-au-feu, "I havecomposed for this piteous occasion a brief poem!" "I must beseech your pardon, " stammered Flamant, rising in deepconfusion; "I have nine apologies to tender. Gentlemen, this touchingwreath for the tomb of my career finds the tomb unready. Theseaffecting garments which you have hired at, I fear, ruinous expense, should be exchanged for bunting; that immortal poem with which ourfriend would favour us has been suddenly deprived of all its point. " "Explain! explain!" volleyed from nine throats. "I shall still read it, " insisted Tricotrin, "it is good. " "The lady--nay, the goddess--whom you behold, has showered commissions, and for one year more I shall still be in your midst. Brothers in art, brothers in heart, I ask you to charge your glasses, and let yourvoices ring. The toast is, 'Madame Aurore and her gift of the NewYear!'" "Madame Aurore and her gift of the New Year!" shrieked the nine youngmen, springing to their feet. "In a year much may happen, " said the lady tremulously. And when they had all sat down again, Flamant was thrilled to find herhand in his beneath the table. THE DRESS CLOTHES OF MONSIEUR POMPONNET It was thanks to Touquet that she was able to look so chic--the littlebaggage!--yet of all her suitors Touquet was the one she favouredleast. He was the costumier at the corner of the rue des Martyrs, andmade a very fair thing of the second-hand clothes. It was to Touquet'sthat the tradesmen of the quarter turned as a matter of course to hiredress-suits for their nuptials; it was in the well-cleaned satins ofTouquet that the brides' mothers and the lady guests cut such imposingfigures when they were photographed after the wedding breakfasts; itwas even Touquet who sometimes supplied a gown to one or another of thehumble actresses at the Théâtre Montmartre, and received a couple offree tickets in addition to his fee. I tell you that Touquet was not aperson to be sneezed at, though he had passed the first flush of youth, and was never an Adonis. Besides, who was she, this little Lisette, who had the impudence toflout him? A girl in a florist's, if you can believe me, with noparticular beauty herself, and not a son by way of dot! And yet--onemust confess it--she turned a head as swiftly as she made a"buttonhole"; and Pomponnet, the pastrycook, was paying court to her, too--to say nothing of the homage of messieurs Tricotrin, the poet, andGoujaud, the painter, and Lajeunie, the novelist. You would never haveguessed that her wages were only twenty francs a week, as you watchedher waltz with Tricotrin at the ball on Saturday evening, or as you sawher enter Pomponnet's shop, when the shutters were drawn, to feast onhis strawberry tarts. Her costumes were the cynosure of the boulevardRochechouart! And they were all due to Touquet, Touquet the infatuated, who lent thefine feathers to her for the sake of a glance, or a pressure of thehand--and wept on his counter afterwards while he wondered whose armsmight be embracing her in the costumes that he had cleaned and pressedwith so much care. Often he swore that his folly should end--that sheshould be affianced to him, or go shabby; but, lo! in a day or two shewould make her appearance again, to coax for the loan of a smartblouse, or "that hat with the giant rose and the ostrich plume"--andTouquet would be as weak as ever. Judge, then, of his despair when he heard that she had agreed to marryPomponnet! She told him the news with the air of an amiable gossip whenshe came to return a ball-dress that she had borrowed. "Enfin, " she said--perched on the counter, and swinging her remorselessfeet--"it is arranged; I desert the flowers for the pastry, and becomethe mistress of a shop. I shall have to beg from my good friendmonsieur Touquet no more--not at all! I shall be his client, like therest. It will be better, hein?" Touquet groaned. "You know well, Lisette, " he answered, "that it hasbeen a joy to me to place the stock at your disposal, even though itwas to make you more attractive in the eyes of other men. Everythinghere that you have worn possesses a charm to me. I fondle the garmentswhen you bring them back; I take them down from the pegs and dream overthem. Truly! There is no limit to my weakness, for often when a clientproposes to hire a frock that you have had, I cannot bear that sheshould profane it, and I say that it is engaged. " "You dear, kind monsieur Touquet, " murmured the coquette; "howagreeable you are!" "I have always hoped for the day when the stock would be all your own, Lisette. And by-and-by we might have removed to a better position--even down the hill. Who knows? We might have opened a business in theMadeleine quarter. That would suit you better than a little cake-shopup a side street? And I would have risked it for you--I know how youincline to fashion. When I have taken you to a theatre, did you choosethe Montmartre--where we might have gone for nothing--or the Moncey?Not you!--that might do for other girls. _You_ have alwaysdemanded the theatres of the Grand Boulevard; a cup of coffee at theCafé de la Paix is more to your taste than a bottle of beer andhard-boiled eggs at The Nimble Rabbit. Heaven knows I trust you will behappy, but I cannot persuade myself that this Pomponnet shares yourambitions; with his slum and his stale pastry he is quite content. " "It is not stale, " she said. "Well, we will pass his pastry--though, word of honour, I bought somethere last week that might have been baked before the Commune; but torecur to his soul, is it an affinity?" "Affinities are always hard up, " she pouted. "Zut!" exclaimed Touquet; "now your mind is running on that monsieurTricotrin--by 'affinities' I do not mean hungry poets. Why not haveentrusted your happiness to _me_? I adore you, I have told you athousand times that I adore you. Lisette, consider before it is toolate! You cannot love this--this obscure baker?" She gave a shrug. "It is a fact that devotion has not robbed me of myappetite, " she confessed. "But what would you have? His business goesfar better than you imagine--I have seen his books; and anyhow, mysentiment for you is friendship, and no more. " "To the devil with friendship!" cried the unhappy wardrobe-dealer; "didI dress you like the Empress Joséphine for friendship?" "Do not mock yourself of it, " she said reprovingly; "remember that'Friendship is a beautiful flower, of which esteem is the stem. '" And, having thrown the adage to him, coupled with a glance that drove him todistraction, the little flirt jumped off the counter and was gone. Much more reluctantly she contemplated parting with him whom thecostumier had described as a "hungry poet"; but matrimony did not enterthe poet's scheme of things, nor for that matter had she ever regardedhim as a possible parti. Yet a woman may give her fancy where herreason refuses to follow, and when she imparted her news to Tricotrinthere was no smile on her lips. "We shall not go to balls any more, old dear, " she said. "MonsieurPomponnet has proposed marriage to me--and I settle down. " "Heartless girl, " exclaimed the young man, with tears in his eyes. "Somuch for woman's constancy!" "Mon Dieu, " she faltered, "did you then love me, Gustave--really?" "I do not know, " said Tricotrin, "but since I am to lose you, I preferto think so. Ah, do not grieve for me--fortunately, there is always theSeine! And first I shall pour my misery into song; and in years tocome, fair daughters at your side will read the deathless poem, littledreaming that the Lisette I sang to is their mother. Some time--longafter I am in my grave, when France has honoured me at last--you maystand before a statue that bears my name, and think, 'He loved me, andI broke his heart!'" "Oh, " she whimpered, "rather than break your heart I--I might break theengagement! I might consider again, Gustave. " "No, no, " returned Tricotrin, "I will not reproach myself with thethought that I have marred your life; I will leave you free. Besides, as I say, I am not certain that I should want you so much but for thefact that I have lost you. After all, you will not appreciate the poemthat immortalises you, and if I lived, many of your remarks about itwould doubtless infuriate me. " "Why shall I not appreciate it? Am I so stupid?" "It is not that you are stupid, my Soul, " he explained; "it is that Iam transcendentally clever. To understand the virtues of my work onemust have sipped from all the flowers of Literature. 'There is to befound in it Racine, Voltaire, Flaubert, Renan--and always GustaveTricotrin, ' as Lemaître has written. He wrote, '--and always AnatoleFrance, ' but I paraphrase him slightly. So you are going to marryPomponnet? Mon Dieu, when I have any sous in my pocket, I will ruinmyself, for the rapture of regretting you among the pastry!" "I thought, " she said, a little mortified, "that you were going todrown yourself?" "Am I not to write my Lament to you? I must eat while I write it--whynot pastry? Also, when I am penniless and starving, you may sometimes, in your prosperity--And yet, perhaps, it is too much to ask?" "Give you tick, do you mean, dear? But yes, Gustave; how can you doubtthat I will do that? In memory of--" "In memory of the love that has been, you will permit me to run up asmall score for cakes, will you not, Lisette?" "I will, indeed!" she promised. "But, but--Oh, it's quite true, Ishould never understand you! A minute ago you made me think of you inthe Morgue, and now you make me think of you in the cake-shop. What areyou laughing at?" "I laugh, like Figaro, " said Tricotrin, "that I may not be obliged toweep. When are you going to throw yourself away, my little Lisette? Hasmy accursed rival induced you to fix a date?' "We are to be married in a fortnight's time, " she said. "And if youcould undertake to be sensible, I would ask Alphonse to invite you tothe breakfast. " "In a fortnight's time hunger and a hopeless passion will probably havemade an end of me, " replied the poet; "however, if I survive, thebreakfast will certainly be welcome. Where is it to be held? I canrecommend a restaurant that is especially fine at such affairs, andmost moderate. 'Photographs of the party are taken gratuitously in theJardin d'Acclimatation, and pianos are at the disposal of the ladies';I quote from the menu--I study it in the window every time I pass. There are wedding breakfasts from six to twelve francs per head. At sixfrancs, the party have their choice of two soups and three horsd'oeuvres. Then comes 'poisson'--I fear it may be whiting--filet deboeuf with tomates farcies, bouchées à la Reine, chicken, pigeons, salad, two vegetables, an ice, assorted fruits, and biscuits. The winesare madeira, a bottle of mâcon to each person, a bottle of bordeauxamong four persons, and a bottle of champagne among ten persons. Alsocoffee and liqueurs. At six francs a head! It is good, hein? At sevenfrancs there is a bottle of champagne among every eight persons--Pomponnet will, of course, do as he thinks best. At eight francs, abottle is provided for every six persons. I have too much delicacy tomake suggestions, but should he be willing to soar to twelve francs ahead, I might eat enough to last a week--and of such quality! The soupswould then be bisque d'écrevisse and consommé Rachel. Rissoles de foiesgras would appear. Asparagus 'in branches, ' and compote of peachesflavoured with maraschino would be included. Also, in the twelve-francbreakfast, the champagne begins to have a human name on the label!" Now, it is not certain how much of this information Lisette repeated toPomponnet, but Pomponnet, having a will of his own, refused toentertain monsieur Tricotrin at any price at all. More-over, he foundit unconventional that she should desire the poet's company, considering the attentions that he had paid her; and she was forced tolisten, with an air of humility which she was far from feeling, to alecture on the responsibilities of her new position. "I am not a jealous man, " said the pastrycook, who was as jealous a manas ever baked a pie; "but it would be discreet that you dropped thisacquaintance now that we are engaged. I know well that you have nevertaken the addresses of such a fellow seriously, and that it is only inthe goodness of your heart you wish to present him with a blow-out. Nevertheless, the betrothal of a man in my circumstances is muchremarked; all the daughters of the hairdresser next door have had theirhopes of me--indeed, there is scarcely a neighbour who is not chagrinedat the turn events have taken--and the world would be only too glad ofan excuse to call me 'fool. ' Pomponnet's wife must be above suspicion. You will remember that a little lightness of conduct which might beforgiven in the employée of the florist would be unseemly in myfiancée. No more conversation with monsieur Tricotrin, Lisette! Somedignity--some coldness in the bow when you pass him. The boulevard willobserve it, it will be approved. " "You, of course, know best, my dear Alphonse, " she returned meekly; "Iam only an inexperienced girl, and I am thankful to have your advice toguide me. But let me say that never, never has there been any'lightness of conduct, ' to distress you. Monsieur Tricotrin and I havebeen merely friends. If I have gone to a ball with him sometimes--and Iacknowledge that has happened--it has been because nobody more to mytaste has offered to take me. " She had ground her little teeth underthe infliction of his homily, and it was only by dint of thinking hardof his profits that she abstained from retorting that he might marryall the daughters of the hairdresser and go to Uganda. However, during the next week or so, she did not chance to meet thepoet on the boulevard; and since she wished to conquer her tendernessfor him, one cannot doubt that all would have been well but for theEditor of _L'Echo de la Butte. _ By a freak of fate, the Editor of_L'Echo de la Butte_ was moved to invite monsieur Tricotrin to anaffair of ceremony two days previous to the wedding. What followed?Naturally Tricotrin must present himself in evening dress. Naturally, also, he must go to Touquet's to hire the suit. "Regard, " said the costumier, "here is a suit that I have justacquired. Monsieur will observe that it is of the most distinguishedcut--quite in the latest fashion. I will whisper to monsieur that itcomes to me through the valet of the Comte de St. -Nom-la-Bretèche-Forêt-de-Marly. " "Mon Dieu!" said Tricotrin, "let me try it on!" And he was so gratifiedby his appearance in it that he barely winced at the thought of theexpense. "I am improving my position, " he soliloquised; "if I have notprecisely inherited the mantle of Victor Hugo, I have, at any rate, hired the dress-suit of the Comte de St. -Nom-la-Bretèche-Forêt-de-Marly!" Never had a more impressive spectacle been witnessed in Montmartre thanTricotrin's departure from his latest lodging shortly after sixo'clock. Wearing a shirt of Pitou's, Flamant's patent-leather boots, and a white tie contributed by Goujaud, the young man sallied forthwith the deportment of the Count himself. Only one thing more did hedesire, a flower for his buttonhole--and Lisette remained in hersituation until the morrow! What more natural, finally, than that heshould hie him to the florist's? It was the first time that she had seen her lover in evening dress, andsentiment overpowered her as he entered. "Thou!" she murmured, paling. On the poet, too, the influence of the clothes was very strong; attiredlike a jeune premier, he craved with all the dramatic instinct of hisnature for a love scene; and, instead of fulfilling his intention tobeg for a rosebud at cost price, he gazed at her soulfully and breathed"Lisette!" "So we have met again!" she said. "The world is small, " returned the poet, ignoring the fact that he hadcome to the shop. "And am I yet remembered?" "It is not likely I should forget you in a few days, " she said, morepractically; "I didn't forget about the breakfast, either, but Alphonseput his foot down. " "Pig!" said the poet. "And yet it may be better so! How could I eat insuch an hour?" "However, you are not disconsolate this evening?" she suggested. "Maisvrai! what a swell you are!" "Flûte! some fashionable assembly that will bore me beyond endurance, "he sighed. "With you alone, Lisette, have I known true happiness--thetrain rides on summer nights that were joyous because we loved; thesimple meals that were sweetened by your smile!" "Ah, Gustave!" she said. "Wait, I must give you a flower for yourcoat!" "I shall keep it all my life!" vowed Tricotrin. "Tell me, little one--Idare not stay now, because my host lives a long way off--but thisevening, could you not meet me once again? For the last time, to sayfarewell? I have nearly two francs fifty, and we might go to supper, ifyou agree. " It was arranged before he took leave of her that she should meet himoutside the _débit_ at the corner of the rue de Sontay at eleveno'clock, and sup with him there, in a locality where she was unlikelyto be recognised. Rash enough, this conduct, for a young woman who wasto be married to another man on the next day but one! But a greaterimprudence was to follow. They supped, they sentimentalised, and whenthey parted in the Champs Elysées and the moonshine, she gave him fromher bosom a little rose-coloured envelope that contained nothing lessthan a lock of her hair. The poet placed it tenderly in his waistcoat pocket; and, after he hadwept, and quoted poetry to the stars, forgot it. He began to wish thathe had not mixed his liquors quite so impartially; and, on the morrow, when he woke, he was mindful of nothing more grievous than a splittingheadache. Now Touquet, who could not sleep of nights because the pastrycook wasgoing to marry Lisette, made a practice of examining the pockets of allgarments returned to him, with an eye to stray sous; and when heproceeded to examine the pockets of the dress-suit returned by monsieurTricotrin, what befell but that he drew forth a rose-tinted envelopecontaining a tress of hair, and inscribed, "To Gustave, from Lisette. Adieu. " And the Editor who invited monsieur Tricotrin had never heard ofLisette; never heard of Pomponnet; did not know that such a person asTouquet existed; yet the editorial caprice had manipulated destinies. How powerful are Editors! How complicated is life! But a truce to philosophy--let us deal with the emotions of the soul!The shop reeled before Touquet. All the good and the bad in hischaracter battled tumultuously. In one moment he aspired to be generousand restore to Lisette the evidence of her guilt; in the next he sankto the base thought of displaying it to Pomponnet and breaking off thematch. The discovery fired his brain. No longer was he a nonentity, theodd man out--chance had transformed him to the master of the situation. Full well he knew that there would be no nuptials next day werePomponnet aware of his fiancée's perfidy; it needed but to go to himand say, "Monsieur, my sense of duty compels me to inform you--. " Howeasy it would be! He laughed hysterically. But Lisette would never pardon such a meanness--she would alwaysdespise and hate him! He would have torn her from his rival's arms, itwas true, yet his own would still be empty. "Ah, Lisette, Lisette!"groaned the wretched man; and, swept to evil by the force of passion, he cudgelled his mind to devise some piece of trickery, some diabolicalartifice, by which the incriminating token might be placed in thepastrycook's hands as if by accident. And while he pondered--his "whole soul a chaos"--in that hour Pomponnetentered to hire a dress-suit for his wedding! Touquet raised his head, blanched to the lips. "Regard, " he said, with a forced calm terrible to behold; "here is asuit that I have just acquired. Monsieur will observe that it is of themost distinguished cut--quite in the latest fashion. I will whisper tomonsieur that it comes to me through the valet of the Comte de St. Nom-la-Bretéche-Forét-de-Marly. " And, unseen by the guileless bridegroom, he slipped the damning proof into a pocket of the trousers, where hisknowledge of the pastrycook's attitudes assured him that it was evenmore certain to be found than in the waistcoat. "Mon Dieu!" said the other, duly impressed by the suit's pedigree; "letme try it on.... The coat is rather tight, " he complained, "but it hasundeniably an air. " "No more than one client has worn it, " gasped the wardrobe dealerhaggardly: _"monsieur Gustave Tricotrin, the poet, who hired it lastnight!_ The suit is practically new; I have no other in theestablishment to compare with it. Listen, monsieur Pomponnet! To an oldclient like yourself, I will be liberal; wear it this evening for anhour in your home--if you find it not to your figure, there will betime to make another selection before the ceremony to-morrow. You shallhave this on trial, I will make no extra charge. " Such munificence was bound to have its effect, and five minutes laterTouquet's plot had progressed. But the tension had been frightful; thedoor had scarcely closed when he sank into a chair, trembling in everylimb, and for the rest of the day he attended to his business like onemoving in a trance. Meanwhile, the unsuspecting Pomponnet reviewed the arrangement withconsiderable satisfaction; and when he came to attire himself, afterthe cake-shop was shut, his reflected image pleased him so well that hewas tempted to stroll abroad. He decided to call on his betrothed, andto exhibit himself a little on the boulevard. Accordingly, he put somemoney in the pocket of the waistcoat, oiled his silk hat, to give it anadditional lustre, and sallied forth in high good-humour. "How splendid you look, my dear Alphonse!" exclaimed Lisette, littledreaming it was the same suit that she had approved on Tricotrin theprevious evening. Her innocent admiration was agreeable to Pomponnet; he patted her onthe cheek. "In truth, " he said carelessly, "I had forgotten that I had it on! But Iwas so impatient for to-morrow, my pet angel, that I could not remainalone and I had to come to see you. " They were talking on her doorstep, for she had no apartment in which itwould have been _convenable_ to entertain him, and it appeared tohim that the terrace of a café would be more congenial. "Run upstairs and make your toilette, my loving duck, " he suggested, "and I shall take you out for a tasse. While you are getting ready, Iwill smoke a cigar. " And he drew his cigar-case from the breast-pocketof the coat, and took a match-box from the pocket where he had put hiscash. It was a balmy evening, sweet with the odour of spring, and the streetswere full of life. As he promenaded with her on the boulevard, Pomponnet did not fail to remark the attention commanded by hiscostume. He strutted proudly, and when they reached the café and tooktheir seats, he gave his order with the authority of the President. "Ah!" he remarked, "it is good here, hein?" And then, stretching hislegs, he thrust both his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "_Comment?_" he murmured. "What have I found?... Now is not thisamusing--I swear it is a billet-doux!" He bent, chuckling, to thelight--and bounded in his chair with an oath that turned a dozen headstowards them. "Traitress, " roared Pomponnet, "miserable traitress! Itis _your_ name! It is your _writing_! It is your _hair_!Do not deny it; give me your head--it matches to a shade! Jezebel, lastnight you met monsieur Tricotrin--you have deceived me!" Lisette, who had jumped as high as he in recognising the envelope, satlike one paralysed now. Her tongue refused to move. For an instant, thecatastrophe seemed to her of supernatural agency--it was as if amiracle had happened, as she saw her fiancé produce her lover'skeepsake. All she could stammer at last was: "Let us go away--pay for the coffee!" "I will not pay, " shouted monsieur Pomponnet. "Pay for it yourself, jade--I have done with you!" And, leaving her spellbound at the table, he strode from the terrace like a madman before the waiters could stophim. Oh, of course, he was well known at the café, and they did not detainLisette, but it was a most ignominious position for a young woman. Andthere was no wedding next day, and everybody knew why. The littlecoquette, who had mocked suitors by the dozen, was jilted almost on thethreshold of the Mairie. She smacked Tricotrin's face in the morning, but her humiliation was so acute that it demanded the salve ofimmediate marriage; and at the moment she could think of no one betterthan Touquet. So Touquet won her after all. And though by this time she may guess howhe accomplished it, he will tell you--word of honour!--that never, never has he had occasion for regret. THE SUICIDES IN THE RUE SOMBRE Having bought the rope, Tournicquot wondered where he should hanghimself. The lath-and-plaster ceiling of his room might decline tosupport him, and while the streets were populous a lamp-post was out ofthe question. As he hesitated on the kerb, he reflected that a pan ofcharcoal would have been more convenient after all; but the coil ofrope in the doorway of a shop had lured his fancy, and now it would belaughable to throw it away. Tournicquot was much averse from being laughed at in private life--perhaps because Fate had willed that he should be laughed at so much inhis public capacity. Could he have had his way, indeed, Tournicquotwould have been a great tragedian, instead of a little droll, whoseportraits, with a bright red nose and a scarlet wig, grimaced on thehoardings; and he resolved that, at any rate, the element of humourshould not mar his suicide. As to the motive for his death, it was as romantic as his heartdesired. He adored "La Belle Lucèrce, " the fascinating Snake Charmer, and somewhere in the background the artiste had a husband. Little theaudience suspected the passion that devoured their grotesque comedianwhile he cut his capers and turned love to ridicule; little theydivined the pathos of a situation which condemned him behind the scenesto whisper the most sentimental assurances of devotion when disfiguredby a flaming wig and a nose that was daubed vermilion! How nearly ithas been said, One half of the world does not know how the other halfloves! But such incongruities would distress Tournicquot no more--to-day hewas to die; he had worn his chessboard trousers and his little greencoat for the last time! For the last time had the relentless virtue ofLucrèce driven him to despair! When he was discovered inanimate, hanging to a beam, nothing comic about him, perhaps the world wouldadmit that his soul had been solemn, though his "line of business" hadbeen funny; perhaps Lucrèce would even drop warm tears on his tomb! It was early in the evening. Dusk was gathering over Paris, the promiseof dinner was in the breeze. The white glare of electric globes beganto flood the streets; and before the cafés, waiters bustled among thetables, bearing the vermouth and absinthe of the hour. Instinctivelyshunning the more frequented thoroughfares, Tournicquot crossed theboulevard des Batignolles, and wandered, lost in reverie, along themelancholy continuation of the rue de Rome until he perceived that hehad reached a neighbourhood unknown to him--that he stood at the cornerof a street which bore the name "Rue Sombre. " Opposite, one of thehouses was being rebuilt, and as he gazed at it--this skeleton of ahome in which the workmen's hammers were silenced for the night--Tournicquot recognised that his journey was at an end. Here, he couldnot doubt that he would find the last, grim hospitality that he sought. The house had no door to bar his entrance, but--as if in omen--abovethe gap where a door had been, the sinister number "13" was still to bediscerned. He cast a glance over his shoulder, and, grasping the ropewith a firm hand, crept inside. It was dark within, so dark that at first he could discern nothing butthe gleam of bare walls. He stole along the passage, and, mounting aflight of steps, on which his feet sprung mournful echoes, proceededstealthily towards an apartment on the first floor. At this point thedarkness became impenetrable, for the _volets_ had been closed, and in order to make his arrangements, it was necessary that he shouldhave a light. He paused, fumbling in his pocket; and then, with hisnext step, blundered against a body, which swung from the contact, likea human being suspended in mid-air. Tournicquot leapt backwards in terror. A cold sweat bespangled him, andfor some seconds he shook so violently that he was unable to strike amatch. At last, when he accomplished it, he beheld a man, apparentlydead, hanging by a rope in the doorway. "Ah, mon Dieu!" gasped Tournicquot. And the thudding of his heartseemed to resound through the deserted house. Humanity impelled him to rescue the poor wretch, if it was still to bedone. Shuddering, he whipped out his knife, and sawed at the corddesperately. The cord was stout, and the blade of the knife but small;an eternity seemed to pass while he sawed in the darkness. Presentlyone of the strands gave way. He set his teeth and pressed harder, andharder yet. Suddenly the rope yielded and the body fell to the ground. Tournicquot threw himself beside it, tearing open the collar, and usingfrantic efforts to restore animation. There was no result. Hepersevered, but the body lay perfectly inert. He began to reflect thatit was his duty to inform the police of the discovery, and he askedhimself how he should account for his presence on the scene. Just as hewas considering this, he felt the stir of life. As if by a miracle theman groaned. "Courage, my poor fellow!" panted Tournicquot. "Courage--all is well!" The man groaned again; and after an appalling silence, during whichTournicquot began to tremble for his fate anew, asked feebly, "Where amI?" "You would have hanged yourself, " explained Tournicquot. "Thanks toHeaven, I arrived in time to save your life!" In the darkness they could not see each other, but he felt for theman's hand and pressed it warmly. To his consternation, he received, for response, a thump in the chest. "Morbleu, what an infernal cheek!" croaked the man. "So you have cut medown? You meddlesome idiot, by what right did you poke your nose intomy affairs, hein?" Dismay held Tournicquot dumb. "Hein?" wheezed the man; "what concern was it of yours, if you please?Never in my life before have I met with such a piece of presumption!" "My poor friend, " stammered Tournicquot, "you do not know what you say--you are not yourself! By-and-by you will be grateful, you will fall onyour knees and bless me. " "By-and-by I shall punch you in the eye, " returned the man, "just assoon as I am feeling better! What have you done to my collar, too? Ideclare you have played the devil with me!" His annoyance rose. "Whoare you, and what are you doing here, anyhow? You are a trespasser--Ishall give you in charge. " "Come, come, " said Tournicquot, conciliatingly, "if your misfortunesare more than you can bear, I regret that I was obliged to save you;but, after all, there is no need to make such a grievance of it--youcan hang yourself another day. " "And why should I be put to the trouble twice?" grumbled the other. "Doyou figure yourself that it is agreeable to hang? I passed a very badtime, I can assure you. If you had experienced it, you would not talkso lightly about 'another day. ' The more I think of your impudentinterference, the more it vexes me. And how dark it is! Get up andlight the candle--it gives me the hump here. " "I have no candle, I have no candle, " babbled Tournicquot; "I do notcarry candles in my pocket. " "There is a bit on the mantelpiece, " replied the man angrily; "I saw itwhen I came in. Go and feel for it--hunt about! Do not keep me lyinghere in the dark--the least you can do is to make me as comfortable asyou can. " Tournicquot, not a little perturbed by the threat of assault, gropedobediently; but the room appeared to be of the dimensions of a park, and he arrived at the candle stump only after a prolonged excursion. The flame revealed to him a man of about his own age, who leant againstthe wall regarding him with indignant eyes. Revealed also was the coilof rope that the comedian had brought for his own use; and the manpointed to it. "What is that? It was not here just now. " "It belongs to me, " admitted Tournicquot, nervously. "I see that it belongs to you. Why do you visit an empty house with acoil of rope, hein? I should like to understand that ... Upon my life, you were here on the same business as myself! Now if this does not passall forbearance! You come to commit suicide, and yet you have theeffrontery to put a stop to mine!" "Well, " exclaimed Tournicquot, "I obeyed an impulse of pity! It is truethat I came to destroy myself, for I am the most miserable of men; butI was so much affected by the sight of your sufferings that temporarilyI forgot my own. " "That is a lie, for I was not suffering--I was not conscious when youcame in. However, you have some pretty moments in front of you, so wewill say no more! When you feel yourself drop, it will be diabolical, Ipromise you; the hair stands erect on the head, and each spot of bloodin the veins congeals to a separate icicle! It is true that the dropitself is swift, but the clutch of the rope, as you kick in the air, ishardly less atrocious. Do not be encouraged by the delusion that thematter is instantaneous. Time mocks you, and a second holds thesensations of a quarter of an hour. What has forced you to it? We neednot stand on ceremony with each other, hein?" "I have resolved to die because life is torture, " said Tournicquot, onwhom these details had made an unfavourable impression. "The same with me! A woman, of course?" "Yes, " sighed Tournicquot, "a woman!" "Is there no other remedy? Cannot you desert her?" "Desert her? I pine for her embrace!" "Hein?" "She will not have anything to do with me. " "_Comment?_ Then it is love with you?" "What else? An eternal passion!" "Oh, mon Dieu, I took it for granted you were married! But this isdroll. _You_ would die because you cannot get hold of a woman, and_I_ because I cannot get rid of one. We should talk, we two. Canyou give me a cigarette?" "With pleasure, monsieur, " responded Tournicquot, producing a packet. "I, also, will take one--my last!" "If I expressed myself hastily just now, " said his companion, refastening his collar, "I shall apologise--no doubt your interferencewas well meant, though I do not pretend to approve it. Let us dismissthe incident; you have behaved tactlessly, and I, on my side, haveperhaps resented your error with too much warmth. Well, it is finished!While the candle burns, let us exchange more amicable views. Is mycravat straight? It astonishes me to hear that love can drive a man tosuch despair. I, too, have loved, but never to the length of the rope. There are plenty of women in Paris--if one has no heart, there isalways another. I am far from proposing to frustrate your project, holding as I do that a man's suicide is an intimate matter in which'rescue' is a name given by busybodies to a gross impertinence; but asyou have not begun the job, I will confess that I think you are beingrash. " "I have considered, " replied Tournicquot, "I have consideredattentively. There is no alternative, I assure you. " "I would make another attempt to persuade the lady--I swear I wouldmake another attempt! You are not a bad-looking fellow. What is herobjection to you?" "It is not that she objects to me--on the contrary. But she is a womanof high principle, and she has a husband who is devoted to her--shewill not break his heart. It is like that. " "Young?" "No more than thirty. " "And beautiful?" "With a beauty like an angel's! She has a dimple in her right cheekwhen she smiles that drives one to distraction. " "Myself, I have no weakness for dimples; but every man to his taste--there is no arguing about these things. What a combination--young, lovely, virtuous! And I make you a bet the oaf of a husband does notappreciate her! Is it not always so? Now _I_--but of course Imarried foolishly, I married an artiste. If I had my time again I wouldchoose in preference any sempstress. The artistes are for applause, for bouquets, for little dinners, but not for marriage. " "I cannot agree with you, " said Tournicquot, with some hauteur, "Yourexperience may have been unfortunate, but the theatre contains womenquite as noble as any other sphere. In proof of it, the lady I adore isan artiste herself!" "Really--is it so? Would it be indiscreet to ask her name?" "There are things that one does not tell. " "But as a matter of interest? There is nothing derogatory to her inwhat you say--quite the reverse. " "True! Well, the reason for reticence is removed. She is known as 'LaBelle Lucrèce. '" "_Hein?"_ ejaculated the other, jumping. "What ails you?" "She is my wife!" "Your wife? Impossible!" "I tell you I am married to her--she is 'madame Béguinet. '" "Mon Dieu!" faltered Tournicquot, aghast; "what have I done!" "So?... You are her lover?" "Never has she encouraged me--recall what I said! There are no groundsfor jealousy--am I not about to die because she spurns me? I swear toyou--" "You mistake my emotion--why should I be jealous? Not at all--I am onlyamazed. She thinks I am devoted to her? Ho, ho! Not at all! You see my'devotion' by the fact that I am about to hang myself rather than livewith her. And _you_, you cannot bear to live because you adoreher! Actually, you adore her! Is it not inexplicable? Oh, there iscertainly the finger of Providence in this meeting!... Wait, we mustdiscuss--we should come to each other's aid!... Give me anothercigarette. " Some seconds passed while they smoked in silent meditation. "Listen, " resumed monsieur Béguinet; "in order to clear up thiscomplication, a perfect candour is required on both sides. Alors, as toyour views, is it that you aspire to marry madame? I do not wish toappear exigent, but in the position that I occupy you will realise thatit is my duty to make the most favourable arrangements for her that Ican. Now open your heart to me; speak frankly!" "It is difficult for me to express myself without restraint to you, monsieur, " said Tournicquot, "because circumstances cause me to regardyou as a grievance. To answer you with all the delicacy possible, Iwill say that if I had cut you down five minutes later, life would be afairer thing to me. " "Good, " said monsieur Béguinet, "we make progress! Your income? Does itsuffice to support her in the style to which she is accustomed? Whatmay your occupation be?" "I am in madame's own profession--I, too, am an artiste. " "So much the more congenial! I foresee a joyous union. Come, we gofamously! Your line of business--snakes, ventriloquism, performing-rabbits, what is it?" "My name is 'Tournicquot, '" responded the comedian, with dignity. "Allis said!" "A-ah! Is it so? Now I understand why your voice has been puzzling me!Monsieur Tournicquot, I am enchanted to make your acquaintance. Ideclare the matter arranges itself! I shall tell you what we will do. Hitherto I have had no choice between residing with madame andcommitting suicide, because my affairs have not prospered, and--thoughmy pride has revolted--her salary has been essential for mymaintenance. Now the happy medium jumps to the eyes; for you, for me, for her the bright sunshine streams! I shall efface myself; I shall goto a distant spot--say, Monte Carlo--and you shall make me a snugallowance. Have no misgiving; crown her with blossoms, lead her to thealtar, and rest tranquil--I shall never reappear. Do not figureyourself that I shall enter like the villain at the Amibigu and menacethe blissful home. Not at all! I myself may even re-marry, who knows?Indeed, should you offer me an allowance adequate for a family man, Iwill undertake to re-marry--I have always inclined towards speculation. That will shut my mouth, hein? I could threaten nothing, even if I hada base nature, for I, also, shall have committed bigamy. Suicide, bigamy, I would commit _anything_ rather than live with Lucrèce!" "But madame's consent must be gained, " demurred Tournicquot; "youoverlook the fact that madame must consent. It is a fact that I do notunderstand why she should have any consideration for you, but if shecontinues to harp upon her 'duty, ' what then?" "Do you not tell me that her only objection to your suit has been herfear that she would break my heart? What an hallucination! I shallapproach the subject with tact, with the utmost delicacy. I shallintimate to her that to ensure her happiness I am willing to sacrificemyself. Should she hesitate, I shall demand to sacrifice myself! Restassured that if she regards you with the favour that you believe, yourtroubles are at an end--the barrier removes itself, and you joinhands.... The candle is going out! Shall we depart?" "I perceive no reason why we should remain; In truth, we might have gotout of it sooner. " "You are right! a café will be more cheerful. Suppose we take a bottleof wine together; how does it strike you? If you insist, I will be yourguest; if not--" "Ah, monsieur, you will allow me the pleasure, " murmured Tournicquot. "Well, well, " said Beguinet, "you must have your way!... Your rope youhave no use for, hein--we shall leave it?" "But certainly! Why should I burden myself?" "The occasion has passed, true. Good! Come, my comrade, let usdescend!" Who shall read the future? Awhile ago they had been strangers, neitherintending to quit the house alive; now the pair issued from itjauntily, arm in arm. Both were in high spirits, and by the time thelamps of a café gave them welcome, and the wine gurgled gaily into theglasses, they pledged each other with a sentiment no less thanfraternal. "How I rejoice that I have met you!" exclaimed Béguinet. "To yourmarriage, mon vieux; to your joy! Fill up, again a glass!