Chapter VII: The Preliminaries of Happiness

I went every day to see Eugénie, for I did not see why I should continue to conceal my love. She loved me, she knew that I adored her; was it possible that her mother was not also aware of our sentiments? I had never dreamed of making Eugénie my mistress. My only desire and hope was for an enduring happiness. Eugénie should be my wife. I was sure of her consent, but it would be necessary to have her mother’s as well.

I believe that that good woman had divined my sentiments long before; parents are not always deceived by our little stratagems, by our affectation of coldness and ceremony; but when they pretend not to see, it means that they secretly approve our inclinations. Madame Dumeillan saw that I went there every day, and one does not go every day to a house where there is a pretty woman, unless there is love underneath. Eugénie pouted when I was late, and scolded me when I suggested going away; her mother heard it all and simply smiled. I saw that our love was no longer a secret to anyone.

Eugénie no longer called me Monsieur Blémont; she called me Monsieur Henri, and Henri simply, when we were alone. How pleasant it is to hear the woman we love call us for the first time by our Christian name, without that depressing _monsieur_! From that moment a stronger bond united us, a more tender intimacy existed between us. Eugénie could love as dearly as I; I read all her thoughts in her eyes; she no longer tried to conceal from me what she felt. I had found the woman that I desired: beauty, charm, wit and virtue. Yes, virtue; for Eugénie was kind, easily moved, and submissive and affectionate to her mother; I never heard her utter a murmur about complying with her slightest wish. I had judged her to be very coquettish, but I was mistaken; she loved the amusements of her age, she abandoned herself to them frankly and without reserve; but that is not coquetry. She laughed with those who tried to please her, but she gave false hopes to none of them. Now, when at her mother’s receptions, young men came to pay court to her and to make complimentary speeches, she no longer laughed; their flattering words bored her; her eyes sought me and followed me incessantly; and when she could escape from the crowd, she would come to me and whisper:

“Henri, I no longer enjoy society; I like it much better when you alone come to see us.”

Perhaps Eugénie was a trifle too susceptible; she yielded too readily to first impressions. I found that she would sometimes take offence and sulk for several days on account of a remark misunderstood, or a perfectly innocent act; but I was sure that that trifling defect would disappear with time and experience. I believed also that Eugénie would be jealous, yes, very jealous; she changed color and was evidently disturbed when I happened to talk a long time with the same lady. But, far from blaming her for that sentiment, I was secretly overjoyed by it; that jealousy was a new proof of the love that I inspired in her. I should have been very sorry to have her indifferent when I was talking with a pretty woman; for then I should have thought that she cared but little for me. Moreover, I had not hoped to find a perfect mortal; they say that such do not exist. And if there were such a thing as a perfect woman, I should not care to marry her; I think that a man would be bored with her.

Eugénie agreed to teach me music; she declared that I had a sweet voice and that I sang with taste; we began our lessons at once. I did not make rapid progress, but as we enjoyed the lessons, and as they gave me an opportunity to be with Eugénie, to tell her again and again that I adored her, she gave them to me often, and I could not help becoming a musician. In my turn, I was to teach her painting; she had some idea of drawing and earnestly desired to be able to use a brush; and I had no doubt in a short time she would do honor to her master.

Every day increased my love for Eugénie, and every day I obtained new proofs of her attachment to me. Those delightful hours which I passed with her, but always in her mother’s presence, made me long for a still greater happiness. Why should I delay to settle my fate? Eugénie, I felt sure, would accept joyfully the title of my wife.

Thus far I had spoken to her of love only, not of marriage. But what need had I to utter that word? And could Eugénie mention it to me? A well-bred young lady doesn’t ask the man who is making love to her if he proposes to marry her, for she cannot assume that he has any other purpose. She who asks such a question always places herself in an unfavorable position; it is as if she said: “I will love you when I am sure that you will marry me.” A wretched sort of love that, which one can order or countermand at will!

One day I went to Madame Dumeillan’s. It was about noon. By an extraordinary chance Eugénie was alone; her mother had gone to pay a visit, and Eugénie had succeeded in excusing herself from accompanying her; she hoped that I would come. She told me so with that charming smile which transported me and filled me with rapture; she gave me her hand, which I pressed ecstatically; then I seated myself beside her, very close, as close as I possibly could. I talked to her of my love; I told her--as I had told her a hundred times before--that I was happy only with her. But one is never weary of listening to protestations of a passion which one shares; when such assurances tire us, it means that our hearts are beginning to change.

As I talked with Eugénie, I passed my arm about her waist for the first time, and I drew her lovingly toward me; but she gently extricated herself and rose, saying:

“Come, monsieur, come to the piano, you must take a lesson this morning.”

I felt incapable of looking calmly at the notes; I detained Eugénie by the hand.

“Let us continue to talk, please! We have plenty of time for the piano.”

“We can talk while we practise.”

“It would be impossible for me to practise this morning.”

“Why so, monsieur? Do you mean that you are tired of your music lessons already?”

“Oh, no! but I have so many things to say to you! It so seldom happens that I find you alone!”

