Chapter VIII: A Gentleman Who DID Not Ruin Himself for Women

There was one man in the house who said nothing; to be sure, he was too lofty a personage to gossip with his neighbors! It was the man who occupied the first-floor suite in the building on the boulevard. His name was Monsieur de Mardeille; was he of noble birth, or was he not? that is of little consequence to us; but this much is certain: he had about twenty-five thousand francs a year and he never spent the whole of his income.

Monsieur de Mardeille was at this time about fifty years of age, but he looked hardly forty-four. He had been a very comely person, and was still far from ill-looking. He was of commanding stature, well built, and had had the good fortune not to grow stout as he grew older; thus he was still capable of making conquests, his physical advantages being reinforced by those due to the possession of wealth. Always dressed in the height of fashion, but wise enough to avoid those extreme styles which, while they are endurable in a young man, are ridiculous in middle age, Monsieur de Mardeille had a distinguished bearing and the manners of the best society; and lastly, while he was no eagle, he had that social cleverness which often consists only in a good memory, and is infinitely more common than natural cleverness. With all the rest, he was exceedingly presumptuous, and believed himself to be very shrewd.

It is almost superfluous to say that Monsieur de Mardeille took the greatest care of his health, for he was most solicitous to retain his good looks, and, consequently, his youth; which last is a decidedly difficult thing to do, as we grow older every day. But still, so long as a man has a youthful look he tries to persuade himself that he is really young; to be sure, there is always something in our inmost being that reminds us how old we are; but so long as that something does not let itself be seen, we are entitled to forget it.

Monsieur de Mardeille, then, took the greatest care of his person; he took medicinal baths twice a week; he took all the laxatives that keep the complexion fresh; he indulged in no excess, either at the table or in love. In fact, as he was a man who thought of nothing but himself, he had never allowed himself to undergo the slightest annoyance because of a woman, for egotists never love. Moreover, this gentleman prided himself upon never having spent money on a mistress. We do not call it spending money when we take a lady to dine at a restaurant, or to the play, or to the Bois in a calèche; for, in such cases, as we have our share of the pleasure, and as we gratify our vanity by parading our conquest, the money is spent for our own behoof. So that Monsieur de Mardeille, having thus far succeeded in having _bonnes fortunes_ that cost him nothing, laughed at his friends, most of whom ruined themselves, or at least ran into debt, to satisfy the whims of the fair ones for whom they sighed.

"What the devil!" he would say, looking at himself in a mirror; "do as I do, messieurs! No woman ever resisted me, and yet I never gave them diamonds or cashmere shawls--still less, money, egad! And I have always taken good care not to pay their milliner's bills; whenever it has happened that a lady who had been kind to me has taken it into her head to send one of her purveyors to me with a little note begging me to help her out of a scrape by paying his bill, I have always begun by turning the man out of doors; and then I have ceased visiting my fair one, to whom I have written: 'I found it impossible to accommodate you, and I dare not see you again.'--Then my mistress was certain to come running after me, overwhelming me with tokens of affection, and crying: 'Can it be that you thought that I loved you from selfish motives? Why, it is you, you alone, whom I love! Oh! come back, come back!'--I have generally let them pull my ear for a while, and then gone back, amid transports of love on their part. For you may be perfectly sure, messieurs, that a woman will never love a man more because he is very gallant and very generous with her. She will take more pains about deceiving him, that's all; for she will hate to lose his gifts and his bounty; but what pleasure is there in possessing a woman who clings to you only from motives of self-interest?"

"But," some of his friends would reply, "have you never felt the pleasure of giving? Are you insensible to the delight one feels in gratifying a woman's desires, in humoring her fancies, her caprices, and in the sweet smile with which she thanks you when you take her a present, whether it be some pretty trifle, or a magnificent jewel?"

"Pardieu! I can readily believe that she smiles at you then; you wouldn't have her make a face at you, would you? But that gracious smile, which transports and intoxicates you, is not bestowed on you, but on the jewel or the shawl that you bring her. And perhaps you think that she loves you the more for it? Why, not at all; she will deceive you the next minute, making fun of you with the friend of her heart, to whom she will laughingly show the present you have just given her. No, messieurs, I do not know, nor have I any desire to know, what you choose to call the pleasure of giving. For that pleasure would deprive me of all confidence in my mistress; and if I am deceived, I can, at all events, say that it has cost me nothing.--And then," De Mardeille would add, "I must say that I have always chosen my conquests in good society, and that, consequently, my mistresses did not need to have me treat them generously."