--there areplenty of bottles in the cellar. Mon Dieu, you are my preserver--I mustembrace you. Never till now have I felt such affection for a man. Thisevening all was black to me; I despaired, my heart was as heavy as acannon-ball--and suddenly the world is bright. Roses bloom before myfeet, and the little larks are singing in the sky. I dance, I skip. Howbeautiful, how sublime is friendship!--better than riches, than youth, than the love of woman: riches melt, youth flies, woman snores. Butfriendship is--Again a glass! It goes well, this wine. "Let us have a lobster! I swear I have an appetite; they make onepeckish, these suicides, n'est-ce pas? I shall not be formal--if youconsider it your treat, you shall pay. A lobster and another bottle! Atyour expense, or mine?" "Ah, the bill all in one!" declared Tourniequot. "Well, well, " said Béguinet, "you must have your way! What a happy manI am! Already I feel twenty years younger. You would not believe what Ihave suffered. My agonies would fill a book. Really. By nature I amdomesticated; but my home is impossible--I shudder when I enter it. Itis only in a restaurant that I see a clean table-cloth. Absolutely. Ipig. All Lucrèce thinks about is frivolity. " "No, no, " protested Tournicquot; "to that I cannot agree. " "What do you know? You 'cannot agree'! You have seen her when she islaced in her stage costume, when she prinks and prattles, with thepaint, and the powder, and her best corset on. It is I who am 'behindthe scenes, ' mon ami, not you. I see her dirty peignoir and her curlrags. At four o'clock in the afternoon. Every day. You 'cannot agree'!" "Curl rags?" faltered Tournicquot. "But certainly! I tell you I am of a gentle disposition, I am mosttolerant of women's failings; it says much that I would have hangedmyself rather than remain with a woman. Her untidiness is not all; hertoilette at home revolts my sensibilities, but--well, one cannot haveeverything, and her salary is substantial; I have closed my eyes to thecurl rags. However, snakes are more serious. " "Snakes?" ejaculated Tournicquot. "Naturally! The beasts must live, do they not support us? But'Everything in its place' is my own motto; the motto of my wife--'Allover the place. ' Her serpents have shortened my life, word of honour!--they wander where they will. I never lay my head beside those curl ragsof hers without anticipating a cobra-decapello under the bolster. It isnot everybody's money. Lucrèce has no objection to them; well, it isvery courageous--very fortunate, since snakes are her profession--but_I_, I was not brought up to snakes; I am not at my ease in aZoölogical Gardens. " "It is natural. " "Is it not? I desire to explain myself to you, you understand; are wenot as brothers? Oh, I realise well that when one loves a woman onealways thinks that the faults are the husband's: believe me I have hadmuch to justify my attitude. Snakes, dirt, furies, what a ménage!" "Furies?" gasped Tournicquot. "I am an honest man, " affirmed Béguinet draining another bumper; "Ishall not say to you 'I have no blemish, I am perfect, ' Not at all. Without doubt, I have occasionally expressed myself to Lucrèce withmore candour than courtesy. Such things happen. But"--he refilled hisglass, and sighed pathetically--"but to every citizen, whatever hisposition--whether his affairs may have prospered or not--his wife owesrespect. Hein? She should not throw the ragoút at him. She should notmenace him with snakes. " He wept. "My friend, you will admit that it isnot _gentil_ to coerce a husband with deadly reptiles?" Tournicquot had turned very pale. He signed to the waiter for the bill, and when it was discharged, sat regarding his companion with roundeyes, At last, clearing his throat, he said nervously: "After all, do you know--now one comes to think it over--I am not sure, upon my honour, that our arrangement is feasible?" "What?" exclaimed Béguinet, with a violent start. "Not feasible? How isthat, pray? Because I have opened my heart to you, do you back out? Oh, what treachery! Never will I believe you could be capable of it!" "However, it is a fact. On consideration, I shall not rob you of her. " "Base fellow! You take advantage of my confidence. A contract is acontract!" "No, " stammered Tournicquot, "I shall be a man and live my love down. Monsieur, I have the honour to wish you 'Good-night. '" "Hé, stop!" cried Béguinet, infuriated. "What then is to become of_me_? Insolent poltroon--you have even destroyed my rope!" THE CONSPIRACY FOR CLAUDINE "Once, " remarked Tricotrin, pitching his pen in the air, "there werefour suitors for the Most Beautiful of her Sex. The first young man wasa musician, and he shut himself in his garret to compose a divinemelody, to be dedicated to her. The second lover was a chemist, whoexperimented day and night to discover a unique perfume that she alonemight use. The third, who was a floriculturist, aspired constantlyamong his bulbs to create a silver rose, that should immortalise thelady's name. " "And the fourth, " inquired Pitou, "what did the fourth suitor do?" "The fourth suitor waited for her every afternoon in the sunshine, while the others were at work, and married her with great éclat. Themoral of which is that, instead of cracking my head to make a sonnet toClaudine, I shall be wise to put on my hat and go to meet her. " "I rejoice that the dénoûment is arrived at, " Pitou returned, "but itwould be even more absorbing if I had previously heard of Claudine. " "Miserable dullard!" cried the poet; "do you tell me that you have notpreviously heard of Claudine? She is the only woman I have ever loved. " "A--ah, " rejoined Pitou; "certainly, I have heard of her a thousandtimes--only she has never been called 'Claudine' before. " "Let us keep to the point, " said Tricotrin. "Claudine represents thedevotion of a lifetime. I think seriously of writing a tragedy for herto appear in. " "I shall undertake to weep copiously at it if you present me with apass, " affirmed Pitou. "She is an actress, then, this Claudine? At whattheatre is she blazing--the Montmartre?" "How often I find occasion to lament that your imagination is no largerthan the quartier! Claudine is not of Montmartre at all, at all. Mypoor friend, have you never heard that there are theatres on the GrandBoulevard?" "Ah, so you betake yourself to haunts of fashion? Now I begin tounderstand why you have become so prodigal with the blacking; for sometime I have had the intention of reproaching you with your shoes--ourfinances are not equal to such lustre. " "Ah, when one truly loves, money is no object!" said Tricotrin. "However, if it is time misspent to write a sonnet to her, it is evenmore unprofitable to pass the evening justifying one's shoes. " And, picking up his hat, the poet ran down the stairs, and made his way asfast as his legs would carry him to the Comédie Moderne. He arrived at the stage-door with no more than three minutes to spare, and disposing himself in a graceful attitude, waited for mademoiselleClaudine Hilairet to come out. It might have been observed that hisconfidence deserted him while he waited, for although it was perfectlytrue that he adored her, he had omitted to add that the passion was notmutual. He was conscious that the lady might resent his presence on thedoor-step; and, in fact, when she appeared, she said nothing moretender than-- "Mon Dieu, again you! What do you want?" "How can you ask?" sighed the poet. "I came to walk home with you lestan electric train should knock you down at one of the crossings. What amagnificent performance you have given this evening! Superb!" "Were you in the theatre?" "In spirit. My spirit, which no official can exclude, is present everynight, though sordid considerations force me to remain corporally in myattic. Transported by admiration, I even burst into frantic applausethere. How perfect is the sympathy between our souls!" "Listen, my little one, " she said. "I am sorry for your relatives, ifyou have any--your condition must be a great grief to them. But, allthe same, I cannot have you dangling after me and talking this bosh. What do you suppose can come of it?" "Fame shall come of it, " averred the poet, "fame for us both! Do notfigure yourself that I am a dreamer. Not at all! I am practical, a manof affairs. Are you content with your position in the Comédie Moderne?No, you are not. You occupy a subordinate position; you play the rôleof a waiting-maid, which is quite unworthy of your genius, andunderstudy the ingénue, who is a portly matron in robust health. Theopportunity to distinguish yourself appears to you as remote as Mars. Do I romance, or is it true?" "It is true, " she said. "Well?" "Well, I propose to alter all this--I! I have the intention of writinga great tragedy, and when it is accepted, I shall stipulate that you, and you alone, shall thrill Paris as my heroine. When the work of mybrain has raised you to the pinnacle for which you were born, when thetheatre echoes with our names, I shall fall at your feet, and you willmurmur, 'Gustave--I love thee!'" "Why does not your mother do something?" she asked. "Is there nobody toplace you where you might be cured? A tragedy? Imbecile, I amcomédienne to the finger-tips! What should I do with your tragedy, evenif it were at the Français itself?" "You are right, " said Tricotrin; "I shall turn out a brilliant comedyinstead. And when the work of my brain has raised you to the pinnaclefor which you were born, when the theatre echoes with our names--" She interrupted him by a peal of laughter which disconcerted him hardlyless than her annoyance. "It is impossible to be angry with you long, " she declared, "you aretoo comic. Also, as a friend, I do not object to you violently. Come, Iadvise you to be content with what you can have, instead of crying forthe moon!" "Well, I am not unwilling to make shift with it in the meantime, "returned Tricotrin; "but friendship is a poor substitute for theheavens--and we shall see what we shall see. Tell me now, they mean torevive _La Curieuse_ at the Comédie, I hear--what part in it haveyou been assigned?" "Ah, " exclaimed mademoiselle Hilairet, "is it notalways the same thing? I dust the same decayed furniture with the samefeather brush, and I say 'Yes, ' and 'No, ' and 'Here is a letter, madame. ' That is all. " "I swear it is infamous!" cried the poet. "It amazes me that they failto perceive that your gifts are buried. One would suppose that managerswould know better than to condemn a great artiste to perform suchignominious roles. The critics also! Why do not the critics callattention to an outrage which continues year by year? It appears to methat I shall have to use my influence with the Press. " And so seriouswas the tone in which he made this boast, that the fair Claudine beganto wonder if she had after all underrated the position of her out-at-elbows gallant. "Your influence?" she questioned, with an eager smile. "Have youinfluence with the critics, then?" "We shall see what we shall see, " repeated Tricotrin, significantly. "Iam not unknown in Paris, and I have your cause at heart--I may make astar of you yet. But while we are on the subject of astronomy, onequestion! When my services have transformed you to a star, shall Istill be compelled to cry for the moon?" Mademoiselle Hilairet's tones quivered with emotion--as she murmuredhow grateful to him she would be, and it was understood, when he tookleave of her, that if he indeed accomplished his design, his suit wouldbe no longer hopeless. The poet pressed her hand ardently, and turned homeward in highfeather; and it was not until he had trudged a mile or so that therapture in his soul began to subside under the remembrance that he hadbeen talking through his hat. "In fact, " he admitted to Pitou when the garret was reached, "myimagination took wings unto itself; I am committed to a task besidewhich the labours of Hercules were child's play. The question nowarises how this thing, of which I spoke so confidently, is to beeffected. What do you suggest?" "I suggest that you allow me to sleep, " replied Pitou, "for I shallfeel less hungry then. " "Your suggestion will not advance us, " demurred Tricotrin. "We shall, on the contrary, examine the situation in all its bearings. Listen!Claudine is to enact the waiting-maid in _La Curieuse, _ which willbe revived at the Comédie Moderne in a fortnight's time; she will dustthe Empire furniture, and say 'Yes' and 'No' with all the intellect andanimation for which those monosyllables provide an opening. Have yougrasped the synopsis so far? Good! On the strength of this performance, it has to be stated by the foremost dramatic critic in Paris that sheis an actress of genius. Now, how is it to be done? How shall we induceLabaregue to write of her with an outburst of enthusiasm in _LaVoix_?" "Labaregue?" faltered Pitou. "I declare the audacity of your notionwakes me up!" "Capital, " said Tricotrin, "we are making progress already! Yes, wemust have Labaregue--it has never been my custom to do things byhalves. Dramatically, of course, I should hold a compromising paper ofLabaregue's. I should say, 'Monsieur, the price of this document is anact of justice to mademoiselle Claudine Hilairet. It is agreed? Good!Sit down--you will write from my dictation!'" "However--" said Pitou. "However--I anticipate your objection--I do not hold such a paper. Therefore, that scene is cut. Well, let us find another! Where is yourfertility of resource? Mon Dieu! why should I speak to him at all?" "I do not figure myself that you will speak to him, you will never getthe chance. " "Precisely my own suspicion. What follows? Instead of wasting my timeseeking an interview which would not be granted--" "And which would lead to nothing even if it were granted!" "And which would lead to nothing even if it were granted, as you pointout; instead of doing this, it is evident that I must write Labaregue'scriticism myself!" "Hein?" ejaculated Pitou, sitting up in bed. "I confess that I do not perceive yet how it is to be managed, butobviously it is the only course. _I_ must write what is to besaid, and _La Voix_ must believe that it has been written byLabaregue. Come, we are getting on famously--we have now decided whatwe are to avoid!" "By D'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, " cried Pitou, "this will bethe doughtiest adventure in which we have engaged!" "You are right, it is an adventure worthy of our steel ... Pens! Weshall enlighten the public, crown an artiste, and win her heart by wayof reward--that is to say, _I_ shall win her heart by way ofreward. What your own share of the booty will be I do not recognize, but I promise you, at least, a generous half of the dangers. " "My comrade, " murmured Pitou; "ever loyal! But do you not think that_La Voix_ will smell a rat? What about the handwriting?" "It is a weak point which had already presented itself to me. Could Ihave constructed the situation to my liking, Labaregue would have thecustom to type-write his notices; however, as he is so inconsiderate asto knock them off in the Café de l'Europe, he has not that custom, andwe must adapt ourselves to the circumstances that exist. Theprobability is that a criticism delivered by the accredited messenger, and signed with the familiar 'J. L. ' will be passed without question;the difference in the handwriting may be attributed to an amanuensis. When the great man writes his next notice, I shall make it my businessto be taking a bock in the Café de l'Europe, in order that I mayobserve closely what happens. There is to be a répétition générale atthe Vaudeville on Monday night--on Monday night, therefore, I hope toadvise you of our plan of campaign. Now do not speak to me any more--Iam about to compose a eulogy on Claudine, for which Labaregue will, indue course, receive the credit. " The poet fell asleep at last, murmuring dithyrambic phrases; and if yousuppose that in the soberness of daylight he renounced his harebrainedproject, it is certain that you have never lived with Tricotrin inMontmartre. No, indeed, he did not renounce it. On Monday night--or rather in thesmall hours of Tuesday morning--he awoke Pitou with enthusiasm. "Mon vieux, " he exclaimed, "the evening has been well spent! I haveobserved, and I have reflected. When he quitted the Vaudeville, Labaregue entered the Café de l'Europe, seated himself at his favouritetable, and wrote without cessation for half an hour. When his critiquewas finished, he placed it in an envelope, and commanded his supper. All this time I, sipping a bock leisurely, accorded to his actions ascrutiny worthy of the secret police. Presently a lad from the officeof _La Voix_ appeared; he approached Labaregue, received theenvelope, and departed. At this point, my bock was finished; I paid forit and sauntered out, keeping the boy well in view. His route to theoffice lay through a dozen streets which were all deserted at so latean hour; but I remarked one that was even more forbidding than therest--a mere alley that seemed positively to have been designed for ourpurpose. Our course is clear--we shall attack him in the rue desCendres. " "Really?" inquired Pitou, somewhat startled. "But really! We will not shed his blood; we will make him turn out hispockets, and then, disgusted by the smallness of the swag, toss it backto him with a flip on the ear. Needless to say that when he escapes, hewill be the bearer of _my_ criticism, not of Labaregue's. He willhave been too frightened to remark the exchange. " "It is not bad, your plan. " "It is an inspiration. But to render it absolutely safe, we must havean accomplice. " "Why, is he so powerful, your boy?" "No, mon ami, the boy is not so powerful, but the alley has two ends--Ido not desire to be arrested while I am giving a lifelikerepresentation of an apache. I think we will admit Lajeunie to ourscheme--as a novelist he should appreciate the situation. If Lajeuniekeeps guard at one end of the alley, while you stand at the other, Ican do the business without risk of being interrupted and removed togaol. " "It is true. As a danger signal, I shall whistle the first bars of myFugue. " "Good! And we will arrange a signal with Lajeunie also. Mon Dieu! willnot Claudine be amazed next day? I shall not breathe a word to her inthe meantime; I shall let her open _La Voix_ without expectation;and then--ah, what joy will be hers! 'The success of the evening wasmade by the actress who took the role of the maidservant, and who hadperhaps six words to utter. But with what vivacity, with what espritwere they delivered! Every gesture, every sparkle of the eyes, betokened the comedienne. For myself, I ceased to regard the fatuousingénue, I forgot the presence of the famous leading lady; I watchedabsorbed the facial play of this maidservant, whose brains and beauty, I predict, will speedily bring Paris to her feet'!" "Is that what you mean to write?" "I shall improve upon it. I am constantly improving--that is why thenotice is still unfinished. It hampers me that I must compose in thestrain of Labaregue himself, instead of allowing my eloquence to soar. By the way, we had better speak to Lajeunie on the subject soon, lesthe should pretend that he has another engagement for that night; he isa good boy, Lajeunie, but he always pretends that he has engagements infashionable circles. " The pair went to him the following day, and when they had climbed tohis garret, found the young literary man in bed. "It shocks me, " said Pitou, "to perceive that you rise so late, Lajeunie; why are you not dashing off chapters of a romance?" "Mon Dieu!" replied Lajeunie, "I was making studies among the beaumonde until a late hour last night at a reception; and, to complete myfatigue, it was impossible to get a cab when I left. " "Naturally; it happens to everybody when he lacks a cab-fare, " saidTricotrin. "Now tell me, have you any invitation from a duchess fornext Thursday evening?" "Thursday, Thursday?" repeated Lajeunie thoughtfully. "No, I believethat I am free for Thursday. " "Now, that is fortunate!" exclaimed Tricotrin. "Well, we want you tojoin us on that evening, my friend. " "Indeed, we should be most disappointed if you could not, " put inPitou. "Certainly; I shall have much pleasure, " said Lajeunie. "Is it asupper?" "No, " said Tricotrin, "it is a robbery. I shall explain. Doubtless youknow the name of 'mademoiselle Claudine Hilairet'?" "I have never heard it in my life. Is she in Society?" "Society? She is in the Comédie Moderne. She is a great actress, but--like us all--unrecognised. " "My heart bleeds for her. Another comrade!" "I was sure I could depend upon your sympathy. Well, on Thursday nightthey will revive _La Curieuse_ at the Comédie, and I myselfpropose to write Labaregue's critique of the performance. Do youtumble?" "It is a gallant action. Yes, I grasp the climax, but at present I donot perceive how the plot is to be constructed. " "Labaregue's notices are dispatched by messenger, " began Pitou. "From the Café de l'Europe, " added Tricotrin. "So much I know, " said Lajeunie. "I shall attack the messenger, and make a slight exchange ofmanuscripts, " Tricotrin went on. "A blunder!" proclaimed Lajeunie; "you show a lack of invention. Now beguided by me, because I am a novelist and I understand these things. The messenger is an escaped convict, and you say to him, 'I know yoursecret. You do my bidding, or you go back to the galleys; I shall giveyou three minutes to decide!' You stand before him, stern, dominant, inexorable--your watch in your hand. " "It is at the pawn-shop. " "Well, well, of course it is; since when have you joined the realists?Somebody else's watch--or a clock. Are there no clocks in Paris? Yousay, 'I shall give you until the clock strikes the hour. ' That is evenmore literary--you obtain the solemn note of the clock to mark thecrisis. " "But there is no convict, " demurred Tricotrin; "there are clocks, butthere is no convict. " "No convict? The messenger is not a convict?" "Not at all--he is an apple-cheeked boy. " "Oh, it is a rotten plot, " said Lajeunie; "I shall not collaborate init!" "Consider!" cried Tricotrin; "do not throw away the chance of alifetime, think what I offer you--you shall hang about the end of adark alley, and whistle if anybody comes. How literary again is that!You may develop it into a novel that will make you celebrated. Pitouwill be at the other end. I and the apple-cheeked boy who is to die--that is to say, to be duped--will occupy the centre of the stage--Imean the middle of the alley. And on the morrow, when all Paris ringswith the fame of Claudine Hilairet, I, who adore her, shall have wonher heart!" "Humph, " said Lajeunie. "Well, since the synopsis has a happy ending, Iconsent. But I make one condition--I must wear a crêpe mask. Without acrêpe mask I perceive no thrill in my rôle. " "Madness!" objected Pitou. "Now listen to _me_--I am serious-minded, and do not commit follies, like you fellows. Crêpe masks are not beingworn this season. Believe me, if you loiter at a street corner with acrêpe mask on, some passer-by will regard you, he may even wonder whatyou are doing there. It might ruin the whole job. " "Pitou is right, " announced Tricotrin, after profound consideration. "Well, then, " said Lajeunie, "_you_ must wear a crêpe mask! Put iton when you attack the boy. I have always had a passion for crêpemasks, and this is the first opportunity that I find to gratify it. Iinsist that somebody wears a crêpe mask, or I wash my hands of theconspiracy. " "Agreed! In the alley it will do no harm; indeed it will prevent theboy identifying me. Good, on Thursday night then! In the meantime weshall rehearse the crime assiduously, and you and Pitou can practiseyour whistles. " With what diligence did the poet write each day now! How lovingly heselected his superlatives! Never in the history of the Press had suchardent care been lavished on a criticism--truly it was not untilThursday afternoon that he was satisfied that he could do no more. Heput the pages in his pocket, and, too impatient even to be hungry, roamed about the quartier, reciting to himself the most hyperbolic ofhis periods. And dusk gathered over Paris, and the lights sprang out, and the tensehours crept away. It was precisely half-past eleven when the three conspirators arrivedat the doors of the Comédie Moderne, and lingered near by until theaudience poured forth. Labaregue was among the first to appear. Hepaused on the steps to take a cigarette, and stepped briskly into thenoise and glitter of the Boulevard. The young men followed, exchangingfeverish glances. Soon the glow of the Café de l'Europe was visible. The critic entered, made a sign to a waiter, and seated himself gravelyat a table. Many persons gazed at him with interest. To those who did not know, habitués whispered, "There is Labaregue--see, he comes to write hiscriticism on the revival of _La Curieuse_!" Labaregue affectedunconsciousness of all this, but secretly he lapped it up. Occasionallyhe passed his hand across his brow with a gesture profoundlyintellectual. Few there remarked that at brief intervals three shabby young menstrolled in, who betrayed no knowledge of one another, and merelycalled for bocks. None suspected that these humble customers plotted toconsign the celebrity's criticism to the flames. Without a sign of recognition, taciturn and impassive, the three youngmen waited, their eyes bent upon the critic's movements. By-and-by Labaregue thrust his "copy" into an envelope that wasprovided. Some moments afterwards one of the young men asked anotherwaiter for the materials to write a letter. The paper he crumpled inhis pocket; in the envelope he placed the forged critique. A quarter of an hour passed. Then a youth of about sixteen hurried inand made his way to Labaregue's table. At this instant Lajeunie roseand left. As the youth received the "copy, " Tricotrin also saunteredout. When the youth again reached the door, it was just swinging behindPitou. The conspirators were now in the right order--Lajeunie pressingforward, Tricotrin keeping pace with the boy, Pitou a few yards in therear. The boy proceeded swiftly. It was late, and even the Boulevard showedfew pedestrians now; in the side streets the quietude was unbroken. Tricotrin whipped on his mask at the opening of the passage. When themessenger was half-way through it, the attack was made suddenly, withdetermination. "Fat one, " exclaimed the poet, "I starve--give me five francs!" "_Comment?_" stammered the youth, jumping; "I haven't five francs, I!" "Give me all you have--empty your pockets, let me see! If you obey, Ishall not harm you; if you resist, you are a dead boy!" The youth produced, with trepidation, a sou, half a cigarette, a pieceof string, a murderous clasp knife, a young lady's photograph, andLabaregue's notice. The next moment the exchange of manuscripts hadbeen deftly accomplished. "Devil take your rubbish, " cried the apache; "I want none of it--there!Be off, or I shall shoot you for wasting my time. " The whole affair had occupied less than a minute; and the threeadventurers skipped to Montmartre rejoicing. And how glorious was their jubilation in the hour when they opened_La Voix_ and read Tricotrin's pronouncement over the initials"J. L. "! There it was, printed word for word--the leading lady wasdismissed with a line, the ingénue received a sneer, and for the rest, the column was a panegyric of the waiting-maid! The triumph of thewaiting-maid was unprecedented and supreme. Certainly, when Labareguesaw the paper, he flung round to the office furious. But _La Voix_ did not desire people to know that it had been takenin; so the matter was hushed up, and Labaregue went about pretendingthat he actually thought all those fine things of the waiting-maid. The only misfortune was that when Tricotrin called victoriously uponClaudine, to clasp her in his arms, he found her in hysterics on thesofa--and it transpired that she had not represented the waiting-maidafter all. On the contrary, she had at the last moment been promoted tothe part of the ingénue, while the waiting-maid had been played by alittle actress whom she much disliked. "It is cruel, it is monstrous, it is heartrending!" gasped Tricotrin, when he grasped the enormity of his failure; "but, light of my life, why should you blame _me_ for this villainy of Labaregue's?" "I do not know, " she said; "however, you bore me, you and your'influence with the Press. ' Get out!" THE DOLL IN THE PINK SILK DRESS How can I write the fourth Act with this ridiculous thing posed amongmy papers? What thing? It is a doll in a pink silk dress--an elaboratedoll that walks, and talks, and warbles snatches from the operas. Aterrible lot it cost! Why does an old dramatist keep a doll on hisstudy table? I do not keep it there. It came in a box from theBoulevard an hour ago, and I took it from its wrappings to admire itsaccomplishments again--and ever since it has been reminding me thatwomen are strange beings. Yes, women are strange, and this toy sets me thinking of one woman inparticular: that woman who sued, supplicated for my help, and then, when she had all my interest--Confound the doll; here is the incident, just as it happened! It happened when all Paris flocked to see my plays and "Paul deVarenne" was a name to conjure with. Fashions change. To-day I am alittle out of the running, perhaps; younger men have shot forward. Inthose days I was still supreme, I was master of the Stage. Listen! It was a spring morning, and I was lolling at my study window, scenting the lilac in the air. Maximin, my secretary, came in and said: "Mademoiselle Jeanne Laurent asks if she can see you, monsieur. " "Who is mademoiselle Jeanne Laurent?" I inquired. "She is an actress begging for an engagement, monsieur. " "I regret that I am exceedingly busy. Tell her to write. " "The lady has already written a thousand times, " he mentioned, going. "'Jeanne Laurent' has been one of the most constant contributors to ourwaste-paper basket. " "Then tell her that I regret I can do nothing for her. Mon Dieu! is itimagined that I have no other occupation than to interview nonentities?By the way, how is it you have bothered me about her, why this unusualembassy? I suppose she is pretty, hein?" "Yes, monsieur. " "And young?" "Yes, monsieur. " I wavered. Let us say my sympathy was stirred. But perhaps the lilacwas responsible--lilac and a pretty girl seem to me a naturalcombination, like coffee and a cigarette. "Send her in!" I said. I sat at the table and picked up a pen. "Monsieur de Varenne--" She paused nervously on the threshold. Maximin was a fool, she was not "pretty"; she was either plain, orbeautiful. To my mind, she had beauty, and if she hadn't been anactress come to pester me for a part I should have foreseen a verypleasant quarter of an hour. "I can spare you only a moment, mademoiselle, " I said, ruffling blank paper. "It is most kind of you to spare me that. " I liked her voice too. "Be seated, " I said more graciously. "Monsieur, I have come to implore you to do something for me. I ambreaking my heart in the profession for want of a helping hand. Willyou be generous and give me a chance?" "My dear mademoiselle--er--Laurent, " I said, "I sympathise with yourdifficulties, and I thoroughly understand them, but I have noengagement to offer you--I am not a manager. " She smiled bitterly. "You are de Varenne--a word from you would 'make'me!" I was wondering what her age was. About eight-and-twenty, I thought, but alternately she looked much younger and much older. "You exaggerate my influence--like every other artist that I consent tosee. Hundreds have sat in that chair and cried that I could 'make'them. It is all bosh. Be reasonable! I cannot 'make' anybody. " "You could cast me for a part in Paris. You are 'not a manager, ' butany manager will engage a woman that you recommend. Oh, I know thathundreds appeal to you, I know that I am only one of a crowd; but, monsieur, think what it means to me! Without help, I shall go onknocking at the stage doors of Paris and never get inside; I shall goon writing to the Paris managers and never get an answer. Without helpI shall go on eating my heart out in the provinces till I am old andtired and done for!" Her earnestness touched me. I had heard the same tale so often that Iwas sick of hearing it, but this woman's earnestness touched me. If Ihad had a small part vacant, I would have tried her in it. "Again, " I said, "as a dramatist I fully understand the difficulties ofan actress's career; but you, as an actress, do not understand adramatist's. There is no piece of mine going into rehearsal now, therefore I have no opening for you, myself; and it is impossible forme to write to a manager or a brother author, advising him toentrust a part, even the humblest, to a lady of whose capabilities Iknow nothing. " "I am not applying for a humble part, " she answered quietly. "Hein?" "My line is lead. " I stared at her pale face, speechless; the audacity of the reply tookmy breath away. "You are mad, " I said, rising. "I sound so to you, monsieur?" "Stark, staring mad. You bewail that you are at the foot of the ladder, and at the same instant you stipulate that I shall lift you at a boundto the top. Either you are a lunatic, or you are an amateur. " She, too, rose--resigned to her dismissal, it seemed. Then, suddenly, with a gesture that was a veritable abandonment of despair, shelaughed. "That's it, I am an amateur!" she rejoined passionately. "I will tellyou the kind of 'amateur' I am, monsieur de Varenne! I was learning mybusiness in a fit-up when I was six years old--yes, I was playing partson the road when happier children were playing games in nurseries. Iwas thrust on for lead when I was a gawk of fifteen, and had to wrestlewith half a dozen roles in a week, and was beaten if I failed to makemy points. I have supered to stars, not to earn the few francs I gotby it, for by that time the fit-ups paid me better, but that I mightobserve, and improve my method. I have waited in the rain, for hours, at the doors of the milliners and modistes, that I might note how greatladies stepped from their carriages and spoke to their footmen--and whenI snatched a lesson from their aristocratic tones I was in heaven, thoughmy feet ached and the rain soaked my wretched clothes. I have played goodwomen and bad women, beggars and queens, ingénues and hags. I was bornand bred on the stage, have suffered and starved on it. It is my life andmy destiny. " She sobbed. "An 'amateur'!" I could not let her go like that. She interested me strongly; somehow Ibelieved in her. I strode to and fro, considering. "Sit down again, " I said. "I will do this for you: I will go to thecountry to see your performance. When is your next show?" "I have nothing in view. " "Bigre! Well, the next time you are playing, write to me. " "You will have forgotten all about me, " she urged feverishly, "or yourinterest will have faded, or Fate will prevent your coming. " "Why do you say so?" "Something tells me. You will help me now, or you will never help me--my chance is to-day! Monsieur, I entreat you--" "To-day I can do nothing at all, because I have not seen you act. " "I could recite to you. " "Zut!" "I could rehearse on trial. " "And if you made a mess of it? A nice fool I should look, afterfighting to get you in!" A servant interrupted us to tell me that my old friend de Lavardens wasdownstairs. And now I did a foolish thing. When I intimated tomademoiselle Jeanne Laurent that our interview must conclude, shebegged so hard to be allowed to speak to me again after my visitorwent, that I consented to her waiting. Why? I had already said all thatI had to say, and infinitely more than I had contemplated. Perhaps sheimpressed me more powerfully than I realised; perhaps it was sheercompassion, for she had an invincible instinct that if I sent her awayat this juncture, she would never hear from me any more. I had hershown into the next room, and received General de Lavardens in thestudy. Since his retirement from the Army, de Lavardens had lived in hischateau at St. Wandrille, in the neighbourhood of Caudebec-en-Caux, andwe had met infrequently of late. But we had been at college together; Ihad entered on my military service in the same regiment as he; and wehad once been comrades. I was glad to see him. "How are you, my dear fellow? I didn't know you were in Paris. " "I have been here twenty-four hours, " he said. "I have looked you up atthe first opportunity. Now am I a nuisance? Be frank! I told theservant that if you were at work you weren't to be disturbed. Don'thumbug about it; if I am in the way, say so!" "You are not in the way a bit, " I declared. "Put your hat and canedown. What's the news? How is Georges?" "Georges" was Captain de Lavardens, his son, a young man with goodlooks, and brains, an officer for whom people predicted a brilliantfuture. "Georges is all right, " he said hesitatingly. "He is dining with meto-night. I want you to come, too, if you can. Are you free?" "To-night? Yes, certainly; I shall be delighted. " "That was one of the reasons I came round--to ask you to join us. " Heglanced towards the table again. "Are you sure you are not in a hurryto get back to that?" "Have a cigar, and don't be a fool. What have you got to say foryourself? Why are you on the spree here?" "I came up to see Georges, " he said. "As a matter of fact, my dearchap, I am devilish worried. " "Not about Georges?" I asked, surprised. He grunted. "About Georges. " "Really? I'm very sorry. " "Yes. I wanted to talk to you about it. You may be able to give me atip. Georges--the boy I hoped so much for"--his gruff voice quivered--"is infatuated with an actress. " "Georges?" "What do you say to that?" "Are you certain it is true?" "True? He makes no secret of it. That isn't all. The idiot wants tomarry her!" "Georges wants to marry an actress?" "Voilà!" "My dear old friend!" I stammered. "Isn't it amazing? One thinks one knows the character of one's own son, hein? And then, suddenly, a boy--a boy? A man! Georges will soon bethirty--a man one is proud of, who is distinguishing himself in hisprofession, he loses his head about some creature of the theatre andproposes to mar his whole career. " "As for that, it might not mar it, " I said. "We are not in England, in France gentlemen do not choose their wivesfrom the stage! I can speak freely to you; you move among these peoplebecause your writing has taken you among them, but you are not of theirbreed, " "Have you reasoned with him?" "Reasoned? Yes. " "What did he say?" "Prepare to be amused. He said that 'unfortunately, the lady did notlove him'!" "What? Then there is no danger?" "Do you mean to say that it takes you in? You may be sure her'reluctance' is policy, she thinks it wise to disguise her eagerness tohook him. He told me plainly that he would not rest till he had wonher. It is a nice position! The honour of the family is safe only tillthis adventuress consents, _consents_ to accept his hand! What canI do? I can retard the marriage by refusing my permission, but I cannotprevent it, if he summons me.... Of