“Does mamma’s presence prevent you from talking with me? Don’t we talk hours at a time every evening, while they are playing cards?”

“Yes, but that isn’t the same thing; it’s much pleasanter to be alone! Dear Eugénie! I would like to pass my life with you and nobody else!”

“Oh! you would very soon get tired of that!”

“Tired of being with you! Impossible! But perhaps you yourself would not be willing to sacrifice to me the attentions of this mob of young men who sigh for you.”

“Oh! how mean it is to say that! When I am bored to death everywhere where you are not! Do you mean to say that I listen to the compliments and flattery of a lot of young men? Nonsense! come to the piano, monsieur!”

“Just a moment!”

I adored her, I was certain that she loved me, and yet I trembled at the thought of mentioning the word marriage! What a strange thing! To hesitate, to be embarrassed about mentioning to the person you love, a bond which you both desire! I had never hesitated with a pretty woman about overcoming her modesty and abusing her weakness; it seems to me that it requires more courage to behave oneself than to misbehave.

I held Eugénie’s hand, which she abandoned to me; I could not speak, but I covered her hand with kisses. I did not know if she guessed all that was going on in my heart; but a deep flush covered her cheeks, and she turned her eyes away in order to avoid mine. At last I stammered in an undertone and with an almost shamefaced air:

“Eugénie--will you be my wife?”

She did not answer, but her hand pressed mine affectionately; her bosom rose and fell violently; I met her eyes, which she tried to avert, and they were wet with tears. How sweet are the tears which pleasure causes one to shed! I fell at Eugénie’s feet, reiterating my oath to love her all my life.

I was still at her feet--one is so comfortable in that position before the woman whom one adores! It has been said, I believe, that nothing is more absurd than a man at a woman’s feet; that may be true with respect to a woman who resists us, but with her who loves us, I can see nothing absurd in that position--I was still at her feet, when the door of the salon opened; it was Madame Dumeillan. She found me at her daughter’s feet.

I was not confused at being surprised in that attitude, for I had no guilty designs; and Eugénie herself looked at her mother without alarm; but she said to her, with a blush:

“Mamma, he swears that he will love me all his life; he asks me if I will be his wife.”

The mother smiled; we had told her nothing new. But I ran to her, seized her hands and pressed them in mine, and begged her not to stand in the way of my happiness and to call me her son.

“What answer has Eugénie given you?” asked Madame Dumeillan kindly. “I am inclined to spoil her a little, you know; if she doesn’t want to marry you, I warn you that I shall not force her.”

As she said that, the good woman glanced at her daughter mischievously; she knew very well that my love was returned. Eugénie threw herself into the arms of her mother and concealed her sweet face upon her breast; she could not speak, and I myself had hardly the strength to do so. Madame Dumeillan took her daughter’s hand and placed it in mine. Eugénie’s face was still hidden, but her hand answered my pressure. Her mother put her arms about us and held us to her heart. What a blissful moment! Shall I ever enjoy a purer happiness?

This first outburst of enthusiasm passed, Madame Dumeillan exclaimed:

“Well, on my word! I am acting very thoughtlessly for a mother! Here I am joining your hands, and I do not even know whether you have your mother’s consent, whether an alliance with our family will be agreeable to her.”

“Oh! yes, madame, I have no fears in that direction. My mother will be overjoyed to see me married; the choice that I have made cannot fail to please her. I have never yet mentioned it to her because first of all I wanted to know whether Eugénie,--whether mademoiselle your daughter----”

“Nonsense! say Eugénie, monsieur; you have that privilege now; you give him leave, do you not, my daughter?”

“Yes, mamma.”

“Dear Eugénie! oh! how kind you are, madame! But I will go at once to see my mother; I propose that she shall come herself to-morrow.”

“Oh, dear me! give her a little time.”

“No, madame, we must move quickly in order to be happy. You have given your consent, may I not be in haste to call you my mother, too?”

“To call her your wife, you mean, you rascal!”

“Well, yes, I am crazy to call her my wife! Dear Eugénie! I am so happy! I will hurry to my mother’s.”

“So soon! Why, he is mad, on my word!”

“You will come again this evening, Henri?”

“Can you ask me such a question?”

I kissed Eugénie’s hand and Madame Dumeillan’s, and hurried from the house, to go to my mother. Ah! I was very happy; and yet I longed to be a few weeks older, in order to be even happier. But we are forever longing to grow old, and if we had our whole lives at our disposal, we should use them up in a very short time.

My mother was not at home. What a nuisance! She had gone out to make some calls. Upon whom? Where should I look for her? I went away, informing the servant that I would come again. I went away, but I had no idea where to go. My mother lived on Rue du Pas-de-la-Mule, and I knew no one in that neighborhood. Eugénie lived too far away for me to return there, for I intended to go to my mother’s again soon. I determined to walk about on the boulevards in the Marais; they are less frequented there than elsewhere, and I could think of my Eugénie without being distracted by the crowd.

I walked there for fifteen minutes, then returned to my mother’s; she had not come in, and I must needs walk still longer. What a bore! I should have had time to go to see Eugénie; away from her, I seemed not to live.