"That proves nothing. Whatever a woman's rank, she is always flattered to receive a handsome present."

"Perhaps so; but, on the other hand, I am much more flattered when she loves me without any presents."

Now you know the gentleman who lived directly opposite Georgette, and whose windows, being on the first floor, enabled him to look directly into the apartments in the entresol opposite; which entresol was occupied by the pretty shirtmaker, who, as we have already had the privilege of informing you, often left her windows open to enjoy the balmy spring air, and perhaps also to allow her neighbors to see her. When a woman is pretty, she does not hide herself, unless she is under the sway of a jealous tyrant. And even then she finds a way to let some portion of her person be seen, which may kindle a desire to see the rest.

Monsieur de Mardeille condescended occasionally to sit at a window in his dining-room, which looked on the courtyard; and there, in a stylish négligé, enveloped in a handsome dressing-gown, of velvet or dimity according to the season, his head covered with a dainty cap, the tassel of which fell gracefully over his right ear, and from beneath which escaped some stray brown locks, which were sternly forbidden to turn gray, my gentleman would bestow a glance or two on those of his neighbors who were worth the trouble of looking at. But thus far he had discovered nobody in the house who deserved to be scrutinized for more than an instant.

When Georgette moved in, Monsieur de Mardeille's valet lost no time in informing his master that he had a new neighbor opposite, and added:

"I thought she seemed to be very good-looking."

"Ah! she seemed to you to be good-looking?" replied the old dandy, with a smile. "What sort of woman is this new tenant?"

"She's an unmarried woman, so it seems, monsieur, and she makes men's shirts."

"A shirtmaker! What! do you presume to praise a shirtmaker to me, Frontin?"

Monsieur de Mardeille had insisted that his valet should consent to be called Frontin, although his real name was Eustache; for the name Frontin, which used to be employed in all comic operas, reminded our elegant seducer of a multitude of interesting and diverting love intrigues, wherein Frontin's master was always triumphant; and it was probably with a view to reproducing in actual life those scenes of the stage that Monsieur de Mardeille had dubbed his servant Frontin. If he had dared, he would have called him Figaro; but he himself was beginning to be a little mature to play Almaviva.

Frontin, a great clown who deemed himself very shrewd, smiled as he answered:

"Faith! monsieur, I thought that a pretty girl was a pretty girl, even if she was a shirtmaker!"

"There may be some little truth in what you say, Frontin; but so far as I am concerned, you must understand that I look at women with other eyes than yours; that is to say, to appear pretty to me, a young woman, even a grisette,--for I do not absolutely debar grisettes,--must have something more than the commonplace beauties which charm you other men on the instant. She must have a--I don't know what--a certain peculiar fascination which we connoisseurs readily recognize, and to which the common herd of martyrs pay no heed. Tell me, Frontin, what you noticed especially alluring in this girl? I shall see at once whether you're an expert."

"What I noticed, monsieur?"

"Yes. And, first of all, where did you see her?"

"I saw her pass this morning, monsieur, crossing the courtyard; I was in the concierge's lodge, and he said to me: 'See, there's the new tenant of the little entresol! That's Mamzelle Georgette; she's a shirtmaker, and she sews like a fairy, so they say.'--Naturally, I looked at her. I should say that she's about twenty, very well built, with very pleasant, attractive eyes; eyes of the sort that--that----"

"Enough, Frontin, I understand. What else?"

"_Dame!_ monsieur, her nose is a little turned up, and she has a very large mouth; I saw her teeth when she spoke to the concierge; there isn't one missing, monsieur."

"Pardieu! if her teeth were decaying at twenty, that would be unfortunate!"

"But I mean that her teeth are very white and even; and her cheeks are rosy and fresh."

"I see! a simple, country beauty! she's probably just from the country."

"Oh, no! she doesn't look in the least like a peasant; she carries herself too easily for that."

"Well, I will see, I will examine her, I will run my eye over her. But I will wager--a toothpick--that your pretty neighbor is a mere ordinary beauty. Does she ever sit at her window?"

"Oh! better than that, monsieur: she leaves all her windows wide open, and from ours we can look right into her room; we can even see her little bed in the rear!"

"Ah! we can even see her bed? And she leaves her windows open?"

"I presume that she shuts them when she goes to bed. And she has curtains."

"Ah! Frontin, you knave, you have noticed all that! she has curtains! Parbleu! it would be a pretty state of things if she hadn't! Morals, Frontin, morals! However, I will take a look at this young woman whom you think pretty, and tell you if you know what you're talking about."