course, if I could arrange matterswith her, I would do it like a shot--at any price!" "Who is she?" "A nobody; he tells me she is quite obscure, I don't suppose you haveever heard of her. But I thought you might make inquiries for me, thatyou might ascertain whether she is the sort of woman we could settlewith?" "I will do all I can, you may depend. Where is she--in Paris?" "Yes, just now. " "What's her name?" "Jeanne Laurent. " My mouth fell open: "Hein?" "Do you know her?" "She is there!" "What?" "In the next room. She just called on business. " "Mon Dieu! That's queer!" "It's lucky. It was the first time I had ever met her. " "What's she like?" "Have you never seen her? You shall do so in a minute. She came to begme to advance her professionally, she wants my help. This ought to saveyou some money, my friend. We'll have her in! I shall tell her who youare. " "How shall I talk to her?" "Leave it to me. " I crossed the landing, and opened the salon door. The room was litteredwith the illustrated journals, but she was not diverting herself withany of them--she was sitting before a copy of _La Joconde_, striving to reproduce on her own face the enigma of the smile: I haddiscovered an actress who never missed an opportunity. "Please come here. " She followed me back, and my friend stood scowling at her. "This gentleman is General de Lavardens, " I said. She bowed--slightly, perfectly. That bow acknowledged de Lavardens'presence, and rebuked the manner of my introduction, with all thedignity of the patricians whom she had studied in the rain. "Mademoiselle, when my servant announced that the General wasdownstairs you heard the name. You did not tell me that you knew hisson. " "Dame, non, monsieur!" she murmured. "And when you implored me to assist you, you did not tell me that youaspired to a marriage that would compel you to leave the stage. I neverwaste my influence. Good-morning!" "I do not aspire to the marriage, " she faltered, pale as death. "Rubbish, I know all about it. Of course, it is your aim to marry himsooner or later, and of course he will make it a condition that youcease to act. Well, I have no time to help a woman who is playing thefool! That's all about it. I needn't detain you. " "I have refused to marry him, " she gasped. "On my honour! You can askhim. It is a fact. " "But you see him still, " broke in de Lavardens wrathfully; "he is withyou every day! That is a fact, too, isn't it? If your refusal issincere, why are you not consistent? why do you want him at your side?" "Because, monsieur, " she answered, "I am weak enough to miss him whenhe goes. " "Ah! you admit it. You profess to be in love with him?" "No, monsieur, " she dissented thoughtfully, "I am not in love with him--and my refusal has been quite sincere, incredible as it may seem thata woman like myself rejects a man like him. I could never make amarriage that would mean death to my ambition. I could not sacrifice myart--the stage is too dear to me for that. So it is evident that I amnot in love with him, for when a woman loves, the man is dearer to herthan all else. " De Lavardens grunted. I knew his grunts: there was some apology in thisone. "The position is not fair to my son, " he demurred. "You show good sensein what you say--you are an artist, you are quite right to devoteyourself to your career; but you reject and encourage him at the sametime. If he married you it would be disastrous--to you, and to him; youwould ruin his life, and spoil your own. Enfin, give him a chance toforget you! Send him away. What do you want to keep seeing him for?" She sighed. "It is wrong of me, I own!" "It is highly unnatural, " said I. "No, monsieur; it is far from being unnatural, and I will tell you why--he is the only man I have ever known, in all my vagabond life, whorealised that a struggling actress might have the soul of agentlewoman. Before I met him, I had never heard a man speak to me withcourtesy, excepting on the stage; I had never known a man to take myhand respectfully when he was not performing behind the footlights.... I met him first in the country; I was playing the Queen in _RuyBlas_, and the manager brought him to me in the wings. In everythinghe said and did he was different from others. We were friends formonths before he told me that he loved me. His friendship has been thegift of God, to brighten my miserable lot. Never to see him any morewould be awful to me!" I perceived that if she was not in love with him she was so dangerouslynear to it that a trifle might turn the scale. De Lavardens had thesame thought. His glance at me was apprehensive. "However, you acknowledge that you are behaving badly!" I exclaimed. "It is all right for _you_, friendship is enough for you, and youpursue your career. But for _him_, it is different; he seeks yourlove, and he neglects his duties. For him to spend his life sighing foryou would be monstrous, and for him to marry you would be fatal. If youlike him so much, be just to him, set him free! Tell him that he is notto visit you any more. " "He does not visit me; he has never been inside my lodging. " "Well, that he is not to write there--that there are to be no moredinners, drives, bouquets!" "And I do not let him squander money on me. I am not that kind ofwoman. " "We do not accuse you, mademoiselle. On the contrary, we appeal to yourgood heart. Be considerate, be brave! Say good-bye to him!" "You are asking me to suffer cruelly, " she moaned. "It is for your friend's benefit. Also, the more you suffer, the betteryou will act. Every actress should suffer. " "Monsieur, I have served my apprenticeship to pain. " "There are other things than friendship--you have your prospects tothink about. " "What prospects?" she flashed back. "Well, I cannot speak definitely to-day, as you know; but you would notfind me unappreciative. " De Lavardens grunted again--emotionally, this time. I checked him witha frown. "What use would it be for me to refuse to see him?" she objectedchokily. "When I am playing anywhere, _he_ can always see_me_. I cannot kill his love by denying myself his companionship. Besides, he would not accept the dismissal. One night, when I left thetheatre, I should find him waiting there again. " This was unpalatably true. "If a clever woman desires to dismiss a man, she can dismiss himthoroughly, especially a clever actress, " I said. "You could talk tohim in such a fashion that he would have no wish to meet you again. Such things have been done. " "What? You want me to teach him to despise me?" "Much better if he did!" "To turn his esteem to scorn, hein?" "It would be a generous action. " "To falsify and degrade myself?" "For your hero's good!" "I will not do it!" she flamed. "You demand too much. What have_you_ done for _me_ that I should sacrifice myself to pleaseyou? I entreat your help, and you give me empty phrases; I cry that Idespair this morning, and you answer that by-and-by, some time, in thevague future, you will remember that I exist. I shall not do this foryou--I keep my friend!" "Your rhetoric has no weight with me, " I said. "I do not pretend that Ihave a claim on you. In such circumstances a noble woman would take thecourse I suggest, not for my sake, not for the sake of General deLavardens, but for the sake of the man himself. You will 'keep yourfriend'? Bien! But you will do so because you are indifferent to hiswelfare and too selfish to release him. " She covered her face. There were tears on it. The General and Iexchanged glances again. I went on: "You charge me with giving you only empty phrases. That is undeserved. I said all that was possible, and I meant what I said. I could notpledge myself to put you into anything without knowing what you arecapable of doing; but, if you retain my good will, I repeat that I willattend your next performance. " "And then?" she queried. "Then--if I think well of it--you shall have a good part. " "Lead?" "Bigre! I cannot say that. A good part, in Paris!" "It is a promise?" "Emphatically--if I think well of your performance. " "Of my next--the very next part I play?" "Of the very next part you play. " She paused, reflecting. The pause lasted so long that it began to seemto my suspense as if none of us would ever speak again. I took acigarette, and offered the box, in silence, to de Lavardens. He shookhis head without turning it to me, his gaze was riveted on the woman. "All right, " she groaned, "I agree!" "Ah! good girl!" "All you require is that Captain de Lavardens shall no longer seek mefor his wife. Is that it?" "That's it. " "Very well. I know what would repel him--it shall be done to-night. But you, gentlemen, will have to make the opportunity for me; you willhave to bring him to my place--both of you. You can find some reasonfor proposing it? Tonight at nine o'clock. He knows the address. " She moved weakly to the door. De Lavardens took three strides and grasped her hands. "Mademoiselle, "he stuttered, "I have no words to speak my gratitude. I am a father, and I love my son, but--mon Dieu! if--if things had been different, upon my soul, I should have been proud to call you my daughter-in-law!" Oh, how she could bow, that woman--the eloquence of her ill-fed form! "Au revoir, gentlemen, " she said. Phew! We dropped into chairs. "Paul, " he grunted at me, "we have been a pair of brutes!" "I know it. But you feel much relieved?" "I feel another man. What is she going to say to him? I wish it wereover. _I_ should find it devilish difficult to propose going tosee her, you know! It will have to be _your_ suggestion. Andsupposing he won't take us?" "He will take us right enough, " I declared, "and rejoice at the chance. Hourra! hourra! hourra!" I sprang up and clapped him on the back. "Myfriend, if that woman had thrown herself away on Georges it might havebeen a national calamity. " "What?" he roared, purpling. "Oh, no slight to Georges! I think--I think--I am afraid to say what Ithink, I am afraid to think it!" I paced the room, struggling tocontrol myself. "Only, once in a blue moon, Jules, there is a womanborn of the People with a gift that is a blessing, and a curse--and hergenius makes an epoch, and her name makes theatrical history. And if alover of the stage like me discovers such a woman, you stodgy oldsoldier, and blazes her genius in his work, he feels like Cheops, Chephrenus, and Asychis rearing the Pyramids for immortality!" My excitement startled him. "You believe she is a genius? Really?" "I dare not believe, " I panted. "I refuse to let myself believe, for Ihave never seen blue moons. But--but--I wonder!" We dined at Voisin's. It had been arranged that he should make someallusion to the courtship; and I said to Georges, "I hope you don'tmind your father having mentioned the subject to me--we are oldfriends, you know?" The topic was led up to very easily. It wasapparent that Georges thought the world of her. I admired the way hespoke. It was quiet and earnest. As I feigned partial sympathy with hismatrimonial hopes, I own that I felt a Judas. "I, too, am an artist, " I said. "To me social distinctions naturallyseem somewhat less important than they do to your father. " "Indeed, monsieur, " he answered gravely, "mademoiselle Laurent isworthy of homage. If she were willing to accept me, every man who knewher character would think me fortunate. Her education has not qualifiedher to debate with professors, and she has no knowledge of societysmall-talk, but she is intelligent, and refined, and good. " It was child's play. A sudden notion, over the liqueurs: "Take us tosee her! Come along, mon ami!" Astonishment (amateurish); persuasion(masterly); Georges's diffidence to intrude, but his obvious delight atthe thought of the favourable impression she would create. He had"never called there yet--it would be very unconventional at such anhour?" "Zut, among artists! My card will be a passport, I assure you. "Poor fellow, the trap made short work of him! At half-past eight wewere all rattling to the left bank in a cab. The cab stopped before a dilapidated house in an unsavoury street. Iknew that the aspect of her home went to his heart. "MademoiselleLaurent has won no prize in her profession, " he observed, "and she isan honest girl. " Well said! In the dim passage a neglected child directed us to the fourth floor. On the fourth floor a slattern, who replied at last to our persistenttapping, told us shortly that mademoiselle was out. I realised that wehad committed the error of being before our time; and the woman, evidently unprepared for our visit, did not suggest our going in. Itseemed bad stage-management. "Will it be long before mademoiselle is back?" I inquired, annoyed. "Mais non. " "We will wait, " I said, and we were admitted sulkily to a room, ofwhich the conspicuous features were a malodorous lamp, and a brandy-bottle. I had taken the old drab for a landlady rather the worse forliquor, but, more amiably, she remarked now: "It's a pity Jeanne didn'tknow you were coming. " At the familiar "Jeanne" I saw Georges start. "Mademoiselle is a friend of yours?" I asked, dismayed. "A friend? She is my daughter. " She sat down. By design the girl was out! The thought flashed on me. It flashed on methat she had plotted for her lover to learn what a mother-in-law hewould have. The revelation must appal him. I stole a look--his face wasblanched. The General drew a deep breath, and nodded to himself. Thenod said plainly, "He is saved. Thank God!" "Will you take a little drop while you are waiting, gentlemen?" "Nothing for us, thank you. " She drank alone, and seemed to forget that we were present. None of usspoke. I began to wonder if we need remain. Then, drinking, she grewgarrulous. It was of Jeanne she talked. She gave us her maternal views, and incidentally betrayed infamies of her own career. I am a man of theworld, but I shuddered at that woman. The suitor who could have riskedmaking her child his wife would have been demented, or sublime. Andwhile she maundered on, gulping from her glass, and chuckling at herjests, the ghastliness of it was that, in the gutter face before us, Icould trace a likeness to Jeanne; I think Georges must have traced it, too. The menace of heredity was horrible. We were listening to Jeannewrecked, Jeanne thirty years older--Jeanne as she might become! Ciel! To choose a bride with this blood in her--a bride from the dregs! "Let us go, Georges, " I murmured. "Courage! You will forget her. We'llbe off. " He was livid. I saw that he could bear no more. But the creature overheard, and in those bleary eyes intelligenceawoke. "What? Hold on!" she stammered. "Is one of you the toff that wants tomarry her? Ah!... I've been letting on finely, haven't I? It was aplant, was it? You've come here ferreting and spying?" She turnedtowards me in a fury: "You!" Certainly I had made a comment from time to time, but I could not seewhy she should single me out for her attack. She lurched towards mesavagely. Her face was thrust into mine. And then, so low that only Icould hear, and like another woman, she breathed a question: "Can I act?" Jeanne herself! Every nerve in me jumped. The next instant she was backin her part, railing at Georges. I took a card from my case, and scribbled six words. "When your daughter comes in, give her that!" I said. I had scribbled:"I write you a star rôle!" She gathered the message at a glance, and I swear that the morosenessof her gaze was not lightened by so much as a gleam. She wasrepresenting a character; the actress sustained the character evenwhile she read words that were to raise her from privation to renown. "Not that I care if I _have_ queered her chance, " she snarled. "Agood job, too, the selfish cat! I've got nothing to thank her for. Serve her right if you do give her the go-by, my Jackanapes, _I_don't blame you!" "Madame Laurent, " Georges answered sternly, and his answer vibratedthrough the room, "I have never admired, pitied, or loved Jeanne somuch as now that I know that she has been--motherless. " All three of us stood stone-still. The first to move was she. I sawwhat was going to happen. She burst out crying. "It's I, Jeanne!--I love you! I thought I loved the theatre best--I waswrong. " Instinctively she let my card fall to the ground. "Forgive me--I did it for your sake, too. It was cruel, I am ashamed. Oh, my own, ifmy love will not disgrace you, take me for your wife! In all the worldthere is no woman who will love you better--in all my heart there is noroom for anything but you!" They were in each other's arms. De Lavardens, whom the proclamation ofidentity had electrified, dragged me outside. The big fool wasblubbering with sentiment. "This is frightful, " he grunted. "Atrocious!" said I. "But she is a woman in a million. " "She is a great actress, " I said reverently. "I could never approve the marriage, " he faltered. "What do you think?" "Out of the question! I have no sympathy with either of them. " "You humbug! Why, there is a tear running down your nose!" "There are two running down yours, " I snapped; "a General should knowbetter. " And why has the doll in the pink silk dress recalled this to me? Well, you see, to-morrow will be New Year's Day and the doll is a gift for mygodchild--and the name of my godchild's mother is "Jeanne deLavardens. " Oh, I have nothing to say against her as a mother, thechildren idolise her! I admit that she has conquered the General, andthat Georges is the proudest husband in France. But when I think of theparts I could have written for her, of the lustre the stage has lost, when I reflect that, just to be divinely happy, the woman deliberatelydeclined a worldwide fame--Morbleu! I can never forgive her for it, never--the darling! THE LAST EFFECT Jean Bourjac was old and lazy. Why should he work any more? In hislittle cottage he was content enough. If the place was not preciselygay, could he not reach Paris for a small sum? And if he had noneighbours to chat with across the wall, weren't there his flowers totend in the garden? Occasionally--because one cannot shake off theinterests of a lifetime--he indulged in an evening at the Folies-Bergère, or Olympia, curious to witness some Illusion that had made ahit. At such times old Bourjac would chuckle and wag his head sagely, for hesaw no Illusions now to compare with those invented by himself when hewas in the business. And there were many persons who admitted that he had been supreme inhis line. At the Folies-Bergère he was often recognised and addressedas "Maître. " One summer evening, when old Bourjac sat reading _Le Journal_, Margot, the housekeeper, who had grown deaf and ancient in his service, announced a stranger. She was a girl with a delicate oval face, and eyes like an angel's. "Monsieur Bourjac, " she began, as if reciting a speech that she hadstudied, "I have come out here to beg a favour of you. I thirst for acareer behind the footlights. Alas! I cannot sing, or dance, or act. There is only one chance for me--to possess an Illusion that shall takeParis by storm. I am told that there is nothing produced to-day fit tohold a candle to the former 'Miracles Bourjac. ' Will you help me? Willyou design for me the most wonderful Illusion of your life?" "Mademoiselle, " said Bourjac, with a shrug, "I have retired. " "I implore you!" she urged. "But I have not finished; I am poor, I amemployed at a milliner's, I could not pay down a single franc. My offeris a share of my salary as a star. I am mad for the stage. It is notthe money that I crave for, but the applause. I would not grudge youeven half my salary! Oh, monsieur, it is in your power to lift me fromdespair into paradise. Say you consent. " Bourjac mused. Her offer was very funny; if she had been of theordinary type, he would have sent her packing, with a few commercialhome-truths. Excitement had brought a flush to the oval face, herglorious eyes awoke in him emotions which he had believed extinct. Shewas so captivating that he cast about him for phrases to prolong theinterview. Though he could not agree, he didn't want her to go yet. And when she did rise at last, he murmured, "Well, well, see me againand we will talk about it. I have no wish to be hard, you understand. " Her name was Laure. She was in love with a conjurer, a common, flashyfellow, who gave his mediocre exhibitions of legerdemain at such placesas Le Jardin Extérieur, and had recently come to lodge at her mother's. She aspired to marry him, but did not dare to expect it. Her homage wasvery palpable, and monsieur Eugéne Legrand, who had no matrimonialintentions, would often wish that the old woman did not keep such asharp eye upon her. Needless to say, Bourjac's semi-promise sent her home enraptured. Shehad gone to him on impulse, without giving her courage time to takeflight; now, in looking back, she wondered at her audacity, and thatshe had gained so much as she had. "I have no wish to be hard, " he hadsaid. Oh, the old rascal admired her hugely! If she coaxed enough, hewould end by giving in. What thumping luck! She determined to call uponhim again on Sunday, and to look her best. Bourjac, however, did not succumb on Sunday. Fascinating as he foundher, he squirmed at the prospect of the task demanded of him. Hisworkshop in the garden had been closed so long that rats had begun toregard it as their playroom; the more he contemplated resuming hisprofession, the less inclined he felt to do it. She paid him many visits and he became deeply infatuated with her; yethe continued to maintain that he was past such an undertaking--that shehad applied to him too late. Then, one day, after she had flown into a passion, and wept, and beenmollified, he said hesitatingly: "I confess that an idea for an Illusion has occurred to me, but I donot pledge myself to execute it. I should call it 'A Life. ' An emptycabinet is examined; it is supported by four columns--there is no stagetrap, no obscurity, no black velvet curtain concealed in the dark, toscreen the operations; the cabinet is raised high above the ground, andthe lights are full up. You understand?" Some of the inventor'senthusiasm had crept into his voice. "You understand?" "Go on, " she said, holding her breath. "Listen. The door of the cabinet is slammed, and in letters of firethere appears on it, 'Scene I. ' Instantly it flies open again anddiscloses a baby. The baby moves, it wails--in fine, it is alive. Slam!Letters of fire, 'Scene II. ' Instantly the baby has vanished; in itsplace is a beautiful girl--you! You smile triumphantly at yourreflection in a mirror, your path is strewn with roses, the world is atyour feet. Slam! 'Scene III. ' In a moment twenty years have passed;your hair is grey, you are matronly, stout, your face is no longeroval; yet unmistakably it is you yourself, the same woman. Slam! 'SceneIV. ' You are enfeebled, a crone, toothless, tottering on a stick. Oncemore! It is the last effect--the door flies open and reveals askeleton. " "You can make this?" she questioned. "I could make it if I chose, " he answered. "Will you?" "It depends. " "On what?" "On you!" "Take any share you want, " she cried. "I will sign anything you like!After all, would not the success be due to you?" "So you begin to see that?" said the old man drily. "But, I repeat, itdepends! In spite of everything, you may think my terms too high. " "What do you want me to do?" she stammered. "Marry me!" said Bourjac. He did not inquire if she had any affection for him; he knew that ifshe said "Yes" it would be a lie. But he adored this girl, who, of atruth, had nothing but her beauty to recommend her, and he persuadedhimself that his devotion would evoke tenderness in her by degrees. Shefound the price high indeed. Not only was she young enough to be hisgranddaughter--she had given her fancy to another man. Immediately shecould not consent. When she took leave of him, it was understood thatshe would think the offer over; and she went home and let Legrand hearthat Bourjac had proposed for her hand. If, by any chance, the newspiqued Legrand into doing likewise--? But Legrand said nothing to the point. Though he was a little chagrinedby the intelligence, it never even entered his mind to attempt to cutthe inventor out. How should it? She was certainly an attractive girl, but as to marrying her--He thought Bourjac a fool. As for himself, ifhe married at all, it would be an artist who was drawing a big salaryand who would be able to provide him with some of the good things oflife. "I pray you will be very happy, mademoiselle, " he said, puttingon a sentimental air. So, after she had cried with mortification, Laure promised to be oldBourjac's wife. A few weeks later they were married; and in that lonely little cottageshe would have been bored to death but for the tawdry future that sheforesaw. The man's dream of awakening her tenderness was speedilydispelled; he had been accepted as the means to an end, and he was heldfast to the compact. She grudged him every hour in which he idled byher side. Driven from her arms by her impatience, old Bourjac wouldtoil patiently in the workroom: planning, failing--surmountingobstacles atom by atom, for the sake of a woman whose sole interest inhis existence was his progress with the Illusion that was to gratifyher vanity. He worshipped her still. If he had not worshipped her, he would sooneror later have renounced the scheme as impracticable; only his love forher supported him in the teeth of the impediments that arose. Of theseshe heard nothing. For one reason, her interest was so purely selfishthat she had not even wished to learn how the cabinet was to beconstructed. "All those figures gave her a headache, " she declared. Foranother, when early in the winter he had owned himself at a deadlock, she had sneered at him as a duffer who was unable to fulfil his boasts. Old Bourjac never forgot that--his reputation was very dear to him--hedid not speak to her of his difficulties again. But they often talked of the success she was to achieve. She liked togo into a corner of the parlour and rehearse the entrance that shewould make to acknowledge the applause. "It will be the great moment, "she would say, "when I reappear as myself and bow. " "No, it will be expected; that will not surprise anybody, " Bourjacwould insist. "The climax, the last effect, will be the skeleton!" It was the skeleton that caused him the most anxious thought of all. Inorder to compass it, he almost feared that he would be compelled tosacrifice one of the preceding scenes. The babe, the girl, the matron, the crone, for all these his mechanism provided; but the skeleton, the"last effect, " baffled his ingenuity. Laure began to think his tasketernal. Ever since the wedding, she had dilated proudly to her mother andLegrand on her approaching début, and it angered her that she couldnever say when the début was to be. Now that there need be no questionof his marrying her, Legrand's manner towards her had become moremarked. She went to the house often. One afternoon, when she rang, thedoor was opened by him; he explained that the old woman was outmarketing. Laure waited in the kitchen, and the conjurer sat on the table, talkingto her. "How goes the Illusion?" he asked. "Oh, big!" she said. "It's going to knock them, I can tell you!" Herlaugh was rather derisive. "It's a rum world; the shop-girl will becomean artist, with a show that draws all Paris. We expect to open at theFolies-Bergère. " She knew that Legrand could never aspire to anengagement at the Folies-Bergère as long as he lived. "I hope you will make a hit, " he said, understanding her resentmentperfectly. "You did not foresee me a star turn, hein?" He gave a shrug. "How could I foresee? If you had not married Bourjac, of course it would not have happened?" "I suppose not, " she murmured. She was sorry he realised that; shewould have liked him to feel that she might have had the Illusionanyhow, and been a woman worth his winning. "Indeed, " added Legrand pensively, rolling a cigarette, "you have donea great deal to obtain a success. It is not every girl who would go tosuch lengths. " "What?" She coloured indignantly. "I mean it is not every girl who would break the heart of a man wholoved her. " They looked in each other's eyes for a moment. Then she turned her headscornfully away. "Why do you talk rot to me? Do you take me for a kid?" He decided that a pained silence would be most effective. "If you cared about me, why didn't you say so?" she flashed, puttingthe very question he had hoped for. "Because my position prevented it, " he sighed. "I could not propose, apoor devil like me! Do I lodge in an attic from choice? But you are theonly woman I ever wanted for my wife. " After a pause, she said softly, "I never knew you cared. " "I shall never care for anybody else, " he answered. And then her mothercame in with the vegetables. It is easy to believe what one wishes, and she wished to believeLegrand's protestations. She began to pity herself profoundly, feelingthat she had thrown away the substance for the shadow. In thesentimentality to which she yielded, even the prospect of being a starturn failed to console her; and during the next few weeks she inventedreasons for visiting at her mother's more frequently than ever. After these visits, Legrand used to smirk to himself in his attic. Hereflected that the turn would, probably, earn a substantial salary fora long time to come. If he persuaded her to run away with him when theshow had been produced, it would be no bad stroke of business for him!Accordingly, in their conversations, he advised her to insist on theIllusion being her absolute property. "One can never tell what may occur, " he would say. "If the managersarranged with Bourjac, not with you, you would always be dependent onyour husband's whims for your engagements. " And, affectingunconsciousness of his real meaning, the woman would reply, "That'strue; yes, I suppose it would be best--yes, I shall have all theengagements made with _me_. " But by degrees even such pretences were dropped between them; theyspoke plainly. He had the audacity to declare that it tortured him tothink of her in old Bourjac's house--old Bourjac who plodded all day tominister to her caprice! She, no less shameless, acknowledged that herloneliness there was almost unendurable. So Legrand used to call uponher, to cheer her solitude, and while Bourjac laboured in the workroom, the lovers lolled in the parlour, and talked of the future they wouldenjoy together when his job was done. "See, monsieur--your luncheon!" mumbled Margot, carrying a tray intothe workroom on his busiest days. "And madame, has madame her luncheon?" shouted Bourjac. Margot was verydeaf indeed. "Madame entertains monsieur Legrand again, " returned the housekeeper, who was not blind as well. Bourjac understood the hint, and more than once he remonstrated withhis wife. But she looked in his eyes and laughed suspicion out of himfor the time: "Eugène was an old friend, whom she had known fromchildhood! Enfin, if Jean objected, she would certainly tell him not tocome so often. It was very ridiculous, however!" And afterwards she said to Legrand, "We must put up with him in themeanwhile; be patient, darling! We shall not have to worry about whathe thinks much longer. " Then, as if to incense her more, Bourjac was attacked by rheumatismbefore the winter finished; he could move only with the greatestdifficulty, and took to his bed. Day after day he lay there, and shefumed at the sight of him, passive under the blankets, while his workwas at a standstill. More than ever the dullness got on her nerves now, especially asLegrand had avoided the house altogether since the complaint about thefrequency of his visits. He was about to leave Paris to fulfil someengagements in the provinces. It occurred to her that it would be adelightful change to accompany him for a week. She had formerly had anaunt living in Rouen, and she told Bourjac that she had been invited tostay with her for a few days. Bourjac made no objection. Only, as she hummed gaily over her packing, he turned his old face to the wall to hide his tears. Her luggage was dispatched in advance, and by Legrand's counsel, it waslabelled at the last minute with an assumed name. If he could have doneso without appearing indifferent to her society, Legrand would havedissuaded her from indulging in the trip, for he had resolved now to bemost circumspect until the Illusion was inalienably her own. As it was, he took all the precautions possible. They would travel separately; hewas to depart in the evening, and Laure would follow by the next train. When she arrived, he would be awaiting her. With the removal of her trunk, her spirits rose higher still. But theday passed slowly. At dusk she sauntered about the sitting-room, wishing that it were time for her to start. She had not seen Legrandsince the previous afternoon, when they had met at a café to settle thefinal details. When the clock struck again, she reckoned that he mustbe nearly at his destination; perhaps he was there already, pacing theroom as she paced this one? She laughed. Not a tinge of remorsediscoloured the pleasure of her outlook--her "au revoir" to her husbandwas quite careless. The average woman who sins longs to tear out herconscience for marring moments which would otherwise be perfect. Thiswoman had absolutely no conscience. The shortest route to the station was by the garden gate; as she raisedthe latch, she was amazed to see Legrand hurriedly approaching. "Thank goodness, I have caught you!" he exclaimed--"I nearly went roundto the front. " "What has happened?" "Nothing serious; I am not going, that is all--they have changed mydate. The matter has been uncertain all day, or I would have let youknow earlier. It is lucky I was in time to prevent your starting. " She was dumb with disappointment. "It is a nuisance about your luggage, " he went on; "we must telegraphabout it. Don't look so down in the mouth--we shall have our trip nextweek instead. " "What am I to say to Jean--he will think it so strange? I have saidgood-bye to him. " "Oh, you can find an excuse--you 'missed your train. ' Come out for halfan hour, and we can talk. " His glance fell on the workroom. "Is thatfastened up?" "I don't know. Do you want to see what he has done?" "I may as well. " He had never had an opportunity before--Bourjac hadalways been in there. "No, it isn't locked, " she said; "come on then! Wait till I have shutit after us before you strike a match--Margot might see the light. " A rat darted across their feet as they lit the lamp, and he dropped thematchbox. "Ugh!" "The beastly things!" she shivered, "Make haste!" On the floor stood a cabinet that was not unlike a gloomy wardrobe inits outward aspect. Legrand examined it curiously. "Too massive, " he remarked. "It will cost a fortune for carriage--andwhere are the columns I heard of?" He stepped inside and sounded thewalls. "Humph, of course I see his idea. The fake is a very old one, but it is always effective. " Really, he knew nothing about it, but ashe was a conjurer, she accepted him as an authority. "Show me! Is there room for us both?" she said, getting in after him. And as she got in, the door slammed. Instantaneously they were in darkness, black as pitch, jammed closetogether. Their four hands flew all over the door at once, but theycould touch no handle. The next moment, some revolving apparatus thathad been set in motion, flung them off their feet. Round and round itswirled, striking against their bodies and their faces. They grovelledto escape it, but in that awful darkness their efforts were futile;they could not even see its shape. "Stop it!" she gasped. "I don't know how, " he panted. After a few seconds the whir grew fainter, the gyrations stoppedautomatically. She wiped the blood from her face, and burst intohysterical weeping. The man, cursing horribly, rapped to find thespring that she must have pressed as she entered. It seemed to themboth that there could be no spot he did not rap a thousand times, butthe door never budged. His curses ceased; he crouched by her, snorting with fear. "What shall we do?" she muttered. He did not answer her. "Eugène, let us stamp! Perhaps the spring is in the floor. " Still he paid no heed--he was husbanding his breath. When a minute hadpassed, she felt his chest distend, and a scream broke from him--"_Help!_" "Mon Dieu!" She clutched him, panic-stricken. "We mustn't be foundhere, it would ruin everything. Feel for the spring! Eugène, feel forthe spring, don't call!" "_Help!_" "Don't you understand? Jean will guess--it will be the end of my hopes, I shall have no career!" "I have myself to think about!" he whimpered. And pushing away herarms, he screamed again and again. But there was no one to hear him, noneighbours, no one passing in the fields--none but old Bourjac, anddeaf Margot, beyond earshot, in the house. The cabinet was, of course, ventilated, and the danger was, notsuffocation, but that they would be jammed here while they slowlystarved to death. Soon her terror of the fate grew all-powerful in thewoman, and, though she loathed him for having been the first to call, she, too, shrieked constantly for help now. By turns, Legrand wouldyell, distraught, and heave himself helplessly against the door--theywere so huddled that he could bring no force to bear upon it. In their black, pent prison, like a coffin on end the night held ahundred hours. The matchbox lay outside, where it had fallen, andthough they could hear his watch ticking in his pocket, they wereunable to look at it. After the watch stopped, they lost their sense oftime altogether; they disputed what day of the week it was. * * * * * Their voices had been worn to whispers now; they croaked for help. In the workroom, the rats missed the remains of old Bourjac'sluncheons; the rats squeaked ravenously.... As she strove to scream, with the voice that was barely audible, she felt that she could resignherself to death were she but alone. She could not stir a limb nor drawa breath apart from the man. She craved at last less ardently for lifethan for space--the relief of escaping, even for a single moment, fromthe oppression of contact. It became horrible, the contact, asrevolting as if she had never loved him. The ceaseless contact maddenedher. The quaking of his body, the clamminess of his flesh, the smell ofhis person, poisoning the darkness, seemed to her the eternities ofHell. * * * * * Bourjac lay awaiting his wife's return for more than a fortnight. Thenhe sent for her mother, and learnt that the "aunt in Rouen" had beenburied nearly three years. The old man was silent. "It is a coincidence, " added the visitor hesitatingly, "that monsieurLegrand has also disappeared. People are always ringing my bell toinquire where he is. " As soon as he was able to rise, Bourjac left for Paris; and, as theshortest route to the station was by the garden gate, he passed theworkroom on his way. He nodded, thinking of the time that he had wastedthere, but he did not go inside--he was too impatient to find Laure, and, incidentally, to shoot Legrand. Though his quest failed, he never went back to the cottage; he couldnot have borne to live in it now. He tried to let it, but the littlehouse was not everybody's money, and it stood empty for many years;indeed, before it was reoccupied Bourjac was dead and forgotten. When the new owners planned their renovations, they had the curiosityto open a mildewed cabinet in an outhouse, and uttered a cry of dismay. Not until then was the "last effect" attained; but there were twoskeletons, instead of one. AN INVITATION TO DINNER The creators of Eau d'Enfer invited designs for a poster calling theattention of the world to their liqueur's incomparable qualities. Itoccurred to Théodose Goujaud that this was a first-class opportunity todemonstrate his genius. For an article with such a glistening name it was obvious that a postermust be flamboyant--one could not advertise a "Water of Hell" by apicture of a village maiden plucking cowslips--and Goujaud passedwakeful nights devising a sketch worthy of the subject. He decided atlast upon a radiant brunette sharing a bottle of the liqueur with hisSatanic Majesty while she sat on his knee. But where was the girl to be found? Though his acquaintance with themodels of Paris was extensive, he could think of none with a face tosatisfy him. One girl's arms wreathed themselves before his mind, another girl's feet were desirable, but the face, which was of supremeimportance, eluded his most frenzied search. "Mon Dieu, " groaned Goujaud, "here I am projecting a poster that wouldconquer Paris, and my scheme is frustrated by the fact that Naturefails to produce women equal to the heights of my art! It is suchmisfortunes as this that support the Morgue. " "I recommend you to travel, " said Tricotrin; "a tour in the East mightyield your heart's desire. " "It's a valuable suggestion, " rejoined Goujaud; "I should like a coupleof new shirts also, but I lack the money to acquire them. " "Well, " said Tricotrin, "the Ball of the Willing Hand is nearer. Trythat!" Goujaud looked puzzled. "The Ball of the Willing Hand?" he repeated; "Ido not know any Ball of the Willing Hand. " "Is it possible?" cried the poet; "where do you live? Why, the WillingHand, my recluse, is the most fascinating resort in Paris. I have beenfamiliar with it for fully a week. It is a bal de barrière where thecriminal classes enjoy their brief leisure. Every Saturday night theyfrisk. The Cut-throats' Quadrille is a particularly sprightly measure, and the damsels there are often striking. " "And their escorts, too--if one of the willing hands planted a knife inmy back, there would be no sprightliness about _me!