A little man passed me, turned about, then stopped, barring my path. I had paid no attention to his performance, but he called out:

“I say! what in the devil are you thinking about, that you don’t recognize your friends?”

It was Bélan. I shook hands with him.

“I beg your pardon, my dear Bélan, but I did not see you.”

“You were terribly preoccupied. You were thinking of your love-affairs, I’ll wager.”

“Faith, yes; I don’t deny it. I was thinking of the woman I shall adore all my life.”

“Oho! how exalted we are! I recognize myself in that!”

I was like a child, I longed to tell everybody what made me happy. I told Bélan of my love and of my impending marriage to Mademoiselle Dumeillan. The little rake made a pirouette and clapped his hands, crying:

“The deuce! you are going to be married? On my word, there is a secret sympathy between us: I am thinking of marrying too.”

“Really?”

“Yes. In fact, I am fully decided upon it; I am tired of _bonnes fortunes_. And then, when your life is always in danger, it becomes wearisome after a while. Since my adventure with Montdidier--you remember?”

“Oh yes! perfectly; it was that day that I first saw Eugénie at Giraud’s.”

“Oho! so you met your future wife at Giraud’s, did you? Then it was they who arranged the marriage?”

“No indeed. Madame Dumeillan sees them very seldom. For my part, I have never mentioned them to her; it doesn’t seem to me that I need Giraud to arrange a marriage for me.”

“Never mind; as it was at his house that you met the young woman, he will be furious if he isn’t invited to the wedding, if he doesn’t manage the whole thing, if his wife is not near the head of the table, and if his three children aren’t allowed to stuff their pockets with dessert.”

“In that case I fancy that he will have a chance to be furious.”

“To return to myself, my dear fellow, I must tell you that since my adventure with Madame Montdidier, I have had some very disagreeable times: obliged to jump out of the window of an entresol; another time, to pass the night on a balcony, where I caught a cold that cost me eight bottles of syrup; and lastly, to avoid being surprised by a husband, compelled to hide in a chest, where I nearly stifled! I stayed in it an hour, and when they let me out, I was purple; my breath was all gone; faith! that completely disgusted me with love-affairs and intrigues; and like yourself, I propose to have done with them. I am courting a young lady who lives on Rue de la Roquette. I am going there now. You may have seen her at Giraud’s--Mademoiselle de Beausire?”

“I don’t remember seeing her.”

“Ah! she is a very handsome girl; regular features, aquiline nose--I am very fond of aquiline noses--extraordinary eyes, small waist, beautiful figure,--everything is there!”

“Everything,--you are sure?”

“Bah! you wicked joker! yes, I am sure of it. Anybody can see that at once. I am paying most assiduous court to her, and I have reason to believe that she does not look upon me with indifference. Not long ago, while we were playing games at her mother’s house, she chose me to whisper a secret to; she came to me blushing, and said in my ear: ‘I don’t know what to say to you.’ I was enchanted!”

“I don’t wonder.”

“Yes, for ‘I don’t know what to say to you’ meant: ‘I am afraid of saying too much.’”

“With a well-disposed person it might mean that.”

“Since then I have made no secret of my intentions. Indeed, she is an excellent match; she has a dowry of eighty thousand francs, and brilliant expectations. Her family is noble. And look you, my dear fellow, I confess that, in order to make myself more attractive to the mother, I ventured to put a little _de_ before my name; it was Giraud who advised me to do it. I am now called Ferdinand de Bélan.”

“Oho! so you have ennobled yourself on your own authority?”

“My dear fellow, I believe that I have a right to do it; while searching through my family papers, I discovered that one of my ancestors was an officer of the kitchen to Louis XV, and a man had to be of noble birth to fill that post. It was during the Revolution, no doubt, that my father dropped the _de_, from fright.”

“But I have often heard you profess the most profound contempt for titles, and make sport of old parchments.”

“Oh! a man often says a thing, you know, just so as to seem to have an opinion;--You must see my future wife, you must see her, that’s all I say. And my mother-in-law--a superb woman still, and with such a manner! she used to be at court, so she is a little strict in the matter of etiquette; but she adores her daughter and she has sworn never to part from her!”

“So you are going to marry two women at once, are you?”

“Oh! that is merely a figure of speech. But this is the time of day when the ladies are visible. Adieu, my dear Blémont; I invite you beforehand to my wedding; for I propose to have a magnificent wedding party at Lointier’s; his rooms are superb. I have already in my mind the two costumes which I shall wear on that great day, and the steps I shall perform to open the ball. I trust that I shall go to your wedding, too?”

“Really, I don’t know whether we shall have any celebration. That will be as Eugénie wishes; I assure you that I do not give any thought to that.”

“Well, I dream every night of weddings, banquets and dances; twice I have tipped over my somno, thinking that I was opening the ball. Really it is very nice to be married: if anyone would assure me twelve thousand francs a year, I wouldn’t remain a bachelor. Adieu, my friend: I must hurry to wait upon those ladies.”

For my part, I went again to my mother’s, and that time I found her. She had not finished asking me about my health