Chapter II: Of Things That Often Happen

“Now, my dear Bélan, say on; we are on the boulevard, and you will not disturb anybody; but I advise you to lower your voice a little, for I don’t see the necessity of taking all the passers-by into your confidence.”

“Lower my voice, my friend! it is very easy for you to say that. But when one is as excited, as agitated as I am, it is perfectly justifiable to shout; it relieves one. Oh! mon Dieu! how will all this end?”

“You begin to alarm me, Bélan. What is it all about, pray?”

“Parbleu! love, intrigue, a woman--always women! as you know, I care for nothing else.”

I could not forbear a glance at the little man. I knew that he was very well-built in his little way, and that many taller men had not calves as plump and shapely as his. But his face was so ridiculous--his turned-up nose, eyebrows absurdly high, heart-shaped mouth and big eyes formed such a comical whole, that I could not understand how he could ever inspire love; I could imagine it much more easily of an ugly face which was pleasant or intellectual; but I suppose that I am not a good judge, for Bélan was generally supposed to be a favorite with the ladies, and, as he had just said himself, he was constantly mixed up in intrigue. To be sure, Bélan was rich, and money is a potent auxiliary; many self-styled seducers owe their success to it alone.

Bélan saw that I was scrutinizing him. He stood on tiptoe again, and said to me in an offended tone, for the little man is easily hurt and irritated:

“You look as if you were surprised that it is about a love intrigue. Does it astonish you that I turn the heads of the ladies?”

“No, my dear fellow; but I am astonished that you are so excited, as it is nothing more than a thing to which you must be accustomed.”

“Ah! but it is not always so serious as it is to-day.--You must know that I am on the best of terms with Madame de Montdidier?”

“Faith, no, I didn’t know it.”

“What! you didn’t know that? A rake like you--a man after my own heart!”

“You do me too much honor.”

“To be sure, I haven’t mentioned it to anybody, for I am discretion itself; but such things are always noticed; ordinarily the husband is the only person who does not detect them.”

“Has he detected something this time?”

“Listen: Montdidier is a quick-tempered man, brutal even, so his wife says; and more than that, horribly jealous.”

“All this does not prevent him from being----”

“No, such things never do prevent it; on the contrary, they make one want--However, you will see that it necessitated extra precaution and prudence. He is not one of the husbands who go half-way to meet you, who constantly ask you to act as their wife’s escort, to go with her to the play or to walk; one of those husbands, in short, who seem to say to you: ‘Make me a cuckold; I should like it.’”

“It is true that there are some like that.”

“What I had to do was to deceive an Argus, an Othello; I had to invent some stratagem day after day. Luckily I am never at a loss.”

“You are very fortunate.”

“To-day Montdidier dined out; a ceremonious dinner which he could not avoid attending. Thereupon we laid our plans. His wife pretended to dine early, and then she said that she was going to see her aunt; she did leave the house, in fact, but she joined me at a little restaurant on Boulevard du Temple. Everything passed off as we had agreed; we had an excellent dinner, et cætera, et cætera!”

“Yes, many _et cæteras_, no doubt.”

“I beg you to believe that there were a great many. In the evening, Hélène--that is the name of my inamorata----”

“The name suits her very well.”

“That is so, on my word! I hadn’t thought of that. Well, Hélène had to go to join her Menelaus. Ha! ha! that is very amusing--Menelaus----”

“And you are Paris!”

“Just so, I am Paris. What a pity that I cannot laugh now!--Well, Hélène was to join her husband at Giraud’s, who gives a reception to-night. You know Giraud, a loquacious fellow, who thinks that he’s a business agent because he has three boxes standing on his desk, and who has a mania for trying to marry everybody, and that merely that he and his wife may be present at the wedding?”

“Yes, I know him.”

“I was to go to Giraud’s too, but not until later; we did not want to arrive together. People are talking enough already, and I have such a terrible reputation.”

“Well?”

“Well, just now we sent out for a cab, and Hélène and I got into it. I ought to have let her go alone; but what can you expect? It is always so hard to part! That woman is exceedingly passionate.--Well, we were in the cab. You know that Giraud lives on Rue Poissonnière; I had told the driver to put me down at the corner of the boulevard. We were going along quietly enough, when suddenly we felt that we were thrown against the side of the cab; Hélène fell against the door, and I fell upon her; it was all because of an accident to the cab--one of the hind wheels had broken. We shouted like madmen. Hélène pushed me away with her hand, which she thrust into my eye, saying that I was stifling her; and I said to her: ‘Take your hand away; you are putting out my eye!’--Can’t you imagine the picture?”

“I observe that you had ceased to say sweet things to each other.”

“Faith! that we had; I believe that we were on the point of insulting each other. Just see how a broken wheel changes the nature of one’s feelings. Luckily we were more frightened than hurt. A crowd gathered about our cab. I succeeded in opening the door and jumped out first. But imagine my stupefaction when I saw her husband before me--yes, Montdidier himself, craning his neck to see what had happened.”

“Did he recognize you?”

“I haven’t an idea; when I saw him, I didn’t give him time to speak to me; I turned so suddenly that I nearly upset a peddler who was behind me. I pushed everybody out of my way, and ran to your room without stopping.”