_" "In the interests of art one must submit to a little annoyance. Come, if you are conscientious I will introduce you to the place, and giveyou a few hints. For example, the company have a prejudice againstcollars, and, assuming for a moment that you possessed more than afranc, you would do well to leave the surplus at home. " Goujaud expanded his chest. "As a matter of fact, " he announced languidly, "I possess five hundredfrancs. " And so dignified was his air that Tricotrin came near tobelieving him. "You possess five hundred francs? You? How? No, such things do notoccur! Besides, you mentioned a moment since that you were short ofshirts. " "It is true that I am short of shirts, but, nevertheless, I have fivehundred francs in my pocket. It is like this. My father, who is notartistic, has always desired to see me renounce my profession and sinkto commerce. Well, I was at the point of yielding--man cannot live byhope alone, and my pictures were strangely unappreciated. Then, whileconsent trembled on my lips, up popped this Eau d'Enfer! I saw myopportunity, I recognised that, of all men in Paris, I was the bestqualified to execute the poster. You may divine the sequel? I addressedmy father with burning eloquence, I persuaded him to supply me with themeans to wield my brush for a few months longer. If my poster succeeds, I become a celebrity. If it fails, I become a pétrole merchant. Thissummer decides my fate. In the meanwhile I am a capitalist; but itwould be madness for me to purchase shirts, for I shall require everyson to support existence until the poster is acclaimed. " "You have a practical head!" exclaimed Tricotrin admiringly; "I foreseethat you will go far. Let us trust that the Willing Hand will prove theante-chamber to your immortality. " "I have no faith in your Willing Hand, " demurred the painter; "thecriminal classes are not keen on sitting for their portraits--theprocess has unpleasant associations to them. Think again! I can sparehalf an hour this morning. Evolve a further inspiration on thesubject!" "Do you imagine I have nothing to do but to provide you with a model?My time is fully occupied; I am engaged upon a mystical play, which isto be called _The Spinster's Prayer or the Goblin Child's Mother_, and take Paris by storm. A propos--yes, now I come to think of it, there is something in _Comoedia_ there that might suit you. " "My preserver!" returned Goujaud. "What is it?" Tricotrin picked the paper up and read: WANTED: A HUNDRED LADIES FOR THE STAGE. --Beauty more essential thantalent. No dilapidations need apply. _Agence_ Lavalette, rue Baba, Thursday, 12 to 5. "Mon Dieu! Now you are beginning to talk, " said Goujaud. "A hundred!One among them should be suitable, hein? But, all the same--" Hehesitated. "'Twelve to five'! It will be a shade monotonous standing ona doorstep from twelve to five, especially if the rain streams. " "Do you expect a Cleopatra to call at your attic, or to send an eightyhorse-power automobile, that you may cast your eye over her? Anyhow, there may be a café opposite; you can order a bock on the terrace, andmake it last. " "You are right. I shall go and inspect the spot at once. A hundredbeauties! I declare the advertisement might have been framed to meet mywants. How fortunate that you chanced to see it! To-morrow evening youshall hear the result--dine with me at the Bel Avenir at eight o'clock. For one occasion I undertake to go a buster, I should be lacking ingratitude if I neglected to stuff you to the brim. " "Oh, my dear chap!" said Tricotrin. "The invitation is a godsend, Ihave not viewed the inside of a restaurant for a week. While our palPitou is banqueting with his progenitors in Chartres, _I_ haveeven exhausted my influence with the fishmonger--I did not so much assee my way to a nocturnal herring in the garret. Mind you are not late. I shall come prepared to do justice to your hospitality, I promiseyou. " "Right, cocky!" said the artist. And he set forth, in high spirits, toinvestigate the rue Baba. He was gratified to discover a café in convenient proximity to theoffice. And twelve o'clock had not sounded next day when he took a seatat one of the little white-topped tables, his gaze bent attentivelyupon the agent's step. For the earliest arrival he had not long to wait. A dumpy girl with anenormous nose approached, swinging her _sac à main_. She cast acomplacent glance at the name on the door, opened the bag, whipped outa powder-puff, and vanished. "Morbleu!" thought the painter. "If she is a fair sample, I havesquandered the price of a bock!" He remained in a state of depressionfor two or three minutes, and then the girl reappeared, evidently in avery bad temper. "Ah!" he mused, rubbing his hands. "Monsieur Lavalette is plainly aperson of his word. No beauty, no engagement! This is going to be allright, Where is the next applicant? A sip to Venus!" Venus, however, did not irradiate the street yet. The second youngwoman was too short in the back, and at sight of her features he shookhis head despondently. "No good, my dear, " he said to himself. "Littleas you suspect it, there is a disappointment for you inside, word ofhonour! Within three minutes, I shall behold you again. " And, sure enough, she made her exit promptly, looking as angry as theother. "I am becoming a dramatic prophet!" soliloquised Goujaud; "if I hadnothing more vital to do, I might win drinks, betting on their chances, with the proprietor of the café. However, I grow impatient for the bevyof beauty--it is a long time on the road. " As if in obedience to his demand, girls now began to trip into the rueBaba so rapidly that he was kept busy regarding them. By twos, andthrees, and in quartettes they tripped--tall girls, little girls, plaingirls, pretty girls, girls shabby, and girls chic. But though many ofthem would have made agreeable partners at a dance, there was none whopossessed the necessary qualifications for The Girl on Satan's Knee. Herolled a cigarette, and blew a pessimistic puff. "Another day lost!"groaned Goujaud. "All is over, I feel it. Posterity will never praisemy poster, the clutch of Commerce is upon me--already the smell of thepétrole is in my nostrils!" And scarcely had he said it when his senses reeled. For, stepping from a cab, disdainfully, imperially, was his Ideal. Herhair, revealing the lobes of the daintiest ears that ever listened toconfessions of love, had the gleam of purple grapes. Her eyes were amystery, her mouth was a flower, her neck was an intoxication. Soviolently was the artist affected that, during several moments, heforgot his motive for being there. To be privileged merely tocontemplate her was an ecstasy. While he sat transfixed withadmiration, her dainty foot graced the agent's step, and she entered. Goujaud caught his breath, and rose. The cab had been discharged. Daredhe speak to her when she came out? It would be a different thingaltogether from speaking to the kind of girl that he had foreseen. Butto miss such a model for lack of nerve, that would be the regret of alifetime! Now the prospect of the poster overwhelmed him, and he feltthat he would risk any rebuff, commit any madness to induce her to"sit. " The estimate that he had, by this time, formed of monsieur Lavalette'staste convinced him that her return would not be yet. He sauntered toand fro, composing a preliminary and winning phrase. What was hissurprise, after a very few seconds, to see that she had come outalready, and was hastening away! He overtook her in a dozen strides, and with a bow that was eloquent ofhis homage, exclaimed: "Mademoiselle!" "Hein?" she said, turning. "Oh, it's all right--there are too manypeople there; I've changed my mind, I shan't wait. " He understood that she took him for a minion of the agent's, and hehesitated whether to correct her mistake immediately. However, candourseemed the better course. "I do not bring a message from monsieur Lavalette, mademoiselle, " heexplained. "No?" "No. " "What then?" "I have ventured to address you on my own account--on a matter of themost urgent importance. " "I have no small change, " she said curtly, making to pass. "Mademoiselle!" His outraged dignity was superb. "You mistake me firstfor an office-boy, and then for a beggar. I am a man of means, thoughmy costume may be unconventional. My name is Théodosc Goujaud. " Her bow intimated that the name was not significant; but her exquisiteeyes had softened at the reference to his means. "For weeks I have been seeking a face for a picture that I haveconceived, " he went on; "a face of such peculiar beauty that Idespaired of finding it! I had the joy to see you enter the agency, andI waited, trembling with the prayer that I might persuade you to cometo my aid. Mademoiselle, will you do me the honour to allow me toreproduce the magic of your features on my canvas? I entreat it of youin the sacred name of Art!" During this appeal, the lady's demeanour had softened more still. Afaint smile hovered on her lips; her gaze was half gratified, halfamused. "Oh, you're a painter?" she said; "you want me to sit to you for theSalon? I don't know, I'm sure. " "It is not precisely for the Salon, " he acknowledged. "But I amabsorbed by the scheme--it will be the crown of my career. I willexplain. It is a long story. If--if we could sit down?" "Where?" "There appears to be a café close to the agency, " said Goujaud timidly. "Oh!" She dismissed the café's pretensions with her eyebrows. "You are right, " he stammered. "Now that I look at it again, I see thatit is quite a common place. Well, will you permit me to walk a littleway with you?" "We will go to breakfast at Armenonville, if you like, " she saidgraciously, "where you can explain to me at your leisure. " It seemedto Goujaud that his heart dropped into his stomach and turned to acannon-ball there. Armenonville? What would such a breakfast cost?Perhaps a couple of louis? Never in his life had he contemplatedbreakfasting at Armenonville. She smiled, as if taking his consent for granted. Her loveliness andair of fashion confused him dreadfully. And if he made excuses, therewould be no poster! Oh, he must seize the chance at any price! "Oh course--I shall be enchanted, " he mumbled. And before he halfrealised that the unprecedented thing had happened they were rattlingaway, side by side in a fiacre. It was astounding, it was breathless, it was an episode out of a novel!But Goujaud felt too sick, in thinking of the appalling expense, toenjoy his sudden glory. Accustomed to a couple of louis providing mealsfor three weeks, he was stupefied by the imminence of scattering thesum in a brief half-hour. Even the cab fare weighed upon him; he notinfrequently envied the occupants of omnibuses. It was clear that the lady herself was no stranger to the restaurant. While he blinked bewildered on the threshold, she was referring to her"pet table, " and calling a waiter "Jules. " The menu was a freshembarrassment to the bohemian, but she, and the deferential waiter, relieved him of that speedily, and in five minutes an epicureanluncheon had been ordered, and he was gulping champagne. It revived his spirits. Since he had tumbled into the adventure of hislife, by all means let him savour the full flavour of it! Hiscompanion's smiles had become more frequent, her eyes were moretranscendental still. "How funnily things happen!" she remarked presently. "I had not theleast idea of calling on Lavalette when I got up this morning. If I hadnot had a tiff with somebody, and decided to go on the stage to spitehim, I should never have met you. " "Oh, you are not on the stage yet, then?" "No. But I have often thought about it, and the quarrel determined me. So I jumped into a cab, drove off, and then--well, there was such acrowd of girls there, and they looked so vulgar; I changed my mind. " "Can an angel quarrel?" demanded Goujaud sentimentally. "I cannotimagine you saying an angry word to anyone. " "Oh!" she laughed. "Can't I, though! I'm a regular demon when I'mcross. People shouldn't vex me. " "Certainly not, " he agreed. "And no one but a brute would do so. Besides, some women are attractive even in a rage. On the whole, Ithink I should like to see you in a rage with _me_, providingalways that you 'made it up' as nicely as I should wish. " "Do you fancy that I could?" she asked, looking at the table-cloth. "My head swims, in fancying!" Her laughter rippled again, and her fascination was so intense that thepoor fellow could scarcely taste a mouthful of his unique repast. "Talkto me, " she commanded, "sensibly I mean! Where do you live?" "I am living in the rue Ravignan. " "The rue Ravignan? Where is that?" "Montmartre. " "Oh, really?" She seemed chilled. "It is not a very nice quarter in thedaytime, is it?" "My studio suits me, " murmured Goujaud, perceiving his fall in heresteem. "For that reason I am reluctant to remove. An artist becomesvery much attached to his studio. And what do I care for fashion, I?You may judge by my coat!" "You're eccentric, aren't you?" "Hitherto I have lived only for Art. But now I begin to realise thatthere may be something more potent and absorbing still. " "What is that?" "Love!" added Goujaud, feeling himself the embodiment of all the heroesof romance. "Oh?" Her glance mocked, encouraged. "I am dying to hear about yourpicture, though! What is the subject?" "It is not exactly what you mean by a 'picture. '" He fiddled with hisglass. "It is, in fact, a poster that I project. " "A poster?" she exclaimed. "And you ask _me_ to--oh, no, Icouldn't possibly!" "Mademoiselle!" "I really don't think I could. A poster? Ah, no!" "To save me!" he implored. "Because my whole life depends on yourdecision!" "How can a poster matter so much to you? The proposal is absurd. " Sheregarded her pêche Melba with a frown. "If you think of becoming an actress, remember what a splendidadvertisement it would be!" he urged feverishly. "Oh, flûte!" But she had wavered at that. "All Paris would flock to your debut. They would go saying, 'Can she beas beautiful as her portrait?' And they would come back saying, 'She islovelier still!' Let me give you some more wine. " "No more; I'll have coffee, and a grand marnier--red. " "Doubtless the more expensive colour!" reflected Goujaud. But the timehad passed for dwelling on minor troubles. "Listen, " he resumed; "Ishall tell you my history. You will then realise to what an abyss ofdespair your refusal will plunge me--to what effulgent heights I may beraised by your consent. You cannot be marble! My father--" "Indeed, I am not marble, " she put in. "I am instinct with sensibility--it is my great weakness. " "So much the better. Be weak to _me_. My father--" "Oh, let us get out of this first!" she suggested, "You can talk to meas we drive. " And the attentive Jules presented the discreetly folded bill. For fully thirty seconds the Pavilion d'Armenonville swirled round theunfortunate painter so violently that he felt as if he were on aroundabout at a fair. He feared that the siren must hear the poundingof his heart. To think that he had dreaded paying two louis! Two louis?Why, it would have been a bagatelle! Speechlessly he laid a fortune onthe salver. With a culminating burst of recklessness he waved fourfrancs towards Jules, and remarked that that personage eyed the tipwith cold displeasure. "What a lucrative career, a waiter's!" moanedthe artist; "he turns up his nose at four francs!" Well, he had speculated too heavily to accept defeat now! Bracinghimself for the effort, Goujaud besought the lady's help with such aflood of blandishment during the drive that more than once she seemedat the point of yielding. Only one difficult detail had he withheld--that he wished to pose her on the knee of Mephistopheles--and topropitiate her further, before breaking the news, he stopped the cab ata florist's. She was so good-humoured and tractable after the florist had pillagedhim that he could scarcely be callous when she showed him that she hadsplit her glove. But, to this day, he protests that, until the glove-shophad been entered, it never occurred to him that it would benecessary to present her with more than one pair. As they came out--Goujaud moving beside her like a man in a trance--she gave a faintstart. "Mon Dieu!" she muttered. "There's my friend--he has seen us--I mustspeak to him, or he will think I am doing wrong. Wait a minute!" And adandy, with a monocle, was, indeed, casting very supercilious glancesat the painter. At eight o'clock that evening, monsieur Tricotrin, with a prodigiousappetite, sat in the Café du Bel Avenir, awaiting the arrival of hishost. When impatience was mastering him, there arrived, instead, apetit bleu. The impecunious poet took it from the proprietress, paling, and read: "I discovered my Ideal--she ruined, and then deserted me! To-morrowthere will be a painter the less, and a petrole merchant the more. Pardon my non-appearance--I am spending my last sous on this message. " "Monsieur will give his order now?" inquired the proprietress. "Er--thank you, I do not dine to-night, " said Tricotrin. THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS In the summer of the memorable year ----, but the date doesn't matter, Robichon and Quinquart both paid court to mademoiselle Brouette, Mademoiselle Brouette was a captivating actress, Robichon and Quinquartwere the most comic of comedians, and all three were members of theThéâtre Suprême. Robichon was such an idol of the public's that they used to laughbefore he uttered the first word of his rôle; and Quinquart was sovastly popular that his silence threw the audience into convulsions. Professional rivalry apart, the two were good friends, although theywere suitors for the same lady, and this was doubtless due to the factthat the lady favoured the robust Robichon no more than she favouredthe skinny Quinquart. She flirted with them equally, she approved themequally--and at last, when each of them had plagued her beyondendurance, she promised in a pet that she would marry the one that wasthe better actor. Tiens! Not a player on the stage, not a critic onthe Press could quite make up his mind which the better actor was. OnlySuzanne Brouette could have said anything so tantalising. "But how shall we decide the point, Suzanne?" stammered Robichonhelplessly. "Whose pronouncement will you accept?" "How can the question be settled?" queried Quinquart, dismayed. "Whoshall be the judge?" "Paris shall be the judge, " affirmed Suzanne. "We are the servants ofthe public--I will take the public's word!" Of course she was as pretty as a picture, or she couldn't have donethese things. Then poor Quinquart withdrew, plunged in reverie. So did Robichon. Quinquart reflected that she had been talking through her expensivehat. Robichon was of the same opinion. The public lauded them both, wasno less generous to one than to the other--to wait for the judgment ofParis appeared equivalent to postponing the matter _sine die_. Noway out presented itself to Quinquart. None occurred to Robichon. "Mon vieux, " said the latter, as they sat on the terrace of theirfavourite café a day or two before the annual vacation, "let us discussthis amicably. Have a cigarette! You are an actor, therefore youconsider yourself more talented than I. I, too, am an actor, thereforeI regard you as less gifted than myself. So much for our artisticstandpoints! But we are also men of the world, and it must be obviousto both of us that we might go on being funny until we reached ourdeath-beds without demonstrating the supremacy of either. Enfin, ouronly hope lies in versatility--the conqueror must distinguish himselfin a solemn part!" He viewed the other with complacence, for the quaintQuinquart had been designed for a droll by Nature. "Right!" said Quinquart. He contemplated his colleague withsatisfaction, for it was impossible to fancy the fat Robichon intragedy. "I perceive only one drawback to the plan, " continued Robichon, "theManagement will never consent to accord us a chance. Is it not alwaysso in the theatre? One succeeds in a certain line of business and onemust be resigned to play that line as long as one lives. If my earliestsuccess had been scored as a villain of melodrama, it would be believedthat I was competent to enact nothing but villains of melodrama; ithappened that I made a hit as a comedian, wherefore nobody will creditthat I am capable of anything but being comic. " "Same here!" concurred Quinquart. "Well, then, what do you propose?" Robichon mused. "Since we shall not be allowed to do ourselves justiceon the stage, we must find an opportunity off it!" "A private performance? Good! Yet, if it is a private performance, howis Paris to be the judge?" "Ah, " murmured Robichon, "that is certainly a stumbling-block. " They sipped their apéritifs moodily. Many heads were turned towards thelittle table where they sat. "There are Quinquart and Robichon, howamusing they always are!" said passers-by, little guessing the anxietyat the laughter-makers' hearts. "What's to be done?" sighed Quinquart at last. Robichon shrugged his fat shoulders, with a frown. Both were too absorbed to notice that, after a glance of recognition, one of the pedestrians had paused, and was still regarding themirresolutely. He was a tall, burly man, habited in rusty black, and thenext moment, as if finding courage, he stepped forward and spoke: "Gentlemen, I ask pardon for the liberty I take--impulse urges me toseek your professional advice! I am in a position to pay a moderatefee. Will you permit me to explain myself?" "Monsieur, " returned Robichon, "we are in deep consideration of ourlatest parts. We shall be pleased to give you our attention at someother time. " "Alas!" persisted the newcomer, "with me time presses. I, too, amconsidering my latest part--and it will be the only speaking part Ihave ever played, though I have been 'appearing' for twenty years. " "What? You have been a super for twenty years?" said Quinquart, with agrimace. "No, monsieur, " replied the stranger grimly. "I have been the publicexecutioner; and I am going to lecture on the horrors of the post Ihave resigned. " The two comedians stared at him aghast. Across the sunlit terraceseemed to have fallen the black shadow of the guillotine. "I am Jacques Roux, " the man went on, "I am 'trying it on the dog' atAppeville-sous-Bois next week, and I have what you gentlemen call'stage fright'--I, who never knew what nervousness meant before! Is itnot queer? As often as I rehearse walking on to the platform, I feelmyself to be all arms and legs--I don't know what to do with them. Formerly, I scarcely remembered my arms and legs; but, of course, myattention used to be engaged by the other fellow's head. Well, itstruck me that you might consent to give me a few hints in deportment. Probably one lesson would suffice. " "Sit down, " said Robichon. "Why did you abandon your officialposition?" "Because I awakened to the truth, " Roux answered. "I no longer agreewith capital punishment: it is a crime that should be abolished. " "The scruples of conscience, hein?" "That is it. " "Fine!" said Robichon. "What dramatic lines such a lecture mightcontain! And of what is it to consist?" "It is to consist of the history of my life--my youth, my poverty, myexperiences as Executioner, and my remorse. " "Magnificent!" said Robichon. "The spectres of your victims pursue youeven to the platform. Your voice fails you, your eyes start from yourhead in terror. You gasp for mercy--and imagination splashes youroutstretched hands with gore. The audience thrill, women swoon, strongmen are breathless with emotion. " Suddenly he smote the table with hisbig fist, and little Quinquart nearly fell off his chair, for hedivined the inspiration of his rival. "Listen!" cried Robichon, "areyou known at Appeville-sous-Bois?" "My name is known, yes. " "Bah! I mean are you known personally, have you acquaintances there?" "Oh, no. But why?" "There will be nobody to recognize you?" "It is very unlikely in such a place. " "What do you estimate that your profits will amount to?" "It is only a small hall, and the prices are very cheap. Perhaps twohundred and fifty francs. " "And you are nervous, you would like to postpone your début?" "I should not be sorry, I admit. But, again, why?" "I will tell you why--I offer you five hundred francs to let me takeyour place!" "Monsieur!" "Is it a bargain?" "I do not understand!" "I have a whim to figure in a solemn part. You can explain next daythat you missed your train--that you were ill, there are a dozenexplanations that can be made; you will not be supposed to know that Ipersonated you--the responsibility for that is mine. What do you say?" "It is worth double the money, " demurred the man. "Not a bit of it! All the Press will shout the story of my practicaljoke--Paris will be astounded that I, Robichon, lectured as JacquesRoux and curdled an audience's blood. Millions will speak of yourintended lecture tour who otherwise would never have heard of it. I amgiving you the grandest advertisement, and paying you for it, besides. Enfin, I will throw a deportment lesson in! Is it agreed?" "Agreed, monsieur!" said Roux. Oh, the trepidation of Quinquart! Who could eclipse Robichon if hisperformance of the part equalled his conception of it? At the theatrethat evening Quinquart followed Suzanne about the wings pathetically. He was garbed like a buffoon, but he felt like Romeo. The throng thatapplauded his capers were far from suspecting the romantic longingsunder his magenta wig. For the first time in his life he was thankfulthat the author hadn't given him more to do. And, oh, the excitement of Robichon! He was to put his powers to atremendous test, and if he made the effect that he anticipated he hadno fear of Quinquart's going one better. Suzanne, to whom he whisperedhis project proudly, announced an intention of being present to "seethe fun. " Quinquart also promised to be there. Robichon sat up allnight preparing his lecture. If you wish to know whether Suzanne rejoiced at the prospect of hiswinning her, history is not definite on the point; but some chroniclersassert that at this period she made more than usual of Quinquart, whohad developed a hump as big as the Panthéon. And they all went to Appeville-sous-Bois. Though no one in the town was likely to know the features of theExecutioner, it was to be remembered that people there might know theactor's, and Robichon had made up to resemble Roux as closely aspossible. Arriving at the humble hall, he was greeted by the lessee, heard that a "good house" was expected, and smoked a cigarette in theretiring-room while the audience assembled. At eight o'clock the lessee reappeared. "All is ready, monsieur Roux, " he said. Robichon rose. He saw Suzanne and Quinquart in the third row, and was tempted to winkat them. "Ladies and gentlemen--" All eyes were riveted on him as he began; even the voice of the"Executioner" exercised a morbid fascination over the crowd. The mennudged their neighbours appreciatively, and women gazed at him, halfhorrified, half charmed. The opening of his address was quiet enough--there was even a humorouselement in it, as he narrated imaginary experiences of his boyhood. People tittered, and then glanced at one another with an apologeticair, as if shocked at such a monster's daring to amuse them. Suzannewhispered to Quinquart: "Too cheerful; he hasn't struck the rightnote. " Quinquart whispered back gloomily: "Wait; he may be playing forthe contrast!" And Quinquart's assumption was correct. Gradually the cheerfulnessfaded from the speaker's voice, the humorous incidents were past. Gruesome, hideous, grew the anecdotes, The hall shivered. Necks werecraned, and white faces twitched suspensively. He dwelt on the agoniesof the Condemned, he recited crimes in detail, he mirrored the lastmoments before the blade fell. He shrieked his remorse, his laceratingremorse. "I am a murderer, " he sobbed; and in the hall one might haveheard a pin drop. There was no applause when he finished--that set the seal on hissuccess; he bowed and withdrew amid tense silence. Still none moved inthe hall, until, with a rush, the representatives of the Press spedforth to proclaim Jacques Roux an unparalleled sensation. The triumph of Robichon! How generous were the congratulations ofQuinquart, and how sweet the admiring tributes of Suzanne! And therewas another compliment to come--nothing less than a card from themarquis de Thevenin, requesting an interview at his home. "Ah!" exclaimed Robichon, enravished, "an invitation from a noble! Thatproves the effect I made, hein?" "Who may he be?" inquired Quinquart. "I never heard of the marquis deThevenin!" "It is immaterial whether you have heard of him, " replied Robichon. "Heis a marquis, and he desires to converse with me! It is an honour thatone must appreciate. I shall assuredly go. " And, being a bit of a snob, he sought a fiacre in high feather. The drive was short, and when the cab stopped he was distinctly takenaback to perceive the unpretentious aspect of the nobleman's abode. Itwas, indeed, nothing better than a lodging. A peasant admitted him, andthe room to which he was ushered boasted no warmer hospitality than acouple of candles and a decanter of wine. However, the sconces weremassive silver. Monsieur le marquis, he was informed, had been suddenlycompelled to summon his physician, and begged that monsieur Roux wouldallow him a few minutes' grace. Robichon ardently admired the candlesticks, but began to think he mighthave supped more cozily with Suzanne. It was a long time before the door opened. The marquis de Thevenin was old--so old that he seemed to be falling topieces as he tottered forward. His skin was yellow and shrivelled, hismouth sunken, his hair sparse and grey; and from this weird face peeredstrange eyes--the eyes of a fanatic. "Monsieur, I owe you many apologies for my delay, " he wheezed. "Myunaccustomed exertion this evening fatigued me, and on my return fromthe hall I found it necessary to see my doctor. Your lecture waswonderful, monsieur Roux--most interesting and instructive; I shallnever forget it. " Robichon bowed his acknowledgments. "Sit down, monsieur Roux, do not stand! Let me offer you some wine. Iam forbidden to touch it myself. I am a poor host, but my age must bemy excuse. " "To be the guest of monsieur le marquis, " murmured Robichon, "is aprivilege, an honour, which--er--" "Ah, " sighed the Marquis. "I shall very soon be in the Republic whereall men are really equals and the only masters are the worms. My reasonfor requesting you to come was to speak of your unfortunateexperiences--of a certain unfortunate experience in particular. Youreferred in your lecture to the execution of one called 'VictorLesueur. ' He died game, hein?" "As plucky a soul as I ever dispatched!" said Robichon, savouring theburgundy. "Ah! Not a tremor? He strode to the guillotine like a man?" "Like a hero!" said Robichon, who knew nothing about him. "That was fine, " said the Marquis; "that was as it should be! You havenever known a prisoner to die more bravely?" There was a note of pridein his voice that was unmistakable. "I shall always recall his courage with respect, " declared Robichon, mystified. "Did you respect it at the time?" "Pardon, monsieur le marquis?" "I inquire if you respected it at the time; did you spare him allneedless suffering?" "There is no suffering, " said Robichon. "So swift is the knife that--"The host made a gesture of impatience. "I refer to mental suffering. Cannot you realise the emotions of an innocent man condemned to ashameful death!" "Innocent! As for that, they all say that they are innocent. " "I do not doubt it. Victor, however, spoke the truth. I know it. He wasmy son. " "Your son?" faltered Robichon, aghast. "My only son--the only soul I loved on earth. Yes; he was innocent, monsieur Roux. And it was you who butchered him--he died by yourhands. " "I--I was but the instrument of the law, " stammered Robichon. "I wasnot responsible for his fate, myself. " "You have given a masterly lecture, monsieur Roux, " said the Marquismusingly; "I find myself in agreement with all that you said in it--you are his murderer, ' I hope the wine is to your taste, monsieur Roux?Do not spare it!" "The wine?" gasped the actor. He started to his feet, trembling--heunderstood. "It is poisoned, " said the old man calmly, "In an hour you will bedead. " "Great Heavens!" moaned Robichon. Already he was conscious of a strangesensation--his blood was chilled, his limbs were weighted, there wereshadows before his eyes. "Ah, I have no fear of you!" continued the other; "I am feeble, I couldnot defend myself; but your violence would avail you nothing. Fight, orfaint, as you please--you are doomed. " For some seconds they stared at each other dumbly--the actor paralysedby terror, the host wearing the smile of a lunatic. And then the"lunatic" slowly peeled court-plaster from his teeth, and removedfeatures, and lifted a wig. * * * * * And when the whole story was published, a delighted Paris awarded thepalm to Quinquart without a dissentient voice, for while Robichon hadduped an audience, Quinquart had duped Robichon himself. Robichon bought the silver candlesticks, which had been hired for theoccasion, and he presented them to Quinquart and Suzanne on theirwedding-day. THE FAIRY POODLE They were called the "Two Children" because they were so unpractical;even in bohemia, where practicality is the last virtue to flourish, their improvidence was surprising; but really they were not children atall--they had been married for three years, though to watch theirbilling and cooing, you would have supposed them to be bride andbridegroom. Julian and Juliette had fallen in love and run to the Mairie asjoyously as if chateaubriands were to be gathered from the boughs inthe Jardin des Buttes-Chaumont; and since then their home had been thestudio under the slates, where they were often penniless. Indeed, if ithad not been for the intermittent mercies of madame Cochard, theconcierge, they would have starved under the slates. However, they weresure that the pictures which Julien painted would some day make himcelebrated, and that the fairy-tales which Juliette weaved would someday be as famous as Hans Andersen's. So they laughed, and painted andscribbled, and spent their money on bonbons, instead of saving it forbread; and when they had no dinner, they would kiss each other, and say"There is a good time coming, " And they were called the "Two Children, "as you know. But even the patience of madame Cochard was taxed when Juliette broughtback the poodle. She found him--a strayed, muddy, unhappy little poodle--in the rue deRivoli one wet afternoon in November, and what more natural than thatshe should immediately bear him home, and propose to give him a bath, and adopt him? It was the most natural thing in the world, since shewas Juliette, yet this madame Cochard, who objected to a dog on herstairs as violently as if it were a tiger, was furious. "Is it not enough, " she cried, "that you are the worst tenants in thehouse, you two--that you are always behindhand with your rent, and thatI must fill your mouths out of my own purse? Is a concierge an Angelfrom Heaven, do you think, that you expect her to provide also for lostdogs?" "Dear, kind madame Cochard, " cooed Juliette, "you will learn to lovethe little creature as if it were your own child! See how trustfully heregards you!" "It is a fact, " added Julien; "he seems to take to her already! It isastonishing how quickly a dog recognises a good heart. " "Good heart, or not, " exclaimed the concierge, "it is to be understoodthat I do not consent to this outrage. The poodle shall not remain!" "Be discreet, " urged Juliette. "I entreat you to be discreet, for yourown sake; if you must have the whole truth, he is a fairy poodle!" "What do you say?" ejaculated madame Cochard. "He is a fairy poodle, and if we treat him ungenerously, we shallsuffer. Remember the history of the Lodgers, the Concierge, and thePug!" "I have never heard of such a history, " returned madame Cochard; "and Ido not believe that there ever was one. " "She has never heard the history of the Lodgers, the Concierge, and thePug!" cried Juliette. "Oh, then listen, madame! Once upon a time therewere two lodgers, a young man and his wife, and they were so poor thatoften they depended on the tenderness of the concierge to supply themwith a dinner. " "Did they also throw away their good money on bonbons and flowers?"asked madame Cochard, trying her utmost to look severe. "It is possible, " admitted Juliette, who was perched on the table, withthe dirty little animal in her lap, "for though they are our hero andheroine, I cannot pretend that they were very wise. Well, thisconcierge, who suffered badly from lumbago and stairs, had sometimes abit of temper, so you may figure yourself what a fuss she raised whenthe poor lodgers brought home a friendless pug to add to theirembarrassments. However--" "There is no 'however, '" persisted madame Cochard; "she raises a fuss, and that is all about it!" "Pardon, dear madame, " put in Julien, "you confuse the cases; we arenow concerned with the veracious history of the pug, not the uncertainfuture of the poodle. " "Quite so, " said Juliette. "She raised a terrible fuss and declaredthat the pug should go, but finally she melted to it and made itwelcome. And then, what do you suppose happened? Why, it turned out tobe an enchanted prince, who rewarded them all with wealth andhappiness. The young man's pictures were immediately accepted by theSalon--did I mention that he was an artist? The young woman's stories--did I tell you that she wrote stories?