"Oh! I am sure that monsieur will agree with me."

A few moments later, Frontin ran to his master and said:

"Monsieur, our young neighbor's windows opposite are wide open, and she's sewing at one of them; you can see her at your ease."

Monsieur de Mardeille arose, saying:

"This devil of a Frontin! he insists that I must see his little shirtmaker. But beware! if you have disturbed me just to show me some commonplace face, I shall withdraw my confidence in your taste."

Although he pretended that he went to look at his new neighbor solely to oblige his servant, he was not at all sorry to assure himself whether she was in fact as attractive as Frontin said; for Monsieur de Mardeille had always been very fond of the fair sex; to seek to attract women had been almost the sole occupation of his life; and for the last few years that occupation had been much more laborious, and had demanded much more time and trouble. It is useless to appear only forty-four years old when one is fifty; there are women who think forty-four too old--usually those who are about that age themselves. A middle-aged man finds it easier to make the conquest of a mere girl than of a woman who has known life. Why is it? Probably because the former lacks the experience of the other.

Monsieur de Mardeille took up his position at one of his dining-room windows; he assumed a graceful attitude, leaning on the window sill; he pushed his cap a little farther over his right ear, then turned his eyes to this side and that, not choosing to let anyone suppose that he had come there to look at the new tenant of the entresol.

Soon, however, he carelessly cast a glance in that direction. Georgette was sitting at the window, sewing, and from time to time she too glanced into the courtyard; there is no law against a young woman's desiring to become acquainted with the faces of her neighbors.

Monsieur de Mardeille therefore was able to scrutinize the young shirtmaker's features at his leisure. She, when she raised her eyes from her work, saw plainly enough that her opposite neighbor was examining her; but that fact seemed not to embarrass her in the least, for she raised her head as often as before to look out of her window.

"Not bad! not bad!" muttered Monsieur de Mardeille; "a little nose _à la_ Roxelane, fresh cheeks, eyes that look bright enough and saucy enough! But nothing extraordinary; I have seen all that a hundred times. She's rather a pretty girl, but nothing more. She doesn't deserve all your high-flown praise, my poor Frontin."

But thus far he had only seen Georgette seated, so that he had no opportunity to admire the shapeliness of her figure or the grace of her carriage. Luckily, chance willed---- But was it really chance? We will not take our oath to it; women are so quick at divining what is calculated to seduce us! But, no matter! let us charge it to the account of chance that it occurred to the girl to leave her seat to water a small pot of violets that stood on the other window sill.

Thereupon her opposite neighbor had an opportunity to watch her walk about her room; for one does not find on the instant all that one requires to water flowers, especially when one has no watering pot. So he saw Mademoiselle Georgette in her jacket and short petticoat; he could even see her foot and the lower part of her leg; for the girl--still by chance--went several times to the rear of the room, walking back and forth, after she had watered her flowers; and Monsieur de Mardeille, who was about to turn away from the window, remained there, and did not stir.

"Ah! the devil!" he was muttering now; "ah! that's very pretty, that is! _Fichtre!_ what a figure! what hips! what a foot! what a leg! This is infinitely superior to all the rest. What a brisk walk! She reminds me of Béranger's ballad."

And he began to hum:

"'Ma Frétillon! ma Frétillon!
Cette fille
Qui frétille,
N'a pourtant qu'un cotillon!'"

Amazed to hear his master sing, Frontin said, with a downcast expression:

"So, monsieur doesn't think that the little one opposite deserves all I said in her praise?"

"Hush! hush! hold your tongue, Frontin!" replied Monsieur de Mardeille, without leaving the window or taking his eyes off his neighbor; "I said that, but I hadn't then seen her graceful, willowy form, or the little black skirt that outlines her voluptuous hips so perfectly. It is adorable! Indeed, it is well deserving of one's attention! And her foot! she has a charming foot! and the leg promises----"

"Ah! I am very glad that monsieur sees that I was right, and----"

"Hush, Frontin, hush! She's looking in this direction."

Georgette had, in fact, raised her head at that moment, and her eyes had met her neighbor's of the first floor. Monsieur de Mardeille eagerly seized the opportunity to bestow a gracious salutation upon the new tenant, who replied with a courtesy and a very amiable smile.

Thereupon Monsieur de Mardeille left his window, saying:

"We must not be too lavish of our attentions at once! But from the way the little one smiled at me, I see that this conquest will not cost me much trouble."