“And your unfortunate companion,--did you leave her there?”

“Would you have had me offer her my hand, and play the gallant with her before her husband? It seems to me that I followed the wisest course. But still, if Montdidier recognized me, and I am afraid he did; if his wife called my name; if--for he must have seen his wife get out of the cab--O heaven! such a hot-tempered, jealous man!”

“He is capable of doing his wife some violence.”

“His wife, yes, no doubt, and me too. She was forever saying to me when we were together: ‘Ah! if my husband knew, he would kill me! he would kill me!’”

“In that case he might very well try to kill you too.”

“It is terrible, it is most distressing. It isn’t that I am afraid to fight--you know that it isn’t that, because I have proved my courage; but the sensation, the scandal the thing will cause. And then, in reality, I’ve nothing against Montdidier. He always received me cordially, and invited me to dinner. I bear him no grudge at all.”

“You bore nobody a grudge but his wife.”

“No joking, my dear fellow; it is too serious a matter. This infernal mania for intrigues! But it is all over now; I don’t propose to deceive any more husbands. It is most absurd and it is immoral too; I am angry with myself for ever having done it.--What! are you laughing at me again?”

“Yes, I can’t help laughing; you remind me of the sailors who pray to God during the storm and laugh at Him when the weather is fine.”

“I don’t know if I resemble a sailor, but I do know that I feel very uncomfortable. This adventure so soon after dinner--the charlotte russe lies heavy on my stomach. Come, my dear Blémont, let’s not laugh; help me to get out of this fix; I will do as much for you, and you may need me soon, for you are a terrible fellow too,--the terror of husbands. Great God! how you have maltreated the poor devils!”

“If I can be of any service to you I shall be glad to, but I don’t quite see how, unless I make Montdidier think that it was I who was in the cab with his wife; but that would not rehabilitate the reputation of his Hélène, and that is what we must think of first of all.”

“That is so, that is what we must think of; although, since she put her finger in my eye, I am not in love with her at all. It is amazing how ugly she looked to me at that moment!”

“She has not always looked ugly to you. She has been kind to you, and you must try to acknowledge it by saving her good name.”

“Yes, she has been kind to me, but I don’t want any more of her favors. Oh, even if it can all be straightened out, I say again, no more flirtations with married women, no more illicit love-affairs. Unmarried girls or widows, women without entanglements,--they’re all right; with them one doesn’t have to hide all the time, to make long détours and hire cabs.”

“All such dangers are what give piquancy to that sort of intrigue.”

“Thanks; that same piquancy is very pleasant. Oh! just let me get out of this scrape, and I will turn over a new leaf, I will become incorruptible so far as the ladies are concerned. But if I am to have time to turn virtuous, Montdidier must not blow my brains out.--Come, my friend, let us think what it is best to do.”

“Go to Giraud’s; you can see whether Montdidier is there with his wife; and according to the way he behaves to you, you can easily judge whether he recognized you, and how he has taken the thing.”

“Go there and expose myself to his fury, to his wrath, before everybody? surely you don’t mean it, my friend?”

“A man of breeding doesn’t take society into his confidence in such matters.”

“I told you that Montdidier was a brutal fellow.”

“If he thinks that he has been wronged, he won’t go to a party with his wife.”

“That is true; but there is another way to make sure, and that is for you to go to Giraud’s. If our husband and wife are there, you can watch them, and you will be able to tell at once on what terms they are; furthermore, you might slyly give the lady to understand that you have just left me. What do you say? Oh! my dear Blémont, do me this favor; go to Giraud’s.”

“I will do it solely to oblige you, for the business agent’s receptions are not very interesting; and this evening I intended to go to see some very agreeable ladies.”

“You can see your ladies to-morrow, they will be in the same place. Besides, perhaps they are married ladies, and who knows that I am not saving you from some unpleasant scrape?”

“To listen to you, one would think that no one ever called upon a lady except with the design of making a conquest.”

“Oh! you see I know you. Come, Blémont, sacrifice your ladies to me; consider that I am between life and death so long as I do not know what to expect.”

“To oblige you, I will go to Giraud’s.”

“You are a friend indeed. It is almost nine o’clock, and the reception is just at its height. To-night there is to be singing and playing. Be prudent, and if our couple are there, watch them closely.”

“I’m like the confidential friend in a melodrama.”

“I will wait for you at the café on the corner of the boulevard; I will drink a glass of sugar and water. If everything goes well, if I can safely show myself, you will have the kindness to tell me so.”

“Very good.”

We quickened our pace, and when we reached the corner of Rue Poissonnière, Bélan grasped my hand and shook it violently.

“My friend,” he said, “I will wait for you at the café opposite. Don’t say that I am there, don’t mention my name.”

“Never fear.”

I had taken a few steps when I felt someone grasp me from behind; it was Bélan again; he had run after me, and he said most earnestly:

“My dear Blémont, I trust that this adventure will cause you to reflect seriously, that it will reform you as it will me. We must mend our ways, my friend. For my own part, I swear on the faith of Ferdinand Bélan, that the loveliest woman in Paris, if she is not free----”

I did not wait for the end of the little man’s sermon; I smiled and left him, and walked up the street toward Monsieur Giraud’s.