--became so much the fashion thather head swam with joy; and the concierge--the dear, kind concierge--was changed into a beautiful princess, and never had to walk up anystairs again as long as she lived. Thus we see that one should neverforbid lodgers to adopt a dog!" "Thus we see that they do well to call you a pair of 'children, '"replied madame Cochard, "that is what we see! Well, well, keep the dog, since you are so much bent on it; only I warn you that if it gives metrouble, it will be sausages in no time! I advise you to wash itwithout delay, for a more deplorable little beast I never saw. " Julien and Juliette set to work with delight, and after he was bathedand dry, the alteration in the dog was quite astonishing. Although hedid not precisely turn into a prince, he turned into a poodle of themost fashionable aspect. Obviously an aristocrat among poodles, apoodle of high estate. The metamorphosis was so striking that a newfear assailed his rescuers, the fear that it might be dishonest of themto retain him--probably some great lady was disconsolate at his loss! Sure enough! A few days later, when Sanquereau called upon them, hesaid: "By the way, did I not hear that you had found a poodle, my children?Doubtless it is the poodle for which they advertise. See!" And heproduced a copy of a journal in which "a handsome reward" was promisedfor the restoration of an animal which resembled their protégé to atuft. The description was too accurate for the Children to deceivethemselves, and that afternoon Juliette carried the dog to amagnificent house which was nothing less than the residence of thecomtesse de Grand Ecusson. She was left standing in a noble hall while a flunkey bore the dogaway. Then another flunkey bade her follow him upstairs; and in a salonwhich was finer than anything that Juliette had ever met with outsidethe pages of a novel, the Countess was reclining on a couch with thepoodle in her arms. "I am so grateful to you for the recovery of my darling, " said thegreat lady; "my distress has been insupportable. Ah, naughty, naughtyRacine!" She made a pretence of chastising the poodle on the nose. "I can understand it, madame, " said Juliette, much embarrassed. "Where did you find him? And has he been well fed, well taken care of?I hope he has not been sleeping in a draught?" "Oh, indeed, madame, he has been nourished like a beloved child. Doubtless, not so delicately as with madame, but--" "It was most kind of you, " said the lady. "I count myself blessed thatmy little Racine fell into such good hands. Now as to the reward, whatsum would you think sufficient?" Juliette looked shy. "I thank you, madame, but we could not acceptanything, " she faltered. "What?" exclaimed the Countess, raising her eyebrows in surprise, "youcannot accept anything? How is that?" "Well, " said Juliette, "it would be base to accept money for a simpleact of honesty. It is true that we did not wish to part with the dog--we had grown to love him--but, as to our receiving payment for givinghim up, that is impossible. " The Countess laughed merrily. "What a funny child you are! And, who are'we'--you and your parents?" "Oh no, " said Juliette; "my parents are in Heaven, madame; but I ammarried. " "Your husband must be in heaven, too!" said the Countess, who was acharming woman. "Ah, " demurred Juliette, "but although I have a warm heart, I have alsoa healthy appetite, and he is not rich; he is a painter. " "I must go to see his pictures some day, " replied the comtesse de GrandEcusson. "Give me the address--and believe that I am extremely gratefulto you!" It need not be said that Juliette skipped home on air after thisinterview. The hint of such patronage opened the gates of paradise toher, and the prospect was equally dazzling to Julien. For fully a weekthey talked of nothing but a visit from the comtesse de Grand Ecusson, having no suspicion that fine ladies often forgot their pretty promisesas quickly as they made them. And the week, and a fortnight, and a month passed, and at last theexpectation faded; they ceased to indulge their fancies of a carriage-and-pair dashing into the street with a Lady Bountiful. And what wasmuch more serious, madame Cochard ceased to indulge their follies. Thetruth was that she had never pardoned the girl for refusing to acceptthe proffered reward; the delicacy that prompted the refusal was beyondher comprehension, and now that the pair were in arrears with theirrent again, she put no bridle on her tongue. "It appears to me that itwould have been more honourable to accept money for a poodle than toowe money to a landlord, " she grunted. "It must be perfectly understoodthat if the sum is not forthcoming on the first of January, you willhave to get out. I have received my instructions, and I shall obeythem. On the first day of January, my children, you pay, or you go! Lebon Dieu alone knows what will become of you, but that is no affair ofmine. I expect you will die like the babes in the wood, for you are nomore fit to make a living than a cow is fit to fly. " "Dear madame Cochard, " they answered, peacefully, "why distressyourself about us? The first of January is more than a week distant; ina week we may sell a picture, or some fairy tales--in a week manythings may happen!" And they sunned themselves on the boulevard thesame afternoon with as much serenity as if they had been millionaires. Nevertheless, they did not sell a picture or some fairy tales in theweek that followed--and the first of January dawned with relentlesspunctuality, as we all remember. In the early morning, when madame Cochard made her ascent to the attic--her arms folded inexorably, the glare of a creditor in her eye--shefound that Juliette had already been out. (If you can believe me, shehad been out to waste her last two francs on an absurd tie for Julien!) "Eh bien, " demanded the concierge sternly, "where is your husband? I amhere, as arranged, for the rent; no doubt he has it ready on themantelpiece for me?" "He is not in, " answered Juliette coaxingly, "and I am sorry to say wehave had disappointments. The fact is there is something wrong with theconstruction of a story of which I had immense hopes--it needs lettingout at the waist, and a tuck put in at the hem. When I have made thealterations, I am sure it will fit some journal elegantly. " "All this passes forbearance!" exclaimed madame Cochard. "Well, youhave thoroughly understood, and all is said--you will vacate yourlodging by evening! So much grace I give you; but at six o'clock youdepart promptly, or you will be ejected! And do not reckon on me tosend any meal up here during the day, for you will not get so much as acrust. What is it that you have been buying there?" "It is a little gift for Julien; I rose early to choose it before hewoke, and surprise him; but when I returned he was out. " "A gift?" cried the concierge. "You have no money to buy food, and youbuy a gift for your husband! What for?" "What for?" repeated Juliette wonderingly. "Why, because it is NewYear's Day! And that reminds me--I wish you the compliments of theseason, madame; may you enjoy many happy years!" "Kind words pay no bills, " snapped the concierge. "I have been lenientfar too long--I have my own reputation to consider with the landlord. By six o'clock, bear in mind!" And then, to complete her resentment, what should happen but that Julien entered bearing a bouquet! To see Julien present Juliette with the roses, and to watch Julietteenchant Julien with the preposterous tie, was as charming a littlecomedy of improvidence as you would be likely to meet with in alifetime. "Mon Dieu!" gasped madame Cochard, purple with indignation, "it is, indeed, well that you are leaving here, monsieur--a madhouse is thefitting address for you! You have nothing to eat and you buy roses foryour wife! What for?" "What for?" echoed Julien, astonished. "Why, because it is New Year'sDay! And I take the opportunity to wish you the compliments of theseason, madame--may your future be as bright as Juliette's eyes!" "By six o'clock!" reiterated the concierge, who was so exasperated thatshe could barely articulate. "By six o'clock you will be out of theplace!" And to relieve her feelings, she slammed the door with suchviolence that half a dozen canvases fell to the floor. "Well, this is a nice thing, " remarked Julien, when she had gone. "Itlooks to me, mignonne, as if we shall sleep in the Bois, with the moonfor an eiderdown. " "At least you shall have a comfy pillow, sweetheart, " cried Juliette, drawing his head to her breast. "My angel, there is none so soft in the Elysée, And as we have nothingfor déjeuner in the cupboard, I propose that we breakfast now onkisses. " "Ah, Julien!" whispered the girl, as she folded him in her arms. "Ah, Juliette!" It was as if they had been married that morning. "And yet, " continued the young man, releasing her at last, "to own thetruth, your kisses are not satisfying as a menu; they are the choicestof hors d'oeuvres--they leave one hungry for more. " They were still making love when Sanquereau burst in to wish them aHappy New Year. "How goes it, my children?" he cried. "You look like a honeymoon, Iswear! Am I in the way, or may I breakfast with you?" "You are not in the way, mon vieux, " returned Julien; "but I shall notinvite you to breakfast with me, because my repast consists ofJuliette's lips. " "Mon Dieu!" said Sanquereau. "So you are broke? Well, in my chequeredcareer I have breakfasted on much worse fare than yours. " At this reply, Juliette blushed with all the bashfulness of a bride, and Julien endeavoured to assume the air of a man of the world. "Tell me, " he said; "we are in difficulties about the rent--have you bychance a louis that you could lend me?" Sanquereau turned out his pockets, like the good fellow he was, but hecould produce no more than a sou. "What a bother!" he cried. "I wouldlend you a louis if I had it as readily as a cigarette-paper, but yousee how I am situated. On my honour, it rends my heart to have torefuse. " "You are a gallant comrade, " said Julien, much touched. "Come back andsup with us this evening, and we will open the New Year with afestivity!" "Hein? But there will be no supper, " faltered Juliette. "That's true, " said Julien; "there will be no supper--I was forgetting. Still--who knows? There is plenty of time; I shall have an idea. Perhaps I may be able to borrow something from Tricotrin. " "I shall be enchanted, " responded Sanquereau; "depend on my arrival! IfI am not mistaken, I recognize Tricotrin's voice on the stairs. " His ears had not deceived him; Tricotrin appeared with Pitou at thisvery moment. "Greeting, my children!" they cried. "How wags the world? May the NewYear bring you laurels and lucre!" "To you also, dear Gustave and Nicolas, " cried the Children. "May yourpoems and your music ignite the Seine, and may Sanquereau rise toeminence and make statues of you both!" "In the meantime, " added Sanquereau, "can either of you put your handson a few francs? There is a fine opening for them here. " "A difference of opinion exists between ourselves and the landlord, "Julien explained; "we consider that he should wait for his rent, and heholds a different view. If you could lend us fifteen francs, we mighteffect a compromise. " The poet and the composer displayed the lining of their pockets asfreely as the sculptor had done, but their capital proved to be a souless than his own. Tears sprang to their eyes as they confessed theirinability to be of use, "We are in despair, " they groaned. "My good, kind friends, " exclaimed Julien, "your sympathy is a noblegift in itself! Join us in a little supper this evening in celebrationof the date. " "We shall be delighted, " declared Tricotrin and Pitou. "But--but--" stammered Juliette again, "where is it to come from, thissupper--and where shall we be by supper-time?" "Well, our address is on the lap of the gods, " admitted Julien, "butwhile there is life there is hope. Possibly I may obtain a loan fromLajeunie. " Not many minutes had passed before Lajeunie also paid a visit to theattic, "Aha, " cried the unsuccessful novelist, as he perceived thecompany, "well met! My children, my brothers, may your rewards equalyour deserts this year--may France do honour to your genius!" "And may Lajeunie be crowned the New Balzac, " shouted the assembly;"may his abode be in the Champs Elysées, and his name in the mouth ofall the world!" But, extraordinary as it appears, Lajeunie proved to be as impecuniousas the rest there; and he was so much distressed that Julien, deeplymoved, said: "Come back to supper, Lajeunie, we will drink toasts to the Muses!" Andnow there were four guests invited to the impracticable supper, andwhen the Children were left alone they clapped their hands at theprospect. "How merry we shall be!" Julien exclaimed; "and awhile ago we talked ofpassing the night in the Bois! It only shows you that one can nevertell what an hour may bring forth. " "Yes, yes, " assented Juliette blithely. "And as for the supper--" "We shall not require it till nine o'clock at the earliest. " "And now it is no more than midday. Why, there is an eternity forthings to arrange themselves!" "Just so. The sky may rain truffles in such an interval, " said thepainter. And they drew their chairs closer to the fire, and pretendedto each other that they were not hungry. The hours crept past, and the sunshine waned, and snow began to flutterover Paris. But no truffles fell. By degrees the fire burnt low, anddied. To beg for more fuel was impossible, and Juliette shivered alittle. "You are cold, sweetheart, " sighed Julien. "I will fetch a blanket fromthe bed and wrap you in it. " "No, " she murmured, "wrap me in your arms--it will be better. " Darker and darker grew the garret, and faster and faster fell the snow. "I have a fancy, " said Juliette, breaking a long silence, "that it isthe hour in which a fairy should appear to us. Let us look to see ifshe is coming!" They peered from the window, but in the twilight no fairy was to bediscerned; only an "old clo'" man was visible, trudging on his round. "I declare, " cried Julien, "he is the next best thing to your fairy! Iwill sell my summer suit and my velvet jacket. What do I want of avelvet jacket? Coffee and eggs will be much more cheerful. " "And I, " vowed Juliette, "can spare my best hat easily--indeed, it isan encumbrance. If we make madame Cochard a small peace-offering shemay allow us to remain until the morning. " "What a grand idea! We shall provide ourselves with a night's shelterand the means to entertain our friends as well Hasten to collect ourwardrobe, mignonette, while I crack my throat to make him hear. Hé, hé!" At the repeated cries the "old clo'" man lifted his gaze to the fifth-floor window at last, and in a few minutes Julien and Juliette werekneeling on the boards above a pile of garments, which they raised oneby one for his inspection. "Regard, monsieur, " said Julien, "this elegant summer suit! It isalmost as good as new. I begin to hesitate to part with it. What shallwe say for this elegant summer suit?" The dealer fingered it disdainfully. "Show me boots, " he suggested; "wecan do business in boots. " "Alas!" replied Julien, "the only boots that I possess are on my feet. We will again admire the suit. What do you estimate it at--ten francs?" "Are you insane? are you a lunatic?" returned the dealer. "To areckless man it might be worth ten sous. Let us talk of boots!" "I cannot go barefoot, " expostulated Julien. "Juliette, my Heart, doyou happen to possess a second pair of boots?" Juliette shook her head forlornly. "But I have a hat with daisies init, " she said. "Observe, monsieur, the delicate tints of the buds! Howlike to nature, how exquisite they are! They make one dream ofcourtship in the woods. I will take five francs for it. " "From me I swear you will not take them!" said the "old clo'" man. "Boots, " he pleaded; "for the love of God, boots!" "Morbleu, what a passion for boots you have!" moaned the unhappypainter; "they obsess you, they warp your judgment. Can you think ofnothing in the world but boots? Look, we come to the gem of theexhibition--a velvet jacket! A jacket like this confers an air ofgreatness, one could not feel the pinch of poverty in such a jacket. Itis, I confess, a little white at the elbows, but such high lights arevery effective. And observe the texture--as soft as a darling's cheek!" The other turned it about with indifferent hands, and the Childrenbegan to realise that he would prove no substitute for a fairy afterall. Then, while they watched him with sinking hearts, the door wassuddenly opened, and the concierge tottered on the threshold. "Monsieur, madame!" she panted, with such respect that they stared ateach other. "Eh bien?" "A visitor!" She leant against the wall, overwhelmed. "Who is it?" "Madame, la comtesse de Grand Ecusson!" Actually! The Countess had kept her word after all, and now she rustledin, before the "old clo'" man could be banished. White as a virgincanvas, Julien staggered forward to receive her, a pair of trousers, which he was too agitated to remember, dangling under his arm. "Madame, this honour!" he stammered; and, making a piteous effort to disguisehis beggary, "One's wardrobe accumulates so that, really, in a smallménage, one has no room to--" "I have suffered from the inconvenience myself, monsieur, " said theCountess graciously. "Your charming wife was so kind as to invite me toview your work; and see--my little Racine has come to wish hispreservers a Happy New Year!" And, on the honour of an historian, he brought one! Before they leftshe had given a commission for his portrait at a thousand francs, andpurchased two landscapes, for which a thousand francs more would bepaid on the morrow. When Sanquereau, and Lajeunie, and Tricotrin, andPitou arrived, expecting the worst, they were amazed to discover theChildren waltzing round the attic to the music of their own voices. What _hurras_ rang out when the explanation was forthcoming; whatloans were promised to the guests, and what a gay quadrille was danced!It was not until the last figure had concluded that Julien and Julietterecognised that, although they would be wealthy in the morning, theywere still penniless that night. "Hélas! but we have no supper after all, " groaned Julien. "Pardon, it is here, monsieur!" shouted madame Cochard, who enteredbehind a kingly feast. "_Comment_, shall the artist honoured bymadame la comtesse de Grand Ecusson have no supper? Pot-au-feu, monsieur; leg of mutton, monsieur; little tarts, monsieur; dessert, monsieur; and for each person a bottle of good wine!" And the justice that was done to it, and the laughter that pealed underthe slates! The Children didn't forget that it was all due to the dog. Juliette raised her glass radiantly. "Gentlemen, " she cried, "I ask you to drink to the Fairy Poodle!" LITTLE-FLOWER-OF-THE-WOOD Janiaud used to lie abed all day, and drink absinthe all night. Whenhe contrived to write his poetry is a mystery. But he did write it, andhe might have written other things, too, if he had had the will. It wasoften said that his paramount duty was to publish a history of modernParis, for the man was an encyclopaedia of unsuspected facts. Since hecan never publish it now, however, I am free to tell the story of theCafé du Bon Vieux Temps as he told it to an English editor and me onenight on the terrace of the café itself. It befell thus: When we entered that shabby little Montmartre restaurant, Janiaudchanced to be seated, at a table in a corner, sipping his favouritestimulant. He was deplorably dirty and suggested a scarecrow, and theEnglish editor looked nervous when I offered an introduction. Still, Janiaud was Janiaud. The offer was accepted, and Janiaud discoursed inhis native tongue. At midnight the Editor ordered supper. Beingunfamiliar with the Café du Bon Vieux Temps in those days, I said thatI would drink beer. Janiaud smiled sardonically, and the waitersurprised us with the information that beer could not be supplied. "What?" "After midnight, nothing but champagne, " he answered. "Really? Well, let us go somewhere else, " I proposed. But the Editor would not hear of that. He had a princely soul, and, besides, he was "doing Paris. " "All the same, what does it mean?" he inquired of Janiaud. Janiaud blew smoke rings. "It is the rule. During the evening thebock-drinker is welcomed here as elsewhere; but at midnight--well, you willsee what you will see!" And we saw very soon. The bourgeoisie of Montmartre had straggled outwhile we talked, and in a little while the restaurant was crowded witha rackety crew who had driven up in cabs. Everybody but ourselves wasin evening-dress. Where the coppers had been counted carefully, goldwas scattered. A space was cleared for dancing, and mademoiselle NanJoliquette obliged the company with her latest comic song. The Editor was interested. "It is a queer change, though! Has it alwaysbeen like this?" "Ask Janiaud, " I said; _I_ don't know. " "Oh, not at all, " replied Janiaud; "no, indeed, it was not always likethis! It used to be as quiet at midnight as at any other hour. But itbecame celebrated as a supper-place; and now it is quite the thing forthe ardent spirits, with money, to come and kick up their heels hereuntil five in the morning. " "Curious, how such customs originate, " remarked the Editor. "Here wehave a restaurant which is out of the way, which is the reverse ofluxurious, and which, for all that, seems to be a gold mine to theproprietor. Look at him! Look at his white waistcoat and his massivewatch-chain, his air of prosperity. " "How did he come to rake it in like this, Janiaud--you knoweverything?" I said. The poet stroked his beard, and glanced at his empty glass. The Editorraised a bottle. "I cannot talk on Clicquot, " demurred Janiaud. "If you insist, I willtake another absinthe--they will allow it, in the circumstances. Sst, Adolphe!" The waiter whisked over to us. "Monsieur pays for champagne, but I prefer absinthe. There is no law against that, hein?" Adolphe smiled tolerantly. "Shall we sit outside?" suggested the Editor. "What do you think? It'sgetting rather riotous in here, isn't it?" So we moved on to the terrace, and waited while Janiaud prepared hispoison. "It is a coincidence that you have asked me for the history of the BonVieux Temps tonight, " he began, after a gulp; "if you had asked for ittwo days earlier, the climax would have been missing. The storycompleted itself yesterday, and I happened to be here and saw the end. "Listen: Dupont--the proprietor whom monsieur has just admired--used tobe chef to a family on the boulevard Haussmann. He had a very fairsalary, and probably he would have remained in the situation till nowbut for the fact that he fell in love with the parlourmaid. She was asprightly little flirt, with ambitions, and she accepted him only oncondition that they should withdraw from domestic service and start abusiness of their own. Dupont was of a cautious temperament; he wouldhave preferred that they should jog along with some family in thecapacities of chef and housekeeper. Still, he consented; and, with whatthey had saved between them, they took over this little restaurant--where monsieur the Editor has treated me with such regal magnificence. It was not they who christened it--it was called the Café du Bon VieuxTemps already; how it obtained its name is also very interesting, but Ihave always avoided digressions in my work--that is one of the firstprinciples of the literary art. " He swallowed some more absinthe. "They took the establishment over, and they conducted it on the linesof their predecessor--they provided a déjeuner at one franc fifty, anda dinner at two francs. These are side-shows of the Bon Vieux Temps to-day, but, in the period of which I speak, they were all that it had tosay for itself--they were its foundation-stone, and its cupola. When Ihad two francs to spare, I used to dine here myself. "Well, the profits were not dazzling. And after marriage the littleparlourmaid developed extravagant tastes. She had a passion fortheatres. I, Janiaud, have nothing to say against theatres, exceptingthat the managers have never put on my dramas, but in the wife of astruggling restaurateur a craze for playgoing is not to be encouraged. Monsieur will agree? Also, madame had a fondness for dress. She didlittle behind the counter but display new ribbons and trinkets. She wasvery stupid at giving change--and always made the mistake on the wrongside for Dupont. At last he had to employ a cousin of his own as dame-de-comptoir. The expenses had increased, and the returns remained thesame. In fine, Dupont was in difficulties; the Bon Vieux Temps was onits last legs. "Listen: There was at that time a dancer called 'Little-Flower-of-the-Wood'; she was very chic, very popular. She had her appartement in theavenue Wagram, she drove to the stage-doors in her coupé, herphotographs were sold like confetti at a carnival. Well, one afternoon, when Dupont's reflections were oscillating between the bankruptcy courtand the Morgue, he was stupefied to receive a message from her--shebade him reserve a table for herself and some friends for supper thatnight! "Dupont could scarcely credit his ears. He told his wife that apractical joker must be larking with him. He declared that he wouldtake no notice of the message, that he was not such an ass to be dupedby it. Finally, he proposed to telegraph to Little-Flower-of-the-Wood, inquiring if it was genuine. "Monsieur, as an editor, will have observed that a woman who isincapable in the daily affairs of life, may reveal astounding force inan emergency? It was so in this case. Madame put her foot down; sheshowed unsuspected commercial aptitude. She firmly forbade Dupont to doanything of the sort! "'What?' she exclaimed. 'You will telegraph to her, inquiring? Never inthis life! You might as well advise her frankly not to come. What wouldsuch a question mean? That you do not think the place is good enoughfor her! Well, if _you_ do not think so, neither will _she_--she will decide that she had a foolish impulse and stay away! "'Mon Dieu! do you dream that a woman accustomed to the Café de Pariswould choose to sup in an obscure little restaurant like ours?' saidDupont, fuming. 'Do you dream that I am going to buy partridges, andpeaches, and wines, and heaven knows what other delicacies, in thedark? Do you dream that I am going to ruin myself while every instinctin me protests? It would be the act of a madman!' "'My little cabbage, ' returned madame, 'we are so near to ruin as weare, that a step nearer is of small importance. If Little-Flower-of-the-Wood should come, it might be the turning-point in our fortunes--people would hear of it, the Bon Vieux Temps might become renowned. Yes, we shall buy partridges, and peaches--and bonbons, and flowersalso, and we shall hire a piano! And if our good angel should indeedsend her to us, I swear she shall pass as pleasant an evening as if shehad gone to Maxim's or the Abbaye! "Bien! She convinced him. For the rest of the day the place was in astate of frenzy. Never before had such a repast been seen in itskitchen, never before had he cooked with such loving care, even when hehad been preparing a dinner of ceremony on the boulevard Haussmann. Madame herself ran out to arrange for the piano. The floor was swept. The waiter was put into a clean shirt. Dupont shed tears of excitementin his saucepans. "He served the two-franc dinner that evening with eyes that watchednothing but the clock. All his consciousness now was absorbed by thequestion whether the dancer would come or not. The dinner passedsomehow--it is to be assumed that the customers grumbled, but in hissuspense Dupont regarded them with indifference. The hours crept by. Itwas a quarter to twelve--twelve o'clock. He trembled behind thecounter as if with ague. Now it was time that she was here! His facewas blanched, his teeth chattered in his head. What if he had beenhoaxed after all? Half-past twelve! The sweat ran down him. Terrorgripped his heart. A vision of all the partridges wasted convulsed hissoul. Hark! a carriage stopped. He tottered forward. The door opened--she had come! "Women are strange. Little-Flower-of-the-Wood, who yawned her prettyhead off at Armenonville, was enraptured with the Bon Vieux Temps. Therest of the party took their tone from her, and everything waspronounced 'fun, ' the coarse linen, the dirty ceiling, the admiringstares of the bock-drinkers. The lady herself declared that she had'never enjoyed a supper so much in her life, ' and the waiter--it wasnot Adolphe then--was dumfounded by a louis tip. "Figure yourself the exultation of madame! 'Ah, ' she chuckled, whenthey shut up shop at sunrise, 'what did I tell you, my little cabbage?'Monsieur, as an editor, will have observed that a woman who revealsastounding force in an emergency may triumph pettily when the emergencyis over? "'It remains to be seen whether they will come any more, however, ' saidDupont. 'Let us go to bed. Mon Dieu, how sleepy I am!' It was the firstoccasion that the Bon Vieux Temps had been open after two o'clock inthe morning. "It was the first occasion, and for some days they feared it might bethe last. But no, the dancer came again! A few eccentrics who came withher flattered themselves on having made a 'discovery. ' They boasted ofit. Gradually the name of the Bon Vieux Temps became known. By the timethat Little-Flower-of-the-Wood had had enough, there was a supperclientèle without her. Folly is infectious, and in Paris there arealways people catching a fresh craze. Dupont began to put up hisprices, and levied a charge on the waiter for the privilege of waitingat supper. The rest of the history is more grave ... _Comment_, monsieur? Since you insist--again an absinthe!" Janiaud paused, and ran his dirty fingers through his hair. "This man can talk!" said the Editor, in an undertone. "Gentlemen, " resumed the poet, "two years passed. Little-Flower-of-the-Wood was on the Italian Riviera. The Italian Riviera was awake againafter the heat of the summer--the little town that had dozed for manymonths began to stir. Almost every day now she saw new faces on thepromenade; the sky was gentler, the sea was fairer. And she satloathing it all, craving to escape from it to the bleak streets ofParis. "Two winters before, she had been told, 'Your lungs will stand no moreof the pranks you have been playing. You must go South, and keep earlyhours, or--' The shrug said the rest. And she had sold some of herdiamonds and obeyed. Of course, it was an awful nuisance, but she mustput up with it for a winter in order to get well. As soon as she waswell, she would go back, and take another engagement. She had promisedherself to be dancing again by May. "But when May had come, she was no better. And travelling wasexpensive, and all places were alike to her since she was forbidden toreturn to Paris. She, had disposed of more jewellery, and looked forwardto the autumn. And in the autumn she had looked forward to the spring. So it had gone on. "At first, while letters came to her sometimes, telling her how she wasmissed, the banishment had been alleviated; later, in her loneliness, it had grown frightful. Monsieur, her soul--that little soul thatpleasure had held dumb--cried out, under misfortune, like a homelesschild for its mother. Her longing took her by the throat, and thedoctor had difficulty in dissuading her from going to meet death by thefirst train. She did not suspect that she was doomed in any case; hethought it kinder to deceive her. He had preached 'Patience, mademoiselle, a little patience!' And she had wrung her hands, butyielded--sustained by the hope of a future that she was never to know. "By this time the last of her jewels was sold, and most of the moneyhad been spent. The fact alarmed her when she dwelt upon it, but shedid not dwell upon it very often--in the career of Little-Flower-of-the-Wood, so many financial crises had been righted at the last moment. No, although there was nobody now to whom she could turn for help, itwas not anxiety that bowed her; the thoughts by which she was stricken, as she sauntered feebly on the eternal promenade, were that in Paristhey no longer talked of her, and that her prettiness had passed away. She was forgotten, ugly! The tragedy of her exile was that. "Now it was that she found out the truth--she learnt that there was nochance of her recovering. She made no reproaches for the lies that hadbeen told her; she recognized that they had been well meant. All shesaid was, 'I am glad that it is not too late; I may see Paris stillbefore the curtain tumbles--I shall go at once. ' "Not many months of life remained to her, but they were more numerousthan her louis. It was an unfamiliar Paris that she returned to! Shehad quitted the Paris of the frivolous and fêted; she came back to theParis of the outcast poor. The world that she had remembered gave herno welcome--she peered through its shut windows, friendless in thestreets. "Gentlemen, last night all the customers had gone from the little Cafédu Bon Vieux Temps but a woman in a shabby opera-cloak--a woman withtragic eyes, and half a lung. She sat fingering her glass of beerabsently, though the clock over the desk pointed to a quarter tomidnight, and at midnight beer-drinkers are no longer desired in theBon Vieux Temps. But she was a stranger; it was concluded that shedidn't know. "Adolphe approached to enlighten her; 'Madame wishes to order supper?'he asked. "The stranger shook her head. "'Madame will have champagne?' "'Don't bother me!' said the woman. "Adolphe nodded toward the bock contemptuously. 'After midnight, onlychampagne is served here, ' he said; 'it is the rule of the house, ' "'A fig for the rule!' scoffed the woman; 'I am going to stop. ' "Adolphe retired and sought the _patron_, and Dupont advanced toher with dignity. "'Madame is plainly ignorant of our arrangements, ' he began; 'at twelveo'clock one cannot remain here for the cost of a bock--the restaurantbecomes very gay, ' "'So I believe, ' she said; 'I want to see the gaiety, ' "'It also becomes expensive. I will explain. During the evening weserve a dinner at two francs for our clients in the neighbourhood--anduntil twelve o'clock one may order bocks, or what one wishes, atstrictly moderate prices. But at twelve o'clock there is a change; wehave quite a different class of trade. The world that amuses itselfarrives here to sup and to dance. As a supper-house, the Bori VieuxTemps is known to all Paris. ' "'One lives and learns!' said the woman, ironically; 'but I--know moreabout the Bon Vieux Temps than you seem to think. I can tell you thehistory of its success. ' "'Madame?' Dupont regarded her with haughty eyes. "'Three years ago, monsieur, there was no "different class of trade" attwelve o'clock, and no champagne. The dinners at two francs for yourclients in the neighbourhood were all that you aspired to. You did thecooking yourself in those days, and you did not sport a white waistcoatand a gold watch-chain. ' "'These things have nothing to do with it. You will comply with therule, or you must go. All is said!' "'One night Little-Flower-of-the-Wood had a whim to sup here, ' continued the woman as if he had notspoken. 'She had passed the place in her carriage and fancied its name, or its flowerpot--or she wanted to do something new. Anyhow, she hadthe whim! I see you have the telephone behind the desk, monsieur--yourlittle restaurant was not on the telephone when she wished to reserve atable that night; she had to reserve it by a messenger. ' "'Well, well?' said Dupont, impatiently. "'But you were a shrewd man; you saw your luck and leapt at it--andwhen she entered with her party, you received her like a queen. You hadeven hired a piano, you said, in case Little-Flower-of-the-Wood mightwish to play. I notice that a piano is in the corner now--no doubt yousoon saved the money to buy one. ' "'How do you know all this, you?' Dupont's gaze was curious. "'Her freak pleased her, and she came again and again--and others came, just to see her here. Then you recognized that your clients from theneighbourhood were out of place among the spendthrifts, who yieldedmore profit in a night than all the two-franc dinners in a month; yousaid, "At twelve o'clock there shall be no more bocks, only champagne!"I had made your restaurant famous--and you introduced the great rulethat you now command me to obey. ' "'You? You are Little-Flower-of-the-Wood?' "'Yes, it was I who did it for you, ' she said quietly. 'And therestaurant flourished after Little-Flower-of-the-Wood had faded. Well, to-night I want to spend an hour here again, for the sake of what Iused to be. Time brings changes, you understand, and I cannot conformwith the great rule. ' She opened the opera-cloak, trembling, and he sawthat beneath it Little-Flower-of-the-Wood was in rags. "'I am very poor and ill, ' she went on. 'I have been away in the Southfor more than two years; they told me I ought to stop there, but I hadto see Paris once more! What does it matter? I shall finish here alittle sooner, that is all. I lodge close by, in a garret. The garretis very dirty, but I hear the muisc from the Bal Tabarin across theway. I like that--I persuade myself I am living the happy life I usedto have. When I am tossing sleepless, I hear the noise and laughter ofthe crowd coming out, and blow kisses to them in the dark. You see, although one is forgotten, one cannot forget. I pray that theirlaughter will come up to me right at the end, before I die. ' "'You cannot afford to enter Tabarin's?' faltered Dupont; 'you are sostony as that?' "'So stony as that!' she said. 'And I repeat that to-night I want topass an hour in the midst of the life I loved. Monsieur, remember howyou came to make your rule! Break it for me once! Let me stay hereto-night for a bock!' "Dupont is a restaurateur, but he is also a man. He took both herhands, and the waiters were astonished to perceive that the_patron_ was crying. "'My child, ' he stammered, 'you will sup here as my guest. ' "Adolphe set before her champagne that she sipped feverishly, and asupper that she was too ill to eat. And cabs came rattling from theBoulevard with boisterous men and women who no longer recalled hername--and with other 'Little-Flowers-of-the-Wood, ' who had sprung upsince her day. "The woman who used to reign there sat among them looking back, untilthe last jest was bandied, and the last bottle was drained. Then shebade her host 'good-bye, ' and crawled home--to the garret where she'heard the music of the ball'; the garret where she 'prayed that thelaughter would come up to her right at the end, before she died. '" Janiaud finished the absinthe, and lurched to his feet. "That's all. " "Great Scott, " said the Editor, "I wish he could write in English! But--but it's very pitiable, she may starve there; something ought to bedone.... Can you tell us where she is living, monsieur?" The poet shrugged his shoulders. "Is there no satisfying you? You askedme for the history of the Bon Vieux Temps, and there are things thateven I do not know. However, I have done my best. I cannot say wherethe lady is living, but I can tell you where she was born. " He pointed, with a drunken laugh, to his glass: "There!" A MIRACLE IN MONTMARTRE Lajeunie, the luckless novelist, went to Pitou, the unrecognizedcomposer, saying, "I have a superb scenario for a revue. Let us joinforces! I promise you we shall make a fortune; we shall exchange ourattics for first floors of fashion, and be wealthy enough to wear sableovercoats and Panama hats at the same time. " In ordinary circumstances, of course, Pitou would have collaborated only with Tricotrin, butTricotrin was just then engrossed by a tragedy in blank verse and sevenacts, and he said to them, "Make a fortune together by all means, mycomrades; I should be unreasonable if I raised objections to havingrich friends. " Accordingly the pair worked like heroes of biography, and, aftervicissitudes innumerable, _Patatras_ was practically accepted atLa Coupole. The manager even hinted that Fifi Blondette might be seenin the leading part. La Coupole, and Blondette! Pitou and Lajeuniecould scarcely credit their ears. To be sure, she was no actress, andher voice was rather unpleasant, and she would probably want everythingrewritten fifteen times before it satisfied her; but she was abeautiful woman and all Paris paid to look at her when she graced astage; and she had just ruined Prince Czernowitz, which gave her namean additional value. "Upon my word, " gasped Pitou, "our luck seems asincredible, my dear Lajeunie, as the plot of any of your novels! Comeand have a drink!" "I feel like Rodolphe at the end of _La Vie de Bohème_, " heconfided to Tricotrin in their garret one winter's night, as they wentsupper-less to their beds. "Now that the days of privation are past, Irecall them with something like regret. The shock of the laundress'stotals, the meagre dinners at the Bel Avenir, these things have afascination now that I part from them. I do not wish to soundungrateful, but I cannot help wondering if my millions will impair thetaste of life to me. " "To me they will make it taste much better, " said Tricotrin, "for Ishall have somebody to borrow money from, and I shall get enoughblankets. _Brrr_! how cold I am! Besides, you need not lose touchwith Montmartre because you are celebrated--you can invite us all toyour magnificent abode. Also, you can dine at the Bel Avenir still, ifsentiment pulls you that way. " "I shall certainly dine there, " averred Pitou. "And I shall buy a housefor my parents, with a peacock and some deer on the lawn. At the sametime, a triumph is not without its pathos. I see my return to the BelAvenir, the old affections in my heart, the old greetings on my lips--and I see the fellows constrained and formal in my presence. I seemadame apologising for the cuisine, instead of reminding me that mycredit is exhausted, and the waiter polishing my glass, instead ofindicating the cheapest item on the menu. Such changes hurt!" He wasmuch moved. "A fortune is not everything, " he sighed, forgetting thathis pockets were as empty as his stomach. "Poverty yielded joys which Ino longer know. " The poet embraced him with emotion. "I rejoice to find that Fame hasnot spoilt your nature, " he cried; and he, too, forgot the emptypockets, and that the contract from La Coupole had yet to come. "Yes, we had hard times together, you and I, and I am still a nobody, but weshall be chums as long as we live. I feel that you can unbosom yourselfto me, the poor bohemian, more freely than to any Immortal with whomyou hobnob in scenes of splendour. " "Oh indeed, indeed!" assented Pitou, weeping. "You are as dear to menow as in the days of our struggles; I should curse my affluence if itmade you doubt that! Good-night, my brother; God bless you. " He lay between the ragged sheets; and half an hour crept by. "Gustave!" "Well?" said Tricotrin, looking towards the other bed. "Not asleepyet?" "I cannot sleep--hunger is gnawing at me. " "Ah, what a relentless realist is this hunger, " complained the poet, "how it destroys one's illusions!" "Is there nothing to eat in the cupboard?" "Not a crumb--I am ravenous myself. But I recall a broken cigarette inmy waistcoat pocket; let us cut it in halves!" They strove, shivering, to appease their pangs by slow whiffs of aCaporal, and while they supped in this unsatisfactory fashion, therecame an impetuous knocking at the street door. "It must be that La Coupole has sent you a sack of gold to go on with!"Tricotrin opined. "Put your head out and see. " "It is Lajeunie, " announced the composer, withdrawing from the windowwith chattering teeth. "What the devil can he want? I suppose I must godown and let him in. " "Perhaps we can get some more cigarettes from him, " said Tricotrin; "itmight have been worse. " But when the novelist appeared, the first thing he stammered was, "Giveme a cigarette, one of you fellows, or I shall die!" "Well, then, dictate your last wishes to us!" returned Pitou. "Do youcome here under the impression that the house is a tobacconist's? Whatis the matter with you, what is up?" "For three hours, " snuffledLajeunie, who looked half frozen and kept shuddering violently, "forthree hours I have been pacing the streets, questioning whether Ishould break the news to you to-night or not. In one moment I toldmyself that it would be better to withhold it till the morning; in thenext I felt that you had a right to hear it without delay. Hour afterhour, in the snow, I turned the matter over in my mind, and--" "Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Pitou, "is this an interminable serial at so mucha column? Come to the point!" Lajeunie beat his breast. "I am distracted, " he faltered, "I am nolonger master of myself. Listen! It occurred to me this evening that Imight do worse than pay a visit to La Coupole and inquire if a date wasfixed yet for the rehearsals to begin. Well, I went! For a long time Icould obtain no interview, I could obtain no appointment--the messengercame back with evasive answers. I am naturally quick at smelling a rat--I have the detective's instinct--and I felt that there was somethingwrong. My heart began to fail me. " "For mercy's sake, " groaned his unhappy collaborator, "explode the bomband bury my fragments! Enough of these literary introductions. Did yousee the manager, or didn't you?" "I did see the miscreant, the bandit-king, I saw him in the street. ForI was not to be put off--I waited till he came out. Well, my friend, tocompress the tragedy into one act, our hope is shattered--_Patatras_ is again refused!" "Oh, heavens!" moaned Pitou, and fell back upon the mattress as whiteas death. "What explanation did he make?" cried Tricotrin; "what is the reason?" "The reason is that Blondette is an imbecile--she finds the part'unworthy of her talents. ' A part on which I have lavished all thewealth of my invention--she finds it beneath her, she said she would'break her contract rather than play it. ' Well, Blondette is the trump-cardof his season--he would throw over the whole of the Academy soonerthan lose Blondette. Since she objects to figuring in _Patatras, Patatras_ is waste-paper to him. Alas! who would be an author? Iwould rather shovel coke, or cut corns for a living. He himselfadmitted that there was no fault to find with the revue, but, 'You knowwell, monsieur, that we must humour Blondette!' I asked him if he wouldtry to bring her to her senses, but it seems that there have been adozen discussions already--he is sick of the subject. Now it issettled--our manuscript will be banged back at us and we may rip!" "Oh, my mother!" moaned Pitou. "Oh, the peacock and the deer!" "What's that you say?" asked Lajeunie. "Are you positive that youhaven't got a cigarette anywhere?" "I am positive that I have nothing, " proclaimed Pitou vehemently, "nothing in life but a broken heart! Oh, you did quite right to come tome, but now leave me--leave me to perish. I have no words, I amstricken. The next time you see me it will be in the Morgue. Mon Dieu, that beautiful wretch, that creature without conscience, or a note inher voice--by a shrug of her elegant shoulders she condemns me to theSeine!" "Ah, do not give way!" exclaimed Tricotrin, leaping out of bed. "Courage, my poor fellow, courage! Are there not other managers inParis?" "There are--and _Patatras_ has been refused by them. La Coupolewas our last chance, and it has collapsed. We have no more to expect--it is all over. Is it not so, Lajeunie?" "All over, " sobbed Lajeunie, bowing his head on the washhand-stand. "_Patatras_ is dead!" Then for some seconds the only sound to be heard in the attic was thelaboured breathing of the three young men's despair. At last Tricotrin, drawing himself upright in his tattered nightshirt, said, with a gesture of dignity, "Well, the case may justify me--in thepresent situation it appears to me that I have the right to use myinfluence with Blondette!" A signal from Mars could not have caused a more profound sensation. Pitou and Lajeunie regarded him with open mouths. "Your influence?"echoed Pitou: "your influence? I was not aware that you had ever mether. " "No, " rejoined the poet darkly; "I have not met her. But there arecircumstances in my life which entitle me to demand a service of thistriumphant woman. Do not question me, my friends--what I shall say toher must remain a secret even from you. I declare, however, that nobodyhas a stronger claim on her than Gustave Tricotrin, the poor penny-a-liner whom she does not know!" The sudden intervention--to say nothing of its literary flavour--soexcited the collaborators that they nearly wrung his hands off: andLajeunie, who recognised a promising beginning for another serial, wasathirst for further hints. "She has perhaps committed a murder, that fair fiend?" he inquiredrapturously. "Perhaps, " replied Tricotrin. "In that case she dare refuse you nothing. " "Why not, since I have never heard of it?" "I was only jesting, " said the novelist. "In sober earnest, Iconjecture that you are married to her, like Athos to Miladi. As youstand there, with that grave air, you strongly resemble Athos. " "Nevertheless, Athos did not marry a woman to whom he had not spoken, and I repeat that I have never spoken to Blondette in my life. " "Well, " said Lajeunie, "I have too much respect for your wishes to showany curiosity. Besides, by an expert the mystery is to be divined--before the story opens, you rendered her some silent aid, and your namewill remind her of a great heroism?" "I have never rendered her any aid at all, " demurred Tricotrin, "andthere is not the slightest reason to suppose that she has ever heard myname. But again, I have an incontestable right to demand a service ofher, and for the sake of the affection I bear you both, I shall go anddo it. " "When Tricotrin thinks that he is living in _The Three Musketeers_it is useless to try to pump him, " said Pitou; "let us contentourselves with what we are told! Is it not enough? Our fate is inBlondette's hands, and he is in a position to ask a favour of her. Whatmore can we want?" But he could not resist putting a question on his own account afterLajeunie had skipped downstairs. "Gustave, why did you never mention to me that you knew Blondette?" "Morbleu! how often must I say that I do _not_ know her?" "Well--how shall I express it?--that some episode in your career gaveyou a claim on her consideration?" "Because, by doing so, I should have both violated a confidence, andre-opened a wound which still burns, " said Tricotrin, more like Athosthan ever. "Only the urgency of your need, my comrade, could induce meto take the course that I project. Now let me sleep, for to-morrow Imust have all my wits!" It was, however, five o'clock already, and before either of them hadslept long, the street was clattering with feet on their way to thelaundries, and vendors of delicacies were bawling suggestions forappetising breakfasts. "Not only do the shouts of these monsters disturb my slumber, but theytaunt my starvation!" yawned the poet. "Yet, now I come to think of it, I have an appointment with a man who has sworn to lend me a franc, soperhaps I had better get up before he is likely to have spent it. Ishall call upon Blondette in the afternoon, when she returns from herdrive. What is your own programme?" "My first attempt will be at a crèmerie in the rue St. Rustique, whereI am inclined to think I may get credit for milk and a roll if Iswagger. " "Capital, " said Tricotrin; "things are looking up with us both! And ifI raise the franc, there will be ten sous for you to squander on arecherché luncheon. Meet me in the place Dancourt in an hour's time. Solong!" Never had mademoiselle Blondette looked more captivating than when hercarriage brought her back that day. She wore--but why particularise?Suffice it, that she had just been photographed. As she stepped to thepavement she was surprised by the obeisance of a shabby young man, whosaid in courtly tones, "Mademoiselle, may I beg the honour of aninterview? I came from La Coupole. " Having bestowed a glance ofannoyance on him, she invited him to ascend the stairs, and a minutelater Tricotrin was privileged to watch her take off her hat before themirror. "Well?" she inquired, "what's the trouble there now; what do theywant?" "So far as I know, mademoiselle, " returned the intruder deferentially, "they want nothing but your beauty and your genius; but I myself wantinfinitely more--I want your attention and your pity. Let me explainwithout delay that I do not represent the Management, and that when Isaid I came from La Coupole I should have added that I did not comefrom the interior. " "Ça, par exemple!" she said sharply. "Who are you, then?" "I am Tricotrin, mademoiselle--Gustave Tricotrin, at your feet. I havetwo comrades, the parents of _Patatras_; you have refused to playin it, and I fear they will destroy themselves. I come to beg you tosave their lives. " "Monsieur, " exclaimed the lady, and her eyes were brilliant withtemper, "all that I have to say about _Patatras_ I have said! Thepart gave me the hump. " "And yet, " continued the suppliant firmly, "I hope to induce you toaccept it. I am an author myself, and I assure you that it teems withopportunities that you may have overlooked in a casual reading. " "It is stupid!" "As you would play it, I predict that it would make an epoch. " "And the music is no good. " "If I may venture to differ from you, the music is haunting--thecomposer is my lifelong friend. " "I appreciate the argument, " she said, with fine irony. "But you willscarcely expect me to play a part that I don't like in order to pleaseyou!" "Frankly, that is just what I do expect, " replied the poet. "I thinkyou will consent for my sake. " "Oh, really? For _your_ sake? Would you mind mentioning why, before you go?" "Because, mademoiselle, " said Tricotrin, folding his arms, "in yearsgone by, you ruined me!" "Mon Dieu!" she gasped, and she did not doubt that she was in thepresence of a lunatic. "Do not rush to the bell!" he begged. "If it will allay your panic, Iwill open the door and address you from the landing. I am not insane, Isolemnly assert that I am one of the men who have had the honour ofbeing ruined by you. " "I have never seen you in my life before!" "Iknow it. I even admit that I attach no blame to you in the matter. Nevertheless, you cost me two thousand five hundred and forty-threefrancs, and--as you may judge by my costume--I do not own the CréditLyonnais. If you will deign to hear my story, I guarantee that it willconvince you. Do you permit me to proceed?" The beauty nodded wonderingly, and the shabby young man continued inthe following words: "As I have said, I am an author; I shall 'live' by my poetry, but Iexist by my prose--in fact, I turn my pen to whatever promises adinner, be it a sonnet to the Spring, or a testimonial to a hairrestorer. One summer, when dinners had been even more elusive thanusual, I conceived the idea of calling attention to my talents by meansof an advertisement. In reply, I received a note bidding me be on thethird step of the Madeleine at four o'clock the following day, and mycorrespondent proved to be a gentleman whose elegant apparel proclaimedhim a Parisian of the Boulevard. "'You are monsieur Gustave Tricotrin?' he inquired. "'I have that misfortune, monsieur, ' said I. We adjourned to a café, and after a preliminary chat, from which he deduced that I was a personof discretion, he made me a proposal. "He said, 'Monsieur Tricotrin, it is evident that you and I weredesigned to improve each other's condition; _your_ dilemma isthat, being unknown, you cannot dispose of your stories--_mine_ isthat, being known so well, I am asked for more stories than I canpossibly write, I suggest that you shall write some for me. _I_will sign them, they will be paid for in accordance with my usualterms, and you shall receive a generous share of the swag. I need notimpress upon you that I am speaking in the strictest confidence, andthat you must never breathe a word about our partnership, even to thewife of your bosom. ' "'Monsieur, ' I returned, 'I have no wife to breathe to, and my bosom isunsurpassed as a receptacle for secrets, ' "'Good, ' he said. 'Well, without beating about the bush, I will tellyou who I am. ' He then uttered a name that made me jump, and before weparted it was arranged that I should supply him with a tale immediatelyas a specimen of my abilities. "This tale, which I accomplished the same evening, pleased him so wellthat he forthwith gave me an order for two more. I can create a plotalmost as rapidly as a debt, and before long I had deliveredmanuscripts to him in such wholesale quantities that if I had been paidcash for them, I should have been in a position to paint the Butte therichest shade of red. It was his custom, however, to make excuses andpayments on account, and as we were capital friends by now, I neverdemurred. "Well, things went on in this fashion until one day he hinted to methat I had provided him with enough manuscripts to last him for twoyears; his study was lumbered with evidence of my talent, and hismarket, after all, was not unlimited. He owed me then close upon threethousand francs, and it was agreed that he should wipe the debt out byweekly instalments. Enfin, I was content enough--I foresaw an ampleincome for two years to come, and renewed leisure to win immortality bymy epics. I trust that my narrative does not fatigue you, mademoiselle?" "What has it all to do with me, however?" asked the lady. "You shall hear. Though the heroine comes on late, she brings the housedown when she enters. For a few weeks my patron fulfilled his compactwith tolerable punctuality, but I never failed to notice when we metthat he was a prey to some terrible grief. At last, when he had reducedthe sum to two thousand five hundred and forty-three francs--thefigures will be found graven on my heart--he confided in me, he made mea strange request; he exclaimed: "'Tricotrin, I am the most miserable of men!' "'Poor fellow!' I responded. 'It is, of course, a woman?' "'Precisely, ' he answered. 'I adore her. Her beauty is incomparable, her fascinations are unparalleled, her intelligence is unique. She hasonly one blemish--she is mercenary. ' "'After all, perfection would be tedious, ' I said. "'You are a man of sensibility, you understand!' he cried. 'Her tasteshave been a considerable strain on my resources, and in consequence myaffairs have become involved. Now that I am in difficulties, she isgiving me the chuck. I have implored and besought, I have worn myselfout in appeals, but her firmness is as striking as her other gifts. There remains only one chance for me--a letter so impassioned that itshall awake her pity. _I_, as I tell you, am exhausted; I can nolonger plead, no longer phrase, I am a wreck! Will you, as a friend, asa poet, compose such a letter and give it to me to copy?' "Could I hesitate? I drove my pen for him till daybreak. All theyearnings of my own nature, all the romance of my fiery youth, I pouredout in this appeal to a siren whom I had never seen, and whose name Idid not know. I was distraught, pathetic, humorous, and sublime byturns. Subtle gleams of wit flashed artistically across the luridlandscape of despair. I reminded her of scenes of happiness--vaguely, because I had no details to elaborate; the reminiscences, however, wereso touching that I came near to believing in them. Mindful of hersolitary blemish, I referred to 'embarrassments now almost at an end';and so profoundly did I affect myself, that while I wrote that I wasweeping, it was really true. Well, when I saw the gentleman again heembraced me like a brother. 'Your letter was a masterpiece, ' he toldme; 'it has done the trick!' "Mademoiselle, I do not wish to say who he was, and as you have knownmany celebrities, and had many love-letters, you may not guess. But thewoman was you! And if I had been a better business man, I should havewritten less movingly, for I recognised, even during my inspiration, that it was against my interests to reunite him to you. I was anartist; I thrilled your heart, I restored you to his arms--and you hadthe two thousand five hundred and forty-three francs that wouldotherwise have come to me! Never could I extract another sou from him!" As Tricotrin concluded his painful history, mademoiselle Blondetteseemed so much amused that he feared she had entirely missed itspathos. But his misgiving was relieved when she spoke. "It seems to me I have been expensive to you, monsieur, " she said; "andyou have certainly had nothing for your money. Since this revue--whichI own that I have merely glanced at--is the apple of your eye, Ipromise to read it with more attention. " * * * * * A month later _Patatras_ was produced at La Coupole after all, andno one applauded its performance more enthusiastically than the poet, who subsequently went to supper arm-in-arm with its creators. "Mon vieux, " said the elated pair, "we will not ask again by what meansyou accomplished this miracle, but let it teach you a lesson! Tonight'sexperience proves that nothing is beyond your power if you resolve tosucceed!" "It proves, " replied Tricotrin, "that Blondette's first impression wascorrect, for, between ourselves, my children, _Patatras_ is noshakes. " Nevertheless, Lajeunie and Pitou wore laurels in Montmartre; and one ishappy to say that their fees raised the young collaborators fromprivation to prosperity--thanks to Blondette's attractions--for nearlythree weeks. THE DANGER OF BEING A TWIN My Confessions must begin when I was four years old and recoveringfrom swollen glands. As I grew well, my twin-brother, Grégoire, who wassome minutes younger, was put to bed with the same complaint. "What a misfortune, " exclaimed our mother, "that Silvestre is no soonerconvalescent than Grégoire falls ill!" The doctor answered: "It astonishes me, madame Lapalme, that you werenot prepared for it--since the children are twins, the thing was to beforeseen; when the elder throws the malady off, the younger naturallycontracts it. Among twins it is nearly always so. " And it always proved to be so with Grégoire and me. No sooner did Ithrow off whooping-cough than Grégoire began to whoop, though I was athome at Vernon and he was staying with our grandmother at Tours. If Ihad to be taken to a dentist, Grégoire would soon afterwards be howlingwith toothache; as often as I indulged in the pleasures of the tableGrégoire had a bilious attack. The influence I exercised upon him wasso remarkable that once when my bicycle ran away with me and broke myarm, our mother consulted three medical men as to whether Grégoire'sbicycle was bound to run away with him too. Indeed, my brother wasdistinctly apprehensive of it himself. Of course, the medical men explained that he was susceptible to anyabnormal physical or mental condition of mine, not to the vagaries ofmy bicycle. "As an example, madame, if the elder of two twins werekilled in a railway accident, it would be no reason for thinking thatan accident must befall a train by which the younger travelled. Whatsympathy can there be between locomotives? But if the elder were to dieby his own hand, there is a strong probability that the younger wouldcommit suicide also. " However, I have not died by my own hand, so Grégoire has had nothing toreproach me for on that score. As to other grounds--well, there is muchto be said on both sides! To speak truly, that beautiful devotion for which twins are socelebrated in drama and romance has never existed between my brotherand myself. Nor was this my fault. I was of a highly sensitivedisposition, and from my earliest years it was impressed upon me thatGrégoire regarded me in the light of a grievance, I could not helphaving illnesses, yet he would upbraid me for taking them. Then, too, he was always our mother's favourite, and instead of there beingcaresses and condolence for me when I was indisposed, there was nothingbut grief for the indisposition that I was about to cause Grégoire. This wounded me. Again at college. I shall not pretend that I was a bookworm, or that Ishared Grégoire's ambitions; on the contrary, the world beyond thewalls looked such a jolly place to me that the mere sight of aclassroom would sometimes fill me with abhorrence. But, mon Dieu! ifother fellows were wild occasionally, they accepted the penalties, andthe affair was finished; on me rested a responsibility--my wildness wascommunicated to Grégoire. Scarcely had I resigned myself to dullroutine again when Grégoire, the industrious, would find himself unableto study a page, and commit freaks for which he rebuked me moststernly. I swear that my chief remembrance of my college days isGrégoire addressing pompous homilies to me, in this fashion, when hewas in disgrace with the authorities: "I ask you to remember, Silvestre, that you have not only your ownwelfare to consider--you have mine! I am here to qualify myself for anearnest career. Be good enough not to put obstacles in my path. Yourlevity impels me to distractions which I condemn even while I yield tothem. I perceive a weakness in your nature that fills me withmisgivings for my future; if you do not learn to resist temptation, towhat errors may I not be driven later on--to what outbreaks offrivolity will you not condemn me when we are men?" Well, it is no part of my confession to whitewash myself his misgivingswere realised! So far as I had any serious aspirations at all, Iaspired to be a painter, and, after combating my family's objections, Ientered an art school in Paris. Grégoire, on the other hand, wasdestined for the law. During the next few years we met infrequently, but that my brother continued to be affected by any unusual conditionsof my body and mind I knew by his letters, which seldom failed tocontain expostulations and entreaties. If he could have had his way, indeed, I believe he would have shut me in a monastery. Upon my word, I was not without consideration for him, but what wouldyou have? I think some sympathy was due to me also. Regard thesituation with my eyes! I was young, popular, an artist; my life was nomore frivolous than the lives of others of my set; yet, in lieu ofbeing free, like them, to call the tune and dance the measure, I wasburdened with a heavier responsibility than weighs upon the shouldersof any paterfamilias. Let me but drink a bottle too much, and Grégoire, the grave, would subsequently manifest all the symptoms ofintoxication. Let me but lose my head about a petticoat, and Grégoire, the righteous, would soon be running after a girl instead of attendingto his work. I had a conscience--thoughts of the trouble that I wasbrewing for Grégoire would come between me and the petticoat and rob itof its charms; his abominable susceptibility to my caprices marred halfmy pleasures for me. Once when I sat distrait, bowed by suchreflections, a woman exclaimed, "What's the matter with you? One wouldthink you had a family!" "Well, " I said, "I have a twin!" And I wentaway. She was a pretty woman, too! Do you suppose that Maître Lapalme--he was Maître Lapalme by then, thisegregious Grégoire--do you suppose that he wrote to bless me for mysacrifice? Not at all! Of my heroisms he knew nothing--he was consciousonly of my lapses. To read his letters one would have imagined that Iwas a reprobate, a creature without honour or remorse. I quote fromone of them--it is a specimen of them all. Can you blame me if I had nolove for this correspondent? MY BROTHER, THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF OUR BIRTH:-- Your attention is directed to my preceding communications on thissubject. I desire to protest against the revelry from which yourecovered either on the 15th or 16th inst. On the afternoon of thelatter date, while engaged in a conference of the first magnitude, Iwas seized with an overwhelming desire to dance a quadrille at a publicball. I found it impossible to concentrate my attention on the caseconcerning which I was consulted; I could no longer express myself withlucidity. Outwardly sedate, reliable, I sat at my desk dizzied by suchvisions as pursued St. Anthony to his cell. No sooner was I free than Ifled from Vernon, dined in Paris, bought a false beard, and plungedwildly into the vortex of a dancing-hall. Scoundrel! This is pastpardon! My sensibilities revolt, and my prudence shudders. Who shallsay but that one night I may be recognised? Who can foretell to whatblackmail you may expose me? I, Maitre Lapalme, forbid yourprofligacies, which devolve upon me; I forbid--etc. Such admissions my brother sent to me in a disguised hand, andunsigned; perhaps he feared that his blackmailer might prove to bemyself! Typewriting was not yet general in France. Our mother still lived at Vernon, where she contemplated her favouriteson's success with the profoundest pride. Occasionally I spent a fewdays with her; sometimes even more, for she always pressed me toremain. I think she pressed me to remain, not from any pleasure in mysociety, but because she knew that while I was at home I could commitno actions that would corrupt Grégoire. One summer, when I visited her, I met mademoiselle Leuillet. Mademoiselle Leuillet was the daughter of a widower, a neighbour. Iremembered that when our servant first announced her, I thought, "Whata nuisance; how bored I am going to be!" And then she came in, and inan instant I was spellbound. I am tempted to describe Berthe Leuillet to you as she entered oursalon that afternoon in a white frock, with a basket of roses in herlittle hands, but I know very well that no description of a girl everpainted her to anybody yet. Suffice it that she was beautiful as anangel, that her voice was like the music of the spheres--more than all, that one felt all the time, "How good she is, how good, how good!" I suppose the impression that she made upon me was plainly to be seen, for when she had gone, my mother remarked, "You did not say much. Areyou always so silent in girls' company?" "No, " I answered; "I do notoften meet such girls. " But afterwards I often met Berthe Leuillet. Never since I was a boy had I stayed at Vernon for so long as now;never had I repented so bitterly as now the error of my ways. I loved, and it seemed to me sometimes that my attachment was reciprocated, yetmy position forbade me to go to monsieur Leuillet and ask boldly forhis daughter's hand. While I had remained obscure, painters of myacquaintance, whose talent was no more remarkable than my own, hadraised themselves from bohemia into prosperity. I abused myself, Iacknowledged that I was an idler, a good-for-nothing, I declared thatthe punishment that had overtaken me was no more than I deserved. Andthen--well, then I owned to Berthe that I loved her! Deliberately, of course, I should not have done this before seeking herfather's permission, but it happened in the hour of our "good-bye", andI was suffering too deeply to subdue the impulse. I owned that I lovedher--and when I left for Paris we were secretly engaged. Mon Dieu! Now I worked indeed! To win this girl for my own, to showmyself worthy of her innocent faith, supplied me with the most powerfulincentive in life. In the quarter they regarded me first with ridicule, then with wonder, and, finally, with respect. For my enthusiasm did notfade. "He has turned over a new leaf, " they said, "he means to befamous!" It was understood. No more excursions for Silvestre, no morejunketings and recklessness! In the morning as soon as the sky waslight I was at my easel; in the evening I studied, I sketched, I wroteto Berthe, and re-read her letters. I was another man--my ideal ofhappiness was now a wife and home. For a year I lived this new life. I progressed. Men--men whose approvalwas a cachet--began to speak of me as one with a future. In the Salon apicture of mine made something of a stir. How I rejoiced, how gratefuland sanguine I was! All Paris sang "Berthe" to me; the criticisms inthe papers, the felicitations of my friends, the praise of the public, all meant Berthe--Berthe with her arms about me, Berthe on my breast. I said that it was not too soon for me to speak now; I had proved mymettle, and, though I foresaw that her father would ask more before hegave his consent, I was, at least, justified in avowing myself. Itelegraphed to my mother to expect me; I packed my portmanteau withtrembling hands, and threw myself into a cab. On the way to thestation, I noticed the window of a florist; I bade the driver stop, andran in to bear off some lilies for Berthe. The shop was so full ofwonderful flowers that, once among them, I found some difficulty inmaking my choice. Hence I missed the train--and returned to my studio, incensed by the delay. A letter for me had just been delivered. It toldme that on the previous morning Berthe had married my brother. I could have welcomed a pistol-shot--my world rocked. Berthe lost, false, Gregoire's wife, I reiterated it, I said it over and over, Iwas stricken by it--and yet I could not realise that actually it hadhappened. It seemed too treacherous, too horrible to be true. Oh, I made certain of it later, believe me!--I was no hero of a "greatserial, " to accept such intelligence without proof. I assured myself ofher perfidy, and burnt her love-letters one by one; tore herphotographs into shreds--strove also to tear her image from my heart. Ah, that mocked me, that I could not tear! A year before I should haverushed to the cafés for forgetfulness, but now, as the shock subsided, I turned feverishly to work. I told myself that she had wrecked mypeace, my faith in women, that I hated and despised her; but I sworethat she should not have the triumph of wrecking my career, too. I saidthat my art still remained to me--that I would find oblivion in my art. Brave words! But one does not recover from such blows so easily. For months I persisted, denying myself the smallest respite, clingingto a resolution which proved vainer daily. Were art to be mastered bydogged endeavour, I should have conquered; but alas! though I couldcompel myself to paint, I could not compel myself to paint well. It wasthe perception of this fact that shattered me at last. I had foughttemptation for half a year, worked with my teeth clenched, workedagainst nature, worked while my pulses beat and clamoured for thedraughts of dissipation, which promised a speedier release. I had wooedart, not as art's lover, but as a tortured soul may turn to one womanin the desperate hope of subduing his passion for another--and artwould yield nothing to a suitor who approached like that; I recognisedthat my work had been wasted, that the struggle had been useless--Ibroke down! I need say little of the months that followed--it would be a record ofdegradations, and remorse; alternately, I fell, and was ashamed. Therewere days when I never left the house, when I was repulsive to myself;I shuddered at the horrors that I had committed. No saint has lovedvirtue better than I did during those long, sick days of self-disgust;no man was ever more sure of defying such hideous temptations if theyrecurred. As my lassitude passed, I would take up my brushes and feelconfident for an hour, or for a week. And then temptation would creepon me once more--humming in my ears, and tingling in my veins. Andtemptation had lost its loathsomeness now--it looked again attractive. It was a siren, it dizzied my conscience, and stupefied my commonsense. Back to the mire! One afternoon when I returned to my rooms, from which I had been absentsince the previous day, I heard from the concierge that a visitorawaited me. I climbed the stairs without anticipation. My thoughts weresluggish, my limbs leaden, my eyes heavy and bloodshot. Twilight hadgathered, and as I entered I discerned merely the figure of a woman. Then she advanced--and all Hell seemed to leap flaring to my heart. Myvisitor was Berthe. I think nearly a minute must have passed while we looked speechlesslyin each other's face--hers convulsed by entreaty, mine dark with hate. "Have you no word for me?" she whispered. "Permit me to offer my congratulations on your marriage, madame, " Isaid; "I have had no earlier opportunity. " "Forgive me, " she gasped. "I have come to beseech your forgiveness! Canyou not forget the wrong I did you?" "Do I look as if I had forgotten?" "I was inconstant, cruel, I cannot excuse myself. But, O Silvestre, inthe name of the love you once bore me, have pity on us! Reform, abjureyour evil courses! Do not, I implore you, condemn my husband to thisabyss of depravity, do not wreck my married life!" Now I understoodwhat had procured me the honour of a visit from this woman, and Itriumphed devilishly that I was the elder twin. "Madame, " I answered, "I think that I owe you no explanations, but Ishall say this: the evil courses that you deplore were adopted, notvindictively, but in the effort to numb the agony that you had made mesuffer. You but reap as you have sown. " "Reform!" she sobbed. She sank on her knees before me. "Silvestre, inmercy to us, reform!" "I will never reform, " I said inflexibly. "I will grow more abandonedday by day--my past faults shall shine as merits compared with theatrocities that are to come. False girl, monster of selfishness, youare dragging me to the gutter, and your only grief is that _he_must share my shame! You have blackened my soul, and you have no regretbut that my iniquities must react on _him!_ By the shock thatstunned him in the first flush of your honeymoon, you know what Iexperienced when I received the news of your deceit; by the anguish ofrepentance that overtakes him after each of his orgies, which revoltyou, you know that I was capable of being a nobler man. The degradationthat you behold is your own work. You have made me bad, and you mustbear the consequences--you cannot make me good now to save yourhusband!" Humbled and despairing, she left me. I repeat that it is no part of my confession to palliate my guilt. Thesight of her had served merely to inflame my resentment--and it was atthis stage that I began deliberately to contemplate revenge. But not the one that I had threatened. Ah, no! I bethought myself of avengeance more complete than that. What, after all, were theseescapades of his that were followed by contrition, that saw him againand again a penitent at her feet? There should be no more of suchtrifles; she should be tortured with the torture that she had dealt tome--I would make him _adore another woman_ with all his heart andbrain! It was difficult, for first I must adore, and tire of another womanmyself--as my own passion faded, his would be born. I swore, however, that I would compass it, that I would worship some woman for a year--two years, as long as possible. He would be at peace in the meantime, but the longer my enslavement lasted, the longer Berthe would sufferwhen her punishment began. For some weeks now I worked again, to provide myself with money. Ibought new clothes and made myself presentable. When my appearanceaccorded better with my plan, I paraded Paris, seeking the woman toadore. You may think Paris is full of adorable women? Well, so contrary ishuman nature, that never had I felt such indifference towards the sexas during that tedious quest--never had a pair of brilliant eyes, or awell-turned neck appealed to me so little. After a month, my searchseemed hopeless; I had viewed women by the thousand, but not one withwhom I could persuade myself that I might fall violently in love. How true it is that only the unforeseen comes to pass! There was amodel, one Louise, whose fortune was her back, and who had long boredme by an evident tenderness. One day, this Louise, usually soconstrained in my presence, appeared in high spirits, and mentionedthat she was going to be married. The change in her demeanour interested me; for the first time, Iperceived that the attractions of Louise were not limited to her back. A little piqued, I invited her to dine with me. If she had said "yes, "doubtless that would have been the end of my interest; but she refused. Before I parted from her, I made an appointment for her to sit to methe next morning. "So you are going to be married, Louise?" I said carelessly, as I setthe palette. "In truth!" she answered. "No regrets?" "What regrets could I have? He is a very pretty boy, and well-to-do, believe me!" "And _I_ am not a pretty boy, nor well-to-do, hein?" "Ah, zut!" she laughed, "you do not care for me. " "Is it so?" I said. "What would you say if I told you that I did care?" "I should say that you told me too late, monsieur, " she replied, with ashrug, "Are you ready for me to pose?" And this changed woman turnedher peerless back on me without a scruple. A little mortified, I attended strictly to business for the rest of themorning. But I found myself, on the following day, waiting for her withimpatience. "And when is the event to take place?" I inquired, more eagerly than Ichose to acknowledge. This was by no means the sort of enchantress thatI had been seeking, you understand. "In the spring, " she said. "Look at the ring he has given to me, monsieur; is it not beautiful?" I remarked that Louise's hands were very well shaped; and, indeed, happiness had brought a certain charm to her face. "Do you know, Louise, that I am sorry that you are going to marry?" Iexclaimed. "Oh, get out!" she laughed, pushing me away. "It is no good yourtalking nonsense to me now, don't flatter yourself!" Pouchin, the sculptor, happened to come in at that moment. "Sapristi!"he shouted; "what changes are to be seen! The nose of our braveSilvestre is out of joint now that we are affianced, hein?" She joined in his laughter against me, and I picked up my brush againin a vile humour. Well, as I have said, she was not the kind of woman that I hadcontemplated, but these things arrange themselves--I became seriouslyenamoured of her. And, recognising that Fate works with her owninstruments, I did not struggle. For months I was at Louise's heels; Iwas the sport of her whims, and her slights, sometimes even of herinsults. I actually made her an offer of marriage, at which she snappedher white fingers with a grimace--and the more she flouted me, the morefascinated I grew. In that rapturous hour when her insolent eyessoftened to sentiment, when her mocking mouth melted to a kiss, I wasin Paradise. My ecstasy was so supreme that I forgot to triumph at myapproaching vengeance. So I married Louise; and yesterday was the twentieth anniversary of ourwedding. Berthe? To speak the truth, my plot against her was frustratedby an accident. You see, before I could communicate my passion toGrégoire I had to recover from it, and--this invincible Louise!--I havenot recovered from it yet. There are days when she turns her remarkableback on me now--generally when I am idle--but, mon Dieu! the momentswhen she turns her lips are worth working for. Therefore, Berthe hasbeen all the time quite happy with the good Grégoire--and, since Ipossess Louise, upon my word of honour I do not mind! HERCULES AND APHRODITE Mademoiselle Clairette used to say that if a danseuse could not throwa glance to the conductor of the band without the juggler beingjealous, the Variety Profession was coming to a pretty pass. She alsoremarked that for a girl to entrust her life's happiness to a jealousman would be an act of lunacy. And then "Little Flouflou, the JugglingGenius, " who was dying to marry her, would suffer tortures. He triedhard to conquer his failing, but it must be owned that Clairette'sglances were very expressive, and that she distributed themindiscriminately. At Chartres, one night, he was so upset that hemissed the umbrella, and the cigar, and the hat one after another, andinstead of condoling with him when he came off the stage, all she saidwas "Butter-fingers!" "Promise to be my wife, " he would entreat: "it is not knowing where Iam that gives me the pip. If you consented, I should be as right asrain--your word is better to me than any Management's contract. I trustyou--it is only myself that I doubt; every time you look at a man Iwonder, 'Am I up to that chap's mark? is my turn as clever as his?isn't it likely he will cut me out with her?' If you only belonged tome I should never be jealous again as long as I lived. Straight!" And Clairette would answer firmly, "Poor boy, you couldn't help it--youare made like that. There'd be ructions every week; I should be forever in hot water. I like you very much, Flouflou, but I'm not going toplay the giddy goat. Chuck it!" Nevertheless, he continued to worship her--from her tawdry tiara to hertinselled shoes--and everybody was sure that it would be a match oneday. That is to say, everybody was sure of it until the Strong Man hadjoined the troupe. Hercule was advertised as "The Great Paris Star. " Holding himself veryerect, he strutted, in his latticed foot-gear, with stiff little steps, and inflated lungs, to the footlights, and tore chains to pieces aseasily as other persons tear bills. He lay down and supported a posseof mere mortals, and a van-load of "properties" on his chest, andregained his feet with a skip and a smirk. He--but his achievements arewell known. Preceding these feats of force, was a feature of hisentertainment which Hercule enjoyed inordinately. He stood on apedestal and struck attitudes to show the splendour of his physique. Wearing only a girdle of tiger-skin, and bathed in limelight, he felthimself to be as glorious as a god. The applause was a nightlyintoxication to him. He lived for it. All day he looked forward to themoment when he could mount the pedestal again and make his biceps jump, and exhibit the magnificence of his highly developed back to hundredsof wondering eyes. No woman was ever vainer of her form than wasHercule of his. No woman ever contemplated her charms more tenderlythan Hercule regarded his muscles. The latter half of his "turn" wasfatiguing, but to posture in the limelight, while the audience staredopen-mouthed and admired his nakedness, that was fine, it was dominion, it was bliss. Hercule had never experienced a great passion--the passion of vanityexcepted--never waited in the rain at a street corner for a coquettewho did not come, nor sighed, like the juggler, under the window of agirl who flouted his declarations. He had but permitted homage to berendered to him. So when he fell in love with Clairette, he didn't knowwhat to make of it. For Clairette, sprightly as she was, did not encourage Hercule. He atonce attracted and repelled her. When he rent chains, and poisedprodigious weights above his head, she thrilled at his prowess, but thenext time he attitudinised in the tiger-skin she turned up her nose. She recognised something feminine in the giant. Instinct told her thatby disposition the Strong Man was less manly than Little Flouflou, whomhe could have swung like an Indian club. No, Hercule didn't know what to make of it. It was a new and painfulthing to find himself the victim instead of the conqueror. For once inhis career, he hung about the wings wistfully, seeking a sign ofapproval. For once he displayed his majestic figure on the pedestalblankly conscious of being viewed by a woman whom he failed to impress. "What do you think of my turn?" he questioned at last. "Oh, I have seen worse, " was all she granted. The giant winced. "I am the strongest man in the world, " he proclaimed. "I have never met a Strong Man who wasn't!" said she. "But there is someone stronger than I am, " he owned humbly. (Herculehumble!) "Do you know what you have done to me, Clairette? You havemade a fool of me, my dear. " "Don't be so cheeky, " she returned. "Who gave you leave to call me'Clairette, ' and 'my dear'? A little more politeness, if you please, monsieur!" And she cut the conversation short as unceremoniously as ifhe had been a super. Those who have seen Hercule only in his "act"--who think of him superb, supreme--may find It difficult to credit the statement, but, honestly, the Great Star used to trot at her heels like a poodle. And she was nota beauty by any means, with her impudent nose, and her mouth that wastoo big to defy criticism. Perhaps it was her carriage that fascinatedhim, the grace of her slender figure, which he could have snapped as achild snaps jumbles. Perhaps it was those eyes which unwittinglypromised more than she gave. Perhaps, above all, it was herindifference. Yes, on consideration, it must have been her indifferentair, the novelty of being scorned, that made him a slave. But, of course, she was more flattered by his bondage than she showed. Every night he planted himself in the prompt-entrance to watch herdance and clap his powerful hands in adulation. She could not beinsensible to the compliment, though her smiles were oftenest forFlouflou, who planted himself, adulating, on the opposite side. _Adagio! Allegretto! Vivace!_ Unperceived by the audience, thegaze of the two men would meet across the stage with misgiving. Eachfeared the other's attentions to her, each wished with all his heartthat the other would get the sack; they glared at each other horribly. And, meanwhile, the orchestra played its sweetest, and Clairettepirouetted her best, and the Public, approving the obvious, saw nothingof the intensity of the situation. Imagine the emotions of the little juggler, jealous by temperament, jealous even without cause, now that he beheld a giant laying siege toher affections! And then, on a certain evening, Clairette threw but two smiles toFlouflou, and three to Hercule. The truth is that she did not attach so much significance to the smilesas did the opponents who counted them. But that accident was momentous. The Strong Man made her a burning offer of marriage within half anhour; and next, the juggler made her furious reproaches. Now she had rejected the Strong Man--and, coming when they did, thejuggler's reproaches had a totally different effect from the one thathe had intended. So far from exciting her sympathy towards him, theyaccentuated her compassion for Hercule. How stricken he had been by herrefusal! She could not help remembering his despair as he sat huddledon a hamper, a giant that she had crushed. Flouflou was a thanklesslittle pig, she reflected, for, as a matter of fact, he had had a gooddeal to do with her decision. She had deserved a better reward than tobe abused by him! Yes, her sentiments towards Hercule were newly tender, and an event ofthe next night intensified them. It was Hercule's custom, in every townthat the Constellation visited, to issue a challenge. He pledgedhimself to present a "Purse of Gold"--it contained a ten-franc piece--to any eight men who vanquished him in a tug-of-war. The spectacle wasalways an immense success--the eight yokels straining, and tumblingover one another, while Hercule, wearing a masterful smile, kept histen francs intact. A tug-of-war had been arranged for the nightfollowing, and by every law of prudence, Hercule should have abstainedfrom the bottle during the day. But he did not. His misery sent discretion headlong to the winds. Everytime that he groaned for the danseuse he took another drink, and whenthe time came for him to go to the show, the giant was as drunk as alord. The force of habit enabled him to fulfil some of his stereotypedperformance, he emerged from that without disgrace; but when the eightbrawny competitors lumbered on to the boards, his heart sank. The otherartists winked at one another appreciatively, and the manager hoppedwith apprehension. Sure enough, the hero's legs made strange trips to-night. The sixteenarms pulled him, not only over the chalk line, but all over the stage. They played havoc with him. And then the manager had to go on and makea speech, besides, because the "Purse of Gold" aroused dissatisfaction. The fiasco was hideous. "Ah, Clairette, " moaned the Strong Man, pitifully, "it was all throughyou!" Elsewhere a Strong Man had put forth that plea, and the other lady hadbeen inexorable. But Clairette faltered. "Through me?" she murmured, with emotion. "I'm no boozer, " muttered Hercule, whom the disaster had sobered. "If Itook too much today, it was because I had got such a hump. " "But why be mashed on me, Hercule?" she said; "why not think of me as apal?" "You're talking silly, " grunted Hercule. "Perhaps so, " she confessed. "But I'm awfully sorry the turn went sorotten. " "Don't kid!" "Why should I kid about it?" "If you really meant it, you would take back what you said yesterday. " "Oh!" The gesture was dismayed. "You see! What's the good of gassing?As soon as I ask anything of you, you dry up. Bah! I daresay you willguy me just as much as all the rest, I know you!" "If you weren't in trouble, I'd give you a thick ear for that, " shesaid. "You ungrateful brute!" She turned haughtily away, "Clairette!" "Oh, rats!" "Don't get the needle! I'm off my rocker to-night. " "Ah! That's all right, cully!" Her hand was swift. "I've been theremyself. " "Clairette!" He caught her close. "Here, what are you at?" she cried. "Drop it!" "Clairette! Say 'yes. ' I'm loony about you. There's a duck! I'll be adaisy of a husband. Won't you?" "Oh, I--I don't know, " she stammered. And thus were they betrothed. To express what Flouflou felt would be but to harrow the reader'ssensibilities. What he said, rendered into English, was: "I'd ratheryou had given me the go-by for any cove in the crowd than that swine!" They were in the ladies' dressing-room. "The Two Bonbons" had notfinished their duet, and he was alone with her for a moment. She waspinning a switch into her back hair, in front of the scrap of looking-glass against the mildewed wall. "You don't do yourself any good with me Flouflou, by calling Herculenames, " she replied icily. "So he is!" "Oh, you are jealous of him, " she retorted. "Of course I am jealous of him, " owned Flouflou; "you can't rile me bysaying that. Didn't I love you first? And a lump better than _he_does. " "Now you're talking through your hat!" "You usedn't to take any truck of him, yourself, at the beginning. Heonly got round you because he was drunk and queered his business. Ihave been drunk, too--you didn't say you'd marry _me_. It's not inhim to love any girl for long--he's too sweet on himself. " "Look here, " she exclaimed. "I've had enough. Hook it! And don't youspeak to me any more. Understand?" She put the hairpins aside, andbegan to whitewash her hands and arms. "That's the straight tip, " said Flouflou, brokenly; "I'm off. Well, Iwish you luck, old dear!" "Running him down to me like that! A dirty trick, I call it. " "I never meant to, straight; I--Sorry, Clairette. " He lingered at thedoor. "I suppose I shall have to say 'madame' soon?" "Footle, " she murmured, moved. "You've not got your knife into me, have you, Clairette? I didn't meanto be a beast. I'd have gone to hell for you, that's all, and I wish Iwas dead. " "Silly kid!" she faltered, blinking. And then "The Two Bonbons" cameback to doff their costumes, and he was turned out. Never had Hercule been so puffed up. His knowledge of the juggler'ssufferings made the victory more rapturous still. No longer didFlouflou stand opposite-prompt to watch Clairette's dance; no longerdid he loiter about the passages after the curtain was down, on thechance of being permitted to escort her to her doorstep. Suchprivileges were the Strong Man's alone. She was affianced to him! Atthe swelling thought, his chest became Brobdingnagian. His bounce incompany was now colossal; and it afforded the troupe a popularentertainment to see him drop to servility in her presence. Her frownwas sufficient to reduce him to a cringe. They called him the "Quick-change artist. " But Hercule scarcely minded cringing to her; at all events he scarcelyminded it in a tête-à-tête; she was unique. He would have run to herwhistle, and fawned at her kick. She had agreed to marry him in a fewweeks' time, and his head swam at the prospect. Visions of the futuredazzled him. When he saw her to her home after the performance, he usedto talk of the joint engagements they would get by-and-by--"not insnide shows like this, but in first-class halls"--and of howtremendously happy they were going to be. And then Clairette wouldstifle a sigh and say, "Oh, yes, of course!" and try to persuadeherself that she had no regrets. Meanwhile the Constellation had not been playing to such good businessas the manager had anticipated. He had done a bold thing in obtainingHercule--who, if not so famous as the posters pretended, was at least acouple of rungs above the other humble mountebanks--and the box-officeought to have yielded better results. Monsieur Blond was anxious. Heasked himself what the Public wanted. Simultaneously he pondered theidea of a further attraction, and perspired at the thought of furtherexpense. At this time the "Living Statuary" turn was the latest craze in thevariety halls of fashion, and one day poor Blond, casting an expert eyeon his danseuse, questioned why she should not be billed, a town or twoahead, as "Aphrodite, the Animated Statue, Direct from Paris. " To question was to act. The weather was mild, and, though Clairetteexperienced pangs of modesty when she learnt that the Statue's"costume" was to be applied with a sponge, she could not assert thatshe would be in danger of taking a chill. Besides, her salary was to beraised a trifle. Blond rehearsed her assiduously (madame Blond in attendance), and, tohis joy, she displayed a remarkable gift for adopting the poses, As"The Bather" she promised to be entrancing, and, until she wobbled, her"Nymph at the Fountain" was a pure delight. Moreover, thanks to heraccomplishments as a dancer, she did not wobble very badly. All the same, when the date of her debut arrived, she was extremelynervous. Elated by his inspiration. Blond had for once been prodigalwith the printing and on her way to the stage door, it seemed to herthat the name of "Aphrodite" flamed from every hoarding in the place. Hercule met her with encouraging words, but the ordeal was not one thatshe wished to discuss with him, and he took leave of her very muchafraid that she would break down. What was his astonishment to hear her greeted with salvos of applause!Blond's enterprise had undoubtedly done the trick. The little hallrocked with enthusiasm, and, cloaked in a voluminous garment, "Aphrodite" had to bow her acknowledgments again and again. When thetime came for Hercule's own postures, they fell, by comparison, quiteflat. "Ciel!" she babbled, on the homeward walk; "who would have supposedthat I should go so strong? If I knock them like this next week too, Ishall make Blond spring a bit more!" She looked towards her lover forcongratulations; so far he had been rather unsatisfactory. "Oh, well, " he mumbled, "it was a very good audience, you know, I neversaw a more generous house--you can't expect to catch on like itanywhere else. " His tone puzzled her. Though she was quite alive to the weaknesses ofher profession, she could not believe that her triumph could giveumbrage to her fiancé. Hercule, her adorer, to be annoyed because shehad received more "hands" than _he_ had? Oh, it was mean of her tofancy such a thing! But she was conscious that he had never wished her "pleasant dreams" sobriefly as he did that night, and the Strong Man, on his side, wasconscious of a strange depression. He could not shake it off. The nextevening, too, he felt it. Wherever he went, he heard praises of herproportions. The dancing girl had, in fact, proved to be beautifullyformed, and it could not be disputed that "Aphrodite" had wiped"Hercules" out. Her success was repeated in every town. Morosely nowdid he make his biceps jump, and exhibit the splendours of his back--his poses commanded no more than half the admiration evoked by hers. His muscles had been eclipsed by her graces. Her body had outvied hisown! Oh, she was dear to him, but he was an "artiste"! There are trials thatan artiste cannot bear. He hesitated to refer to the subject, but whenhe nursed her on his lap, he thought what a great fool the Public wasto prefer this ordinary woman to a marvellous man. He derived lessrapture from nursing her. He eyed her critically. His devotion wascankered by resentment. And each evening the resentment deepened. And each evening it forcedhim to the wings against his will. He stood watching, though everyburst of approval wrung his heart. Soured, and sexless, he watched her. An intense jealousy of the slim nude figure posturing in the limelighttook possession of him. It had robbed him of his plaudits! He grew tohate it, to loathe the white loveliness that had dethroned him. It wasno longer the figure of a mistress that he viewed, but the figure of arival. If he had dared, he would have hissed her. Finally, he found it impossible to address her with civility. AndClairette married Flouflou, after all. "Clairette, " said Flouflou on the day they were engaged, "if you don'tchuck the Statuary turn, I know that one night I shall massacre theaudience! Won't you give it up for me, peach?" "So you are beginning your ructions already?" laughed Clairette, "Itold you what a handful you would be. Oh, well then, just as you like, old dear!--in this business a girl may meet with a worse kind ofjealousy than yours. " "PARDON, YOU ARE MADEMOISELLE GIRARD!" A newsvendor passed along the terrace of the Café d'Harcourt bawling_La Voix Parisienne_. The Frenchman at my table made a gesture ofaversion. Our eyes met; I said: "You do not like _La Voix?_" He answered with intensity: "I loathe it. " "What's its offence?" The wastrel frowned; he fiddled with his frayed and filthy collar. "You revive painful associations; you ask me for a humiliating story, "he murmured--and regarded his empty glass. I can take a hint as well as most people. He prepared his poison reflectively, "I will tell you all, " he said. One autumn the Editor of _La Voix_ announced to the assistant-editor:"I have a great idea for booming the paper. " The assistant-editor gazed at him respectfully. "I propose to prove, inthe public interest, the difficulty of tracing a missing person. Ishall instruct a member of the staff to disappear. I shall publish hisdescription, and his portrait; and I shall offer a prize to the firststranger who identifies him. " The assistant-editor had tact and he did not reply that the idea hadalready been worked in London with a disappearing lady. He replied: "What an original scheme!" "It might be even more effective that the disappearing person should bea lady, " added the chief, like one inspired. "That, " cried the assistant-editor, "is the top brick of genius!" So the Editor reviewed the brief list of his lady contributors, andsent for mademoiselle Girard. His choice fell upon mademoiselle Girard for two reasons. First, shewas not facially remarkable--a smudgy portrait of her would look muchlike a smudgy portrait of anybody else. Second, she was not widelyknown in Paris, being at the beginning of her career; in fact she wasso inexperienced that hitherto she had been entrusted only withcriticism. However, the young woman had all her buttons on; and after he hadtalked to her, she said cheerfully: "Without a chaperon I should be conspicuous, and without a fat purse Ishould be handicapped. So it is understood that I am to provide myselfwith a suitable companion, and to draw upon the office for expenses?" "Mademoiselle, " returned the Editor, "the purpose of the paper is toportray a drama of life, not to emulate an opera bouffe. I shallexplain more fully. Please figure to yourself that you are a young girlin an unhappy home. Let us suppose that a stepmother is at fault. Youfeel that you can submit to her oppression no longer--you resolve to befree, or to end your troubles in the Seine. Weeping, you pack yourmodest handbag; you cast a last, lingering look at the oil painting ofyour own dear mother who is with the Angels in the drawing-room; thatis to say, of your own dear mother in the drawing-room, who is with theAngels. It still hangs there--your father has insisted on it. Unheard, you steal from the house; the mysterious city of Paris stretches beforeyour friendless feet. Can you engage a chaperon? Can you draw upon anoffice for expenses? The idea is laughable. You have saved, at aliberal computation, forty francs; it is necessary for you to findemployment without delay. But what happens? Your father is distractedby your loss, the thought of the perils that beset you frenzies him; heinvokes the aid of the police. Well, the object of our experiment is todemonstrate that, in spite of an advertised reward, in spite of apublished portrait, in spite of the Public's zeal itself, you will bepassed on the boulevards and in the slums by myriads of unsuspectingeyes for weeks. " The girl inquired, much less blithely: "How long is this experiment to continue?" "It will continue until you are identified, of course. The longer theperiod, the more triumphant our demonstration. " "And I am to have no more than forty francs to exist on all the time?Monsieur, the job does not call to me. " "You are young and you fail to grasp the value of your opportunity, "said the Editor, with paternal tolerance. "From such an assignment youwill derive experiences that will be of the highest benefit to yourfuture. Rejoice, my child! Very soon I shall give you finalinstructions. " * * * * * The Frenchman lifted his glass, which was again empty. "I trust my voice does not begin to grate upon you?" he askedsolicitously. "Much talking affects my uvula. " I made a trite inquiry. He answered that, since I was so pressing, he would! "Listen, " he resumed, after a sip. * * * * * I am not in a position to say whether the young lady humoured theEditor by rejoicing, but she obeyed him by going forth. Her portraitwas duly published, _La Volx_ professed ignorance of herwhereabouts from the moment that she left the rue Louis-le-Grand, and aprize of two thousand francs was to reward the first stranger who saidto her, "Pardon, you are mademoiselle Girard!" In every issue thePublic were urged towards more strenuous efforts to discover her, andall Paris bought the paper, with amusement, to learn if she was foundyet. At the beginning of the week, misgivings were ingeniously hinted as toher fate. On the tenth day the Editor printed a letter (which he hadwritten himself), hotly condemning him for exposing a poor girl todanger. It was signed "An Indignant Parent, " and teemed with the moststimulating suggestions. Copies of _La Voix_ were as prevalent asgingerbread pigs at a fair. When a fortnight had passed, the prize wasincreased to three thousand francs, and many young men resigned lesspromising occupations, such as authorship and the fine arts, in orderto devote themselves exclusively to the search. Personally, I had something else to do. I am an author, as you may havedivined by the rhythm of my impromptu phrases, but it happened at thattime that a play of mine had been accepted at the Grand Guignol, subject to an additional thrill being introduced, and I preferredpondering for a thrill in my garret to hunting for a pin in a haystack, Enfin, I completed the drama to the Management's satisfaction, andreceived a comely little cheque in payment. It was the first chequethat I had seen for years! I danced with joy, I paid for a shampoo, Icommitted no end of follies. How good is life when one is rich--immediately one joins the optimists!I feared the future no longer; I was hungry, and I let my appetite doas it liked with me. I lodged in Montmartre, and it was my custom toeat at the unpretentious Bel Avenir, when I ate at all; but thatmorning my mood demanded something resplendent. Rumours had reached meof a certain Café Eclatant, where for one-franc-fifty one mightbreakfast on five epicurean courses amid palms and plush. I said Iwould go the pace, I adventured the Café Eclatant. The interior realised my most sanguine expectations. The room wouldhave done no discredit to the Grand Boulevard. I was so muchexhilarated, that I ordered a half bottle of barsac, though I notedthat here it cost ten sous more than at the Bel Avenir, and I preparedto enjoy the unwonted extravagance of my repast to the concludingcrumb. Monsieur, there are events in life of which it is difficult to speakwithout bitterness. When I recall the disappointment of that déjeunerat the Café Eclatant, my heart swells with rage. The soup was slush, the fish tasted like washing, the meat was rags. Dessert consisted ofwizened grapes; the one thing fit to eat was the cheese. As I meditated on the sum I had squandered, I could have cried withmortification, and, to make matters more pathetic still, I was ashungry as ever. I sat seeking some caustic epigram to wither the dame-de-comptoir; and presently the door opened and another victim entered. Her face was pale and interesting. I saw, by her hesitation, that theplace was strange to her. An accomplice of the chief brigand pounced onher immediately, and bore her to a table opposite. The misguided girlwas about to waste one-franc-fifty. I felt that I owed a duty to her inthis crisis. The moment called for instant action; before she coulddecide between slush and hors d'oeuvres, I pulled an envelope from mypocket, scribbled a warning, and expressed it to her by the robber whohad brought my bill. I had written, "The déjeuner is dreadful. Escape!" It reached her in the nick of time. She read the wrong side of theenvelope first, and was evidently puzzled. Then she turned it over. Alook of surprise, a look of thankfulness, rendered her still morefascinating. I perceived that she was inventing an excuse--that shepretended to have forgotten something. She rose hastily and went out. My barsac was finished--shocking bad tipple it was for the money!--andnow I, too, got up and left. When I issued into the street, I found herwaiting for me. "I think you are the knight to whom my gratitude is due, monsieur?" shemurmured graciously. "Mademoiselle, you magnify the importance of my service, " said I. "It was a gallant deed, " she insisted. "You have saved me from a greatmisfortune--perhaps greater than you understand. My finances are attheir lowest ebb, and to have beggared myself for an impossible mealwould have been no joke. Thanks to you, I may still breakfastsatisfactorily somewhere else. Is it treating you like Baedeker's Guideto the Continent if I ask you to recommend a restaurant?" "Upon my word, I doubt if you can do better than the Bel Avenir, " Isaid. "A moment ago I was lacerated with regret that I had not gonethere. But there is a silver lining to every hash-house, and my choiceof the Eclatant has procured me the glory of your greeting. " She averted her gaze with a faint smile. She had certainly charm. Admiration and hunger prompted me to further recklessness. I said:"This five-course swindle has left me ravenous, and I am bound for theAvenir myself. May I beg for the rapture of your company there?" "Monsieur, you overwhelm me with chivalries, " she replied; "I shall beenchanted. " And, five minutes later, the Incognita and I were polishingoff smoked herring and potato salad, like people who had no time tolose. "Do you generally come here?" she asked, when we had leisure. "Infrequently--no oftener than I have a franc in my pocket. But detailsof my fasts would form a poor recital, and I make a capital listener. " "You also make a capital luncheon, " she remarked. "Do not prevaricate, " I said severely. "I am consumed with impatienceto hear the history of your life. Be merciful and communicative. " "Well, I am young, fair, accomplished, and of an amiable disposition, "she began, leaning her elbows on the table. "These things are obvious. Come to confidences! What is yourprofession?" "By profession I am a clairvoyante and palmist, " she announced. I gave her my hand at once, and I was in two minds about giving her myheart. "Proceed, " I told her; "reveal my destiny!" Her air was profoundly mystical. "In the days of your youth, " she proclaimed, "your line of authorshipis crossed by many rejections. " "Oh, I am an author, hein? That's a fine thing in guesses!" "It is written!" she affirmed, still scrutinising my palm. "Yourdramatic lines are--er--countless; some of them are good. I see danger;you should beware of--I cannot distinguish!" she clasped her brow andshivered. "Ah, I have it! You should beware of hackneyed situations. " "So the Drama is 'written, ' too, is it?" "It is written, and I discern that it is already accepted, " she said. "For at the juncture where the Eclatant is eclipsed by the Café du BelAvenir, there is a distinct manifestation of cash. " "Marvellous!" I exclaimed. "And will the sybil explain why she surmisedthat I was a dramatic author?" "Even so!" she boasted. "You wrote your message to me on an envelopefrom the Dramatic Authors' Society, What do you think of my palmistry?" "I cannot say that I think it is your career. You are more likely anauthor yourself, or an actress, or a journalist. Perhaps you aremademoiselle Girard. Mon Dieu! What a piece of luck for me if I foundmademoiselle Girard!" "And what a piece of luck for her!" "Why for her?" "Well, she cannot be having a rollicking time. It would not break herheart to be found, one may be certain. " "In that case, " I said, "she has only to give some one the tip. " "Oh, that would be dishonourable--she has a duty to fulfil to _LaVoix_, she must wait till she is identified. And, remember, theremust be no half measures--the young man must have the intuition to sayfirmly, 'Pardon, you are mademoiselle Girard!'" Her earnest gaze met mine for an instant. "As a matter of fact, " I said, "I do not see how anyone can be expectedto identify her in the street. The portrait shows her without a hat, and a hat makes a tremendous difference. " She sighed. "What is your trouble?" I asked. "Man!" "Man? Tell me his address, that I may slay him. " "The whole sex. Its impenetrable stupidity. If mademoiselle Girard isever recognised it will be by a woman. Man has no instinct. " "May one inquire the cause of these flattering reflections?" Her laughter pealed. "Let us talk of something else!" she commanded. "When does your playcome out, monsieur Thibaud Hippolyte Duboc? You see I learnt your name, too. " "You have all the advantages, " I complained. "Will you take a secondcup of coffee, mademoiselle--er--?" "No, thank you, monsieur, " she said. "Well, will you take a liqueur, mademoiselle--er--?" "Mademoiselle Er will not take a liqueur either, " she pouted. "Well, will you take a walk?" In the end we took an omnibus, and then we proceeded to the Buttes-Chaumont--and very agreeable I found it there. We chose a seat in theshade, and I began to feel that I had known her all my life. Moreprecisely, perhaps, I began to feel that I wished to know her all mylife. A little breeze was whispering through the boughs, and she liftedher face to it gratefully. "How delicious, " she said. "I should like to take off my hat. " "Do, then!" "Shall I?" "Why not?" She pulled the pins out slowly, and laid the hat aside, and raised hereyes to me, smiling. "Well?" she murmured. "You are beautiful. " "Is that all?" "What more would you have me say?" The glare of sunshine mellowed while we talked; clocks struck unheededby me. It amazed me at last, to discover how long she had held mecaptive. Still, I knew nothing of her affairs, excepting that she washard up--that, by comparison, I was temporarily prosperous. I did noteven know where she meant to go when we moved, nor did it appearnecessary to inquire yet, for the sentiment in her tones assured methat she would dismiss me with no heartless haste. Two men came strolling past the bench, and one of them stared at her soimpudently that I burned with indignation. After looking duels at him, I turned to her, to deprecate his rudeness. Judge of my dismay when Iperceived that she was shuddering with emotion! Jealousy blackened thegardens to me. "Who is that man?" I exclaimed. "I don't know, " she faltered. "You don't know? But you are trembling?" "Am I?" "I ask you who he is? How he dared to look at you like that?" "Am I responsible for the way a loafer looks?" "You are responsible for your agitation; I ask you to explain it!" "And by what right, after all?" "By what right? Wretched, false-hearted girl! Has our communion forhours given me no rights? Am I a Frenchman or a flounder? Answer; youare condemning me to tortures! Why did you tremble under that man'seyes?" "I was afraid, " she stammered. "Afraid?" "Afraid that he had recognised me. " "Mon Dieu! Of what are you guilty?" "I am not guilty. " "Of what are you accused?" "I can tell you nothing, " she gasped. "You shall tell me all!" I swore. "In the name of my love I demand itof you. Speak! Why did you fear his recognition?" Her head drooped pitifully. "Because I wanted _you_ to recognise me first!" For a tense moment I gazed at her bewildered. In the next, I cursedmyself for a fool--I blushed for my suspicions, my obtuseness--I soughtdizzily the words, the prescribed words that I must speak. "Pardon, " I shouted, "you are mademoiselle Girard!" She sobbed. "What have I done?" "You have done a great and generous thing! I am humbled before you. Ibless you. I don't know how I could have been such a dolt as not toguess!" "Oh, how I wish you had guessed! You have been so kind to me, I longedfor you to guess! And now I have betrayed a trust. I have been a badjournalist. " "You have been a good friend. Courage! No one will ever hear what hashappened. And, anyhow, it is all the same to the paper whether theprize is paid to me, or to somebody else. " "Yes, " she admitted. "That is true. Oh, when that man turned round andlooked at me, I thought your chance had gone! I made sure it was allover! Well"--she forced a smile--"it is no use my being sorry, is it?Mademoiselle Girard is 'found'!" "But you must not be sorry, " I said. "Come, a disagreeable job isfinished! And you have the additional satisfaction of knowing the moneygoes to a fellow you don't altogether dislike. What do I have to doabout it, hein?" "You must telegraph to _La Voix_ at once that you have identifiedme. Then, in the morning you should go to the office. I can depend uponyou, can't I? You will never give me away to a living soul?" "Word of honour!" I vowed. "What do you take me for? Do tell me youdon't regret! There's a dear. Tell me you don't regret. " She threw back her head dauntlessly. "No, " she said, "I don't regret. Only, in justice to me, remember thatI was treacherous in order to do a turn to you, not to escape my owndiscomforts. To be candid, I believe that I wish we had met in two orthree weeks' time, instead of to-day!" "Why that?" "In two or three weeks' time the prize was to be raised to fivethousand francs, to keep up the excitement. " "Ciel!" I cried. "Five thousand francs? Do you know that positively?" "Oh, yes!" She nodded. "It is arranged. " Five thousand francs would have been a fortune to me. Neither of us spoke for some seconds. Then, continuing my thoughtsaloud, I said: "After all, why should I telegraph at once? What is to prevent_my_ waiting the two or three weeks?" "Oh, to allow you to do that would be scandalous of me, " she demurred;"I should be actually swindling _La Voix_. " "_La Voix_ will obtain a magnificent advertisement for its outlay, which is all that it desires, " I argued; "the boom will be worth fivethousand francs to _La Voix_, there is no question of swindling. Five thousand francs is a sum with which one might--" "It can't be done, " she persisted. "To a man in my position, " I said, "five thousand francs--" "It is impossible for another reason! As I told you, I am at the end ofmy resources. I rose this morning, praying that I should be identified. My landlady has turned me out, and I have no more than the price of onemeal to go on with. " "You goose!" I laughed. "And if I were going to net five thousandfrancs by your tip three weeks hence, don't you suppose it would begood enough for me to pay your expenses in the meanwhile?" She was silent again. I understood that her conscience was a moreformidable drawback than her penury. Monsieur, I said that you had asked me for a humiliating story--that Ihad poignant memories connected with _La Voix_. Here is one ofthem: I set myself to override her scruples--to render this girl falseto her employers. Many men might have done so without remorse. But not a man like me; Iam naturally high-minded, of the most sensitive honour. Even when Iconquered at last, I could not triumph. Far from it. I blamed the forceof circumstances furiously for compelling me to sacrifice my principlesto my purse. I am no adventurer, hein? Enfin, the problem now was, where was I to hide her? Her portmanteaushe had deposited at a railway station. Should we have it removed toanother bedroom, or to a pension de famille? Both plans were open toobjections--a bedroom would necessitate her still challenging discoveryin restaurants; and at a pension de famille she would run risks on thepremises. A pretty kettle of fish if someone spotted her while I washolding for the rise! We debated the point exhaustively. And, having yielded, she displayedkeen intelligence in arranging for the best. Finally she declared: "Of the two things, a pension de famille is to be preferred. Install methere as your sister! Remember that people picture me a wanderer andalone; therefore, a lady who is introduced by her brother is in smalldanger of being recognized as mademoiselle Girard. " She was right, I perceived it. We found an excellent house, where I wasunknown. I presented her as "mademoiselle Henriette Delafosse, mysister. " And, to be on the safe side, I engaged a private sitting-roomfor her, explaining that she was somewhat neurasthenic. Good! I waited breathless now for every edition of _La Voix_, thinking that her price might advance even sooner. But she closed atthree thousand francs daily. Girard stood firm, but there was no upwardtendency. Every afternoon I called on her. She talked about thatconscience of hers again sometimes, and it did not prove quite sodelightful as I had expected, when I paid a visit. Especially when Ipaid a bill as well. Monsieur, my disposition is most liberal. But when I had been mulctedin the second bill, I confess that I became a trifle downcast. I hadprepared myself to nourish the girl wholesomely, as befitted thecircumstances, but I had said nothing of vin supérieur, and I notedthat she had been asking for it as if it were cider in Normandy. Thelist of extras in those bills gave me the jumps, and the charges madefor scented soap were nothing short of an outrage. Well, there was but one more week to bear now, and during the week Iallowed her to revel. This, though I was approaching embarrassments_re_ the rent of my own attic! How strange is life! Who shall foretell the future? I had wrestled withmy self-respect, I had nursed an investment which promised stupendousprofits were I capable of carrying my scheme to a callous conclusion. But could I do it? Did I claim the prize, which had already cost me somuch? Monsieur, you are a man of the world, a judge of character: I askyou, did I claim the prize, or did I not? He threw himself back in the chair, and toyed significantly with hisempty glass. I regarded him, his irresolute mouth, his receding chin, hisunquenchable thirst for absinthe. I regarded him and I paid him nocompliments. I said: "You claimed the prize. " "You have made a bloomer, " he answered. "I did not claim it. The prizewas claimed by the wife of a piano-tuner, who had discoveredmademoiselle Girard employed in the artificial flower department of thePrintemps. I read the bloodcurdling news at nine o'clock on a Fridayevening; and at 9:15, when I hurled myself, panic-stricken, into thepension de famille, the impostor who had tricked me out of three weeks'board and lodging had already done a bolt. I have never had the joy ofmeeting her since. " HOW TRICOTKIN SAW LONDON One day Tricotrin had eighty francs, and he said to Pitou, who was noless prosperous, "Good-bye to follies, for we have arrived at an epochin our careers! Do not let us waste our substance on trivial pleasures, or paying the landlord--let us make it a provision for our future!" "I rejoice to hear you speak for once like a business-man, " returnedPitou. "Do you recommend gilt-edged securities, or an investment inland?" "I would suggest, rather, that we apply our riches to some educationalpurpose, such as travel, " explained the poet, producing a railwaycompany's handbill. "By this means we shall enlarge our minds, andsomebody has pretended that 'knowledge is power'--it must have been theprincipal of a school. It is not for nothing that we have l'EntenteCordiale--you may now spend a Sunday in London at about the cost of oneof Madeleine's hats. " "These London Sunday baits may be a plot of the English Government toexterminate us; I have read that none but English people can survive aSunday in London. " "No, it is not that, for we are offered the choice of a town called'Eastbourne, ' Listen, they tell me that in London the price ofcigarettes is so much lower than with us that, to a bold smuggler, thetrip is a veritable economy. Matches too! Matches are so cheap inEngland that the practice of stealing them from café tables has notbeen introduced. " "Well, your synopsis will be considered, and reported on in duecourse, " announced the composer, after a pause; "but at the moment ofgoing to press we would rather buy a hat for Madeleine. " And as Madeleine also thought that this would be better for him, it wasdecided that Tricotrin should set forth alone. His departure for a foreign country was a solemn event. A small partyof the Montmartrois had marched with him to the station, and more thanonce, in view of their anxious faces, the young man acknowledgedmentally that he was committed to a harebrained scheme. "Heavenprotect thee, my comrade!" faltered Pitou. "Is thy vocabulary safely inthy pocket? Remember that 'un bock' is 'glass of beer. '" "Here is a small packet of chocolate, " murmured Lajeunie, embracinghim; "in England, nothing to eat can be obtained on Sunday, andchocolate is very sustaining. " "And listen!" shouted Sanquereau; "on no account take off thy hat tostrangers, nor laugh in the streets; the first is 'mad' over there, andthe second is 'immoral. ' May le bon Dieu have thee in His keeping! Wecount the hours till thy return!" Then the train sped out into the night, and the poet realised that homeand friends were left behind. He would have been less than a poet if, in the first few minutes, thepathos of the situation had not gripped him by the throat. Vague, elusive fancies stirred his brain; he remembered the franc that he owedat the Café du Bel Avenir, and wondered if madame would speak gently ofhim were he lost at sea. Tender memories of past loves dimmed his eyes, and he reflected how poignant it would be to perish before the paperswould give him any obituary notices. Regarding his fellow passengers, he lamented that none of them was a beautiful girl, for it was anoccasion on which woman's sympathy would have been sweet; indeed heproceeded to invent some of the things that they might have said toeach other. Inwardly he was still resenting the faces of his travellingcompanions when the train reached Dieppe. "It is material for my biography, " he soliloquised, as he crept downthe gangway. "Few who saw the young man step firmly on to the goodship's deck conjectured the emotions that tore his heart; fewrecognised him to be Tricotrin, whose work was at that date practicallyunknown. '" But as a matter of fact he did arouse conjectures of a kind, for when the boat moved from the quay, he could not resist theopportunity to murmur, "My France, farewell!" with an appropriategesture. His repose during the night was fitful, and when Victoria was reachedat last, he was conscious of some bodily fatigue. However, his mind wasnever slow to receive impressions, and at the sight of the scaffolding, he whipped out his note-book on the platform. He wrote, "The Englishare extraordinarily prompt of action. One day it was discerned that lagare Victoria was capable of improvement--no sooner was the factdetected than an army of contractors was feverishly enlarging it. "Pleased that his journey was already yielding such good results, thepoet lit a Caporal, and sauntered through the yard. Though the sky promised a fine Sunday, his view of London at this earlyhour was not inspiriting. He loitered blankly, debating which way towander. Presently the outlook brightened--he observed a very daintypair of shoes and ankles coming through the station doors. Fearing thatthe face might be unworthy of them, he did not venture to raise hisgaze until the girl had nearly reached the gate, but when he took therisk, he was rewarded by the discovery that her features were aspiquant as her feet. She came towards him slowly, and now he remarked that she had a grudgeagainst Fate; her pretty lips were compressed, her beautiful eyesgloomy with grievance, the fairness of her brow was darkened by afrown. "Well, " mused Tricotrin, "though the object of my visit iseducational, the exigencies of my situation clearly compel me to askthis young lady to direct me somewhere. Can I summon up enough Englishbefore she has passed?" It was a trying moment, for already she was nearly abreast of him. Forgetful of Sanquereau's instructions, as well as of most of thephrases that had been committed to memory, the poet swept off his hat, and stammered, "Mees, I beg your pardon!" She turned the aggrieved eyes to him inquiringly. Although she hadpaused, she made no answer. Was his accent so atrocious as all that?For a second they regarded each other dumbly, while a blush ofembarrassment mantled the young man's cheeks. Then, with a littlegesture of apology, the girl said in French-- "I do not speak English, monsieur. " "Oh, le bon Dieu be praised!" cried Tricotrin, for all the world as ifhe had been back on the boulevard Rochechouart. "I was dazed withtravel, or I should have recognized you were a Frenchwoman. Did you, too, leave Paris last night, mademoiselle?" "Ah, no, " said the girl pensively. "I have been in London for months. Ihoped to meet a friend who wrote that she would arrive this morning, but, "--she sighed--"she has not come!" "She will arrive to-night instead, no doubt; I should have no anxiety. You may be certain she will arrive to-night, and this contretemps willbe forgotten. " She pouted. "I was looking forward so much to seeing her! To a strangerwho cannot speak the language, London is as triste as a tomb. Today, Iwas to have had a companion, and now--" "Indeed, I sympathise with you, " replied Tricotrin. "But is it reallyso--London is what you say? You alarm me. I am here absolutely alone. Where, then, shall I go this morning?" "There are churches, " she said, after some reflection. "And besides?" "W-e-ll, there are other churches. " "Of course, such things can be seen in Paris also, " demurred Tricotrin. "It is not essential to go abroad to say one's prayers. If I may takethe liberty of applying to you, in which direction would you recommendme to turn my steps? For example, where is Soho--is it too far for awalk?" "No, monsieur, it is not very far--it is the quarter in which I lodge. " "And do you return there now?" he asked eagerly. "What else is there for me to do? My friend has not come, and--" "Mademoiselle, " exclaimed the poet, "I entreat you to have mercy on acompatriot! Permit me, at least, to seek Soho in your company--do not, I implore you, leave me homeless and helpless in a strange land! Inotice an eccentric vehicle which instinct whispers is an English'hansom. ' For years I have aspired to drive in an English hansom once. It is in your power to fulfil my dream with effulgence. Will youconsent to instruct the acrobat who is performing with a whip, and totake a seat in the English hansom beside me?" "Monsieur, " responded the pretty girl graciously, "I shall be charmed;"and, romantic as the incident appears, the next minute they weredriving along Victoria Street together. "The good kind fairies have certainly taken me under their wings, "declared Tricotrin, as he admired his companion's profile. "It wasworth enduring the pangs of exile, to meet with such kindness as youhave shown me. " "I am afraid you will speedily pronounce the fairies fickle, " said she, "for our drive will soon be over, and you will find Soho no fairyland. " "How comes it that your place of residence is so unsuitable to you, mademoiselle?" "I lodge in the neighbourhood of the coiffeur's where I am employed, monsieur--where I handle the tails and transformations. Our specialtyis artificial eyelashes; the attachment is quite invisible--and theresult absolutely ravishing! No, " she added hurriedly; "I am notwearing a pair myself, these are quite natural, word of honour! But weundertake to impart to any eyes the gaze soulful, or the twinklecoquettish, as the customer desires--as an artist, I assure you thatthese expressions are due, less to the eyes themselves than to theshade, and especially the curve, of the lashes. Many a woman hasentered our saloon entirely insignificant, and turned the heads of allthe men in the street when she left. " "You interest me profoundly, " said Tricotrin, "At the same time, Ishall never know in future whether I am inspired by a woman's eyes, orthe skill of her coiffeur. I say 'in future. ' I entertain no doubt asto the source of my sensations now. " She rewarded him for this by a glance that dizzied him, and soonafterwards the hansom came to a standstill amid an overpowering odourof cheese. "We have arrived!" she proclaimed; "so it is now that we part, monsieur. For me there is the little lodging--for you the enormousLondon. It is Soho--wander where you will! There are restaurantshereabouts where one may find coffee and rolls at a modest price. Accept my thanks for your escort, and let us say bonjour. " "Are the restaurants so unsavoury that you decline to honour them?" hequestioned. "_Comment?"_ "Will you not bear me company? Or, better still, will you not let mecommand a coffee-pot for two to be sent to your apartment, and inviteme to rest after my voyage?" She hesitated. "My apartment is very humble, " she said, "and--well, Ihave never done a thing like that! It would not be correct. What wouldyou think of me if I consented?" "I will think all that you would have me think, " vowed Tricotrin. "Come, take pity on me! Ask me in, and afterwards we will admire thesights of London together. Where can the coffee-pot be ordered?" "As for that, " she said, "there is no necessity--I have a littlebreakfast for two already prepared. Enfin, it is understood--we are tobe good comrades, and nothing more? Will you give yourself the troubleof entering, monsieur?" The bedroom to which they mounted was shabby, but far fromunattractive. The mantelshelf was brightened with flowers, a piano wassqueezed into a corner, and Tricotrin had scarcely put aside his hatwhen he was greeted by the odour of coffee as excellent as was everserved in the Café de la Régence. "If this is London, " he cried, "I have no fault to find with it! I ownit is abominably selfish of me, but I cannot bring myself to regretthat your friend failed to arrive this morning; indeed, I shudder tothink what would have become of me if we had not met. Will you mentionthe name that is to figure in my benisons?" "My name is Rosalie Durand, monsieur. " "And mine is Gustave Tricotrin, mademoiselle--always your slave. I donot doubt that in Paris, at this moment, there are men who picture metramping the pavement, desolate. Not one of them but would envy me fromhis heart if he could see my situation!" "It might have fallen out worse, I admit, " said the girl. "My own daywas at the point of being dull to tears--and here I am chattering as ifI hadn't a grief in the world! Let me persuade you to take anothercroissant!" "Fervently I wish that appearances were not deceptive!" said Tricotrin, who required little persuasion. "Is it indiscreet to inquire to whatgriefs you allude? Upon my word, your position appears a very prettyone! Where do those dainty shoes pinch you?" "They are not easy on foreign soil, monsieur. When I reflect that yougo back to-night, that to-morrow you will be again in Paris, I couldgnash my teeth with jealousy. " "But, ma foi!" returned Tricotrin, "to a girl of brains, like yourself, Paris is always open. Are there no customers for eyelashes in France?Why condemn yourself to gnash with jealousy when there is a living tobe earned at home?" "There are several reasons, " she said; "for one thing, I am anextravagant little hussy and haven't saved enough for a ticket. " "I have heard no reason yet! At the moment my pocket is nicely lined--you might return with me this evening, " "Are you mad by any chance?" she laughed. "It seems to me the natural course. " "Well, I should not be free to go like that, even if I took your money. I am a business woman, you see, who does not sacrifice her interests toher sentiment. What is your own career, monsieur Tricotrin?" "I am a poet, And when I am back in Paris I shall write verse aboutyou. It shall be an impression of London--the great city as it revealsitself to a stranger whose eyes are dazzled by the girl he loves. " "Forbidden ground!" she cried, admonishing him with a finger. "Nodazzle!" "I apologise, " said Tricotrin; "you shall find me a poet of my word. Why, I declare, " he exclaimed, glancing from the window, "it has begunto rain!" "Well, fortunately, we have plenty of time; there is all day for ourexcursion and we can wait for the weather to improve. If you do notobject to smoking while I sing, monsieur, I propose a little music togo on with. " And it turned out that this singular assistant of a hairdresser had avery sympathetic voice, and no contemptible repertoire. Although thesky had now broken its promise shamefully and the downpour continued, Tricotrin found nothing to complain of. By midday one would have saidthat they had been comrades for years. By luncheon both had ceased evento regard the rain. And before evening approached, they had confided toeach other their histories from the day of their birth. Ascertaining that the basement boasted a smudgy servant girl, who wasto be dispatched for entrées and sauterne, Tricotrin drew up the menuof a magnificent dinner as the climax. It was conceded that at thisrepast he should be the host; and having placed him on oath behind ascreen, Rosalie proceeded to make an elaborate toilette in honour ofhis entertainment. Determined, as he had said, to prove himself a poet of his word, theyoung man remained behind the screen as motionless as a waxwork, butthe temptation to peep was tremendous, and at the whispering of a silkpetticoat he was unable to repress a groan. "What ails you?" she demanded, the whispering suspended. "I merely expire with impatience to meet you again. " "Monsieur, I am hastening to the trysting-place, And my costume will besuitable to the occasion, believe me!" "In that case, if you are not quick, you will have to wear crape. However, proceed, I can suffer with the best of them.... Are youcertain that I can be of no assistance? I feel selfish, idling herelike this. Besides, since I am able to see--" "See?" she screamed. "--see no reason why you should refuse my aid, my plight is worsestill. What are you doing now?" "My hair, " she announced. "Surely it would not be improper for me to view a head of hair?" "Perhaps not, monsieur; but my head is on my shoulders--which makes adifference. " "Mademoiselle, " sighed Tricotrin, "never have I known a young ladywhose head was on her shoulders more tightly. May I crave oneindulgence? My imprisonment would be less painful for a cigarette, andI cannot reach the matches--will you consent to pass them round thescreen?" "It is against the rules. But I will consent to throw them over thetop. Catch! Why don't you say 'thank you'?" "Because your unjust suspicion killed me; I now need nothing butimmortelles, and at dinner I will compose my epitaph. If I am notmistaken, I already smell the soup on the stairs. " And the soup had scarcely entered when his guest presented herself. Paquin and the Fairy Godmother would have approved her gown; as to hercoiffure, if her employer could have seen it, he would have wanted toput her in his window. Tricotrin gave her his arm with stupefaction. "Upon my word, " he faltered, "you awe me. I am now overwhelmed withembarrassment that I had the temerity to tease you while you dressed. And what shall I say of the host who is churl enough to welcome you insuch a shabby coat?" The cork went pop, their tongues went nineteen to the dozen, and thetime went so rapidly that a little clock on the chest of drawers becamea positive killjoy. "By all the laws of dramatic effect, " remarked the poet, as theytrifled with the almonds and raisins, "you will now divulge that thefashionable lady before me is no 'Rosalie Durand, ' of a hairdresser'sshop, but madame la comtesse de Thrilling Mystery. Every novel readerwould be aware that at this stage you will demand some dangerousservice of me, and that I shall forthwith risk my life and win yourlove. " "Bien sûr! That is how it ought to be, " she agreed. "Is it impossible?" "That I can be a countess?" "Well, we will waive the 'countess'; and for that matter I will notinsist on risking my life; but what about the love?" "Without the rest, " she demurred, "the situation would be toocommonplace. When I can tell you that I am a countess I will say alsothat I love you; to-night I am Rosalie Durand, a friend. By the way, now I come to think of it, I shall be all that you have seen inLondon!" "Why, I declare, so you will!" exclaimed Tricotrin. "Really this is anice thing! I come to England for the benefit of my education--and whenit is almost time for me to return, I find that I have spent the wholeof the day in a room. " "But you have, at least, had a unique experience in it?" she queriedwith a whimsical smile. "Well, yes; my journey has certainly yielded an adventure that none ofmy acquaintances would credit! Do you laugh at me?" "Far from it; by-and-by I may even spare a tear for you--if you do notspoil the day by being clumsy at the end. " "Ah, Rosalie, " cried the susceptible poet, "how can I bear the parting?What is France without you? I am no longer a Frenchman--my true home isnow England! My heart will hunger for it, my thoughts will stretchthemselves to it across the sea; banished to Montmartre, I shall mourndaily for the white cliffs of Albion, for Soho, and for you!" "I, too, shall remember, " she murmured. "But perhaps one of these daysyou will come to England again?" "If the fare could be paid with devotion, I would come every Sunday, but how can I hope to amass enough money? Such things do not happentwice. No, I will not deceive myself--this is our farewell. See!" Herose, and turned the little clock with its face to the wall. "When thatclock strikes, I must go to catch my train--in the meantime we willignore the march of time. Farewells, tears, regrets, let us forget thatthey exist--let us drink the last glass together gaily, mignonne!" They pledged each other with brave smiles, hand in hand. And now theirchatter became fast and furious, to drown the clock's impatient tick. The clockwork wheezed and whirred. "'Tis going to part us, " shouted Tricotrin; "laugh, laugh, Beloved, sothat we may not hear!" "Kiss me, " she cried; "while the hour sounds, you shall hold me in yourarms!" "Heaven, " gasped the young man, as the too brief embrace concluded, "how I wish it had been striking midnight!" The next moment came the separation. He descended the stairs; at thewindow she waved her hand to him. And in the darkness of an "Englishhansom" the poet covered his face and wept. * * * * * "From our hearts we rejoice to have thee safely back!" they chorused inMontmartre. "And what didst thou see in London?" "Oh, mon Dieu, what noble sights!" exclaimed Tricotrin. "The Lor' Maireblazes with jewels like the Shah of Persia; and compared withPeeccadeelly, the Champs Elysées are no wider than a hatband. Vivel'Entente! Positively my brain whirls with all the splendours of LondonI have seen!" THE INFIDELITY OF MONSIEUR NOULENS Whenever they talk of him, whom I will call "Noulens"--of his novels, his method, the eccentricities of his talent--someone is sure to say, "But what comrades, he and his wife!"--you are certain to hear it. Andas often as I hear it myself, I think of what he told me that evening--I remember the shock I had. At the beginning, I had expected little. When I went in, his wife said, "I fear he will be poor company; he has to write a short story for_La Voix, _ and cannot find a theme--he has been beating his brainsall day. " So far, from anticipating emotions, I had proposed diningthere another night instead, but she would not allow me to leave. "Something you say may suggest a theme to him, " she declared, "and hecan write or dictate the story in an hour, when you have gone. " So I stayed, and after dinner he lay on the sofa, bewailing the fatethat had made him an author. The salon communicated with his study, andthrough the open door he had the invitation of his writing-table--thelittle sheaf of paper that she had put in readiness for him, thelighted lamp, the pile of cigarettes. I knew that she hoped the viewwould stimulate him, but it was soon apparent that he had ceased tothink of a story altogether. He spoke of one of the latest murders inParis, one sensational enough for the Paris Press to report a murderprominently--of a conference at the Université des Annales, of theartistry of Esther Lekain, of everything except his work. Then, in thehall, the telephone bell rang, and madame Noulens rose to receive themessage. "Allô! Allô!" She did not come back. There was a pause, and presently he murmured: "I wonder if a stranger has been moved to telephone a plot to me?" "What?" I said. "It sounds mad, hein? But it once happened--on just such a night asthis, when my mind was just as blank. Really! Out of the silence awoman told me a beautiful story. Of course, I never used it, nor do Iknow if she made use of it herself; but I have never forgotten. Foryears I could not hear a telephone bell without trembling. Even now, when I am working late, I find myself hoping for her voice. " "The story was so wonderful as that?" He threw a glance into the study, as if to assure himself that his wifehad not entered it from the hall. "Can you believe that a man may learn to love--tenderly and truly love--a woman he has never met?" he asked me. "I don't think I understand you. " "There has been only one woman in my life who was all in all to me, " hesaid--"and I never saw her. " How was I to answer? I looked at him. "After all, what is there incredible in it?" he demanded. "Do we giveour love to a face, or to a temperament? I swear to you that I couldnot have known that woman's temperament more intimately if we had madeour confidences in each other's arms. I knew everything of her, exceptthe trifles which a stranger learns in the moment of being presented--her height, her complexion, her name, whether she was married orsingle. No, those things I never knew. But her tastes, her sympathies, her soul, these, the secret truths of the woman, were as familiar to meas to herself. " He hesitated. "I am in a difficulty. If I seem to disparage my wife, I shall be acad; if I let you think we have been as happy together as peopleimagine, you will not understand the importance of what I am going totell you. I will say this: before our honeymoon was over, I bored herfearfully. While we were engaged, I had talked to her of my illusionsabout herself; when we were married, I talked to her of my convictionsabout my art. The change appalled her. She was chilled, crushed, dumfounded. I looked to her to share my interests. For response, sheyawned--and wept. "Oh, her tears! her hourly tears! the tears that drowned my love! "The philosopher is made, not born; in the first few years I rebelledfuriously. I wanted a companion, a confidant, and I had never felt sodesperately alone. "We had a flat in the rue de Sontay then, and the telephone was in myworkroom. One night late, as I sat brooding there, the bell startledme; and a voice--a woman's voice, said: "'I am so lonely; I want to talk to you before I sleep. ' "I cannot describe the strangeness of that appeal, reaching me sosuddenly out of the distance. I knew that it was a mistake, of course, but it was as if, away in the city, some nameless soul had echoed thecry in my own heart. I obeyed an impulse; I said: "'I, too, am very lonely--I believe I have been waiting for you. ' "There was a pause, and then she asked, dismayed: "'Who are you?' "'Not the man you thought, ' I told her. 'But a very wistful one. ' "I heard soft laughter, 'How absurd!' she murmured. "'Be merciful, ' I went on; 'we are both sad, and Fate clearly intendsus to console each other. It cannot compromise you, for I do not evenknow who you are. Stay and talk to me for five minutes. ' "'What do you ask me to talk about?' "'Oh, the subject to interest us both--yourself. ' "After a moment she answered, 'I am shaking my head. ' "'It is very unfeeling of you, ' I said. 'And I have not even thecompensation of seeing you do it. ' "Imagine another pause, and then her voice in my ear again: "'I will tell you what I can do for you--I can tell you a story. ' "'The truth would please me more, ' I owned. 'Still, if my choice mustbe made between your story and your silence, I certainly choose thestory. ' "'I applaud your taste, ' she said. 'Are you comfortable--are yousitting down?' "I sat down, smiling. 'Madame--' "She did not reply. "Then, 'Mademoiselle--' "Again no answer. "'Well, say at least if I have your permission to smoke while I listento you?' "She laughed: 'You carry courtesy far!' "'How far?' I asked quickly. "But she would not even hint from what neighbourhood she was speakingto me. 'Attend!' she commanded--and began: "'It is a story of two lovers, ' she said, 'Paul and Rosamonde. Theywere to have married, but Rosamonde died too soon. When she was dying, she gave him a curl of the beautiful brown hair that he used to kiss. "Au revoir, dear love, " she whispered; "it will be very stupid inHeaven until you come. Remember that I am waiting for you and befaithful. If your love for me fades, you will see that curl of minefade too. " "'Every day through the winter Paul strewed flowers on her tomb, andsobbed. And in the spring he strewed flowers and sighed. And in thesummer he paid that flowers might be strewn there for him. Sometimes, when he looked at the dead girl's hair, he thought that it was palerthan it had been, but, as he looked at it seldom now, he could easilypersuade himself that he was mistaken. "'Then he met a woman who made him happy again; and the wind chased thewithered flowers from Rosamonde's grave and left it bare. One dayPaul's wife found a little packet that lay forgotten in his desk. Sheopened it jealously, before he could prevent her. Paul feared that thesight would give her pain, and watched her with anxious eyes. But in amoment she was laughing. "What an idiot I am, " she exclaimed--"I wasafraid that it was the hair of some girl you had loved!" The curl wassnow-white. ' "Her fantastic tale, " continued Noulens, "which was told with anearnestness that I cannot reproduce, impressed me very much. I did notoffer any criticism, I did not pay her any compliment; I said simply: "'Who are you?' "'That, ' she warned me, 'is a question that you must not ask. Well, areyou still bored?' "'No. ' "'Interested, a little?' "'Very much so. ' "'I, too, am feeling happier than I did. And now, bonsoir!' "'Wait, ' I begged. 'Tell me when I shall speak to you again. ' "She hesitated; and I assure you that I had never waited for a woman'sanswer with more suspense while I held her hand, than I waited for theanswer of this woman whom I could not see. 'To-morrow?' I urged. 'Inthe morning?' "'In the morning it would be difficult. ' "'The afternoon?' "'In the afternoon it would be impossible, ' "'Then the evening--at the same hour?' "'Perhaps, ' she faltered--'if I am free. ' "'My number, ' I told her, 'is five-four-two, one-nine. Can you write itnow?' "'I have written it. ' "'Please repeat, so that there may be no mistake. ' "'Five-four-two, one-nine. Correct?' "'Correct. I am grateful. ' "'Good-night. ' "'Good-night. Sleep well. ' "You may suppose that on the morrow I remembered the incident with asmile, that I ridiculed the emotion it had roused in me? You would bewrong. I recalled it more and more curiously: I found myself lookingforward to the appointment with an eagerness that was astonishing. Wehad talked for about twenty minutes, hidden from each other--halfParis, perhaps, dividing us; I had nothing more tangible to expect thisevening. Yet I experienced all the sensations of a man who waits for aninterview, for an embrace. What did it mean? I was bewildered. Thepossibility of love at first sight I understood; but might the spiritalso recognise an affinity by telephone? "There is a phrase in feuilletons that had always irritated me--'To hisimpatience it seemed that the clock had stopped. ' It had always struckme as absurd. Since that evening I have never condemned the phrase, forhonestly, I thought more than once that the clock had stopped. By-and-by, to increase the tension, my wife, who seldom entered my workroom, opened the door. She found me idle, and was moved to converse with me. Mon Dieu! Now that the hour approached at last, my wife was present, with the air of having settled herself for the night! "The hands of the clock moved on--and always faster now. If sheremained till the bell rang, what was I to do? To answer that I had'someone with me' would be intelligible to the lady, but it would soundsuspicious to my wife. To answer that I was 'busy' would sound innocentto my wife, but it would be insulting to the lady. To disregard thebell altogether would be to let my wife go to the telephone herself! Itell you I perspired. "Under Providence, our cook rescued me. There came a timid knock, andthen the figure of the cook, her eyes inflamed, her head swathed insome extraordinary garment. She had a raging toothache--would madamehave the kindness to give her a little cognac? The ailments of the cookalways arouse in human nature more solicitude than the ailments of anyother servant. My wife's sympathy was active--I was saved! "The door had scarcely closed when _tr-rr-r-ng_ the signal came. "'Good-evening, ' from the voice. 'So you are here to meet me. ' "'Good-evening, ' I said. 'I would willingly go further to meet you, ' "'Be thankful that the rendez-vous was your flat--listen to the rain!Come, own that you congratulated yourself when it began! "Luckily I canbe gallant without getting wet, " you thought. Really, I am mostconsiderate--you keep a dry skin, you waste no time in reaching me, andyou need not even trouble to change your coat. ' "'It sounds very cosy, ' I admitted, 'but there is one drawback to itall--I do not see you. ' "'That may be more considerate of me still! I may be reluctant tobanish your illusions. Isn't it probable that I am elderly--or, atleast plain? I may even be a lady novelist, with ink on her fingers. By-the-bye, monsieur, I have been rereading one of your books sincelast night. ' "'Oh, you know my name now? I am gratified to have become more than atelephonic address to you. May I ask if we have ever met?' "'We never spoke till last night, but I have seen you often, ' "'You, at any rate, can have no illusions to be banished. What arelief! I have endeavoured to talk as if I had a romantic bearing; nowthat you know how I look, I can be myself. ' "'I await your next words with terror, ' she said. 'What shock is instore for me? Speak gently. ' "'Well, speaking gently, I am very glad that you were put on to thewrong number last night. At the same time, I feel a constraint, adifficulty; I cannot talk to you frankly, cannot be serious--it is asif I showed my face while you were masked. ' "'Yes, it is true--I understand, ' she said. 'And even if I were toswear that I was not unworthy of your frankness, you would still bedoubtful of me, I suppose?' "'Madame--' "'Oh, it is natural! I know very well how I must appear to you, ' sheexclaimed; 'a coquette, with a new pastime--a vulgar coquette, besides, who tries to pique your interest by an air of mystery. Believe me, monsieur, I am forbidden to unmask. Think lightly of me if you must--Ihave no right to complain--but believe as much as that! I do not giveyou my name, simply because I may not. ' "'Madame, ' I replied, 'so far from wishing to force your confidences, Iassure you that I will never inquire who you are, never try to findout. ' "'And you will talk frankly, unconstrainedly, all the same?' "'Ah, you are too illogical to be elderly and plain, ' I demurred. 'Youresolve to remain a stranger to me, and I bow to your decision; but, onthe other hand, a man makes confidences only to his friends. ' "There was a long pause; and when I heard the voice again, it trembled: "'Adieu, monsieur. ' "'Adieu, madame, ' I said. "No sooner had she gone than I would have given almost anything tobring her back. For a long while I sat praying that she would ringagain. I watched the telephone as if it had been her window, the doorof her home--something that could yield her to my view. During the nextfew days I grudged every minute that I was absent from the room--I tookmy meals in it. Never had I had the air of working so indefatigably, and in truth I did not write a line, 'I suppose you have begun a newromance?' said my wife. In my soul I feared that I had finished it!" Noulens sighed; he clasped his hands on his head. The dark hair, thethin, restless fingers were all that I could see of him where I sat. Some seconds passed; I wondered whether there would be time for me tohear the rest before his wife returned. * * * * * "In my soul I feared that I had finished it, " he repeated. "Extraordinary as it appears, I was in love with a woman I had neverseen. Each time that bell sounded, my heart seemed to try to choke me. It had been my grievance, since we had the telephone installed, that weheard nothing of it excepting that we had to make another payment forits use; but now, by a maddening coincidence, everybody that I had evermet took to ringing me up about trifles and agitating me twenty times aday. "At last, one night--when expectation was almost dead--she called to meagain. Oh, but her voice was humble! My friend, it is piteous when welove a woman, to hear her humbled. I longed to take her hands, to foldmy arms about her. I abased myself, that she might regain her pride. She heard how I had missed and sorrowed for her; I owned that she wasdear to me. "And then began a companionship--strange as you may find the word--which was the sweetest my life has held. We talked together daily. Thiswoman, whose whereabouts, whose face, whose name were all unknown tome, became the confidant of my disappointments and my hopes. If Iworked well, my thoughts would be, 'Tonight I shall have good news togive her;' if I worked ill--'Never mind, by-and-by she will encourageme!' There was not a page in my next novel that I did not read to her;never a doubt beset me in which I did not turn for her sympathy andadvice. "'Well, how have you got on?' "'Oh, I am so troubled this evening, dear!' "'Poor fellow! Tell me all about it. I tried to come to you sooner, butI couldn't get away. ' "Like that! We talked as if she were really with me. My life was nolonger desolate--the indifference in my home no longer grieved me. Allthe interest, the love, the inspiration I had hungered for, was givento me now by a woman who remained invisible. " Noulens paused again. In the pause I got up to light a cigarette, and--I shall never forget it--I saw the bowed figure of his wife beyond thestudy door! It was only a glimpse I had, but the glimpse was enough tomake my heart stand still--she leant over the table, her face hidden byher hand. I tried to warn, to signal to him--he did not see me. I felt that Icould do nothing, nothing at all, without doubling her humiliation bythe knowledge that I had witnessed it. If he would only look at me! "Listen, " he went on rapidly. "I was happy, I was young again--andthere was a night when she said to me, 'It is for the last time. ' "Six words! But for a moment I had no breath, no life, to answer them. "'Speak!' she cried out. 'You are frightening me!' "'What has happened?' I stammered. 'Trust me, I implore you!' "I heard her sobbing--and minutes seemed to pass. It was horrible. Ithought my heart would burst while I shuddered at her sobs--the sobbingof a woman I could not reach. "'I can tell you nothing, ' she said, when she was calmer; 'only that weare speaking together for the last time. ' "'But why--why? Is it that you are leaving France?' "'I cannot tell you, ' she repeated. 'I have had to swear that tomyself. ' "Oh, I raved to her! I was desperate. I tried to wring her name fromher then--I besought her to confess where she was hidden. The spacebetween us frenzied me. It was frightful, it was like a nightmare, thatstruggle to tear the truth from a woman whom I could not clasp or see. "'My dear, ' she said, 'there are some things that are beyond humanpower. They are not merely difficult, or unwise, or mad--they areimpossible. _You_ have begged the impossible of _me_. Youwill never hear me again, it is far from likely we shall ever meet--andif one day we do, you will not even know that it is I. But I love you. I should like to think that you believe it, for I love you very dearly. Now say good-bye to me. My arms are round your neck, dear heart--Ikiss you on the lips. ' "It was the end. She was lost. A moment before, I had felt her presencein my senses; now I stood in an empty room, mocked by a futileapparatus. My friend, if you have ever yearned to see a woman whosewhereabouts you did not know--ever exhausted yourself tramping somedistrict in the hope of finding her--you may realise what I feel; forremember that by comparison your task was easy--I am even ignorant ofthis woman's arrondissement and appearance. She left me helpless. Thetelephone had given her--the telephone had taken her away. All thatremained to me was the mechanism on a table. " * * * * * Noulens turned on the couch at last--and, turning, he could not fail tosee his wife. I was spellbound. "'Mechanism on a table, ' he repeated, with a prodigious yawn of relief. 'That is all, my own. '" "Good!" said madame Noulens cheerily. She bustled in, fluttering pagesof shorthand. "But, old angel, the tale of Paul and Rosamonde is thrownaway--it is an extravagance, telling two stories for the price of one!" "My treasure, thou knowest I invented it months ago and couldn't makeit long enough for it to be of any use. " "True. Well, we will be liberal, then--we will include it. " She noticedmy amazement. "What ails our friend?" Noulens gave a guffaw. "I fear our friend did not recognize that I wasdictating to you. By-the-bye, it was fortunate someone rang us up justnow--that started my plot for me! Who was it?" "It was _La Voix_" she laughed, "inquiring if the story would bedone in time!" * * * * * Yes, indeed, they are comrades!--you are certain to hear it. And asoften as I hear it myself, I think of what he told me that evening--Iremember how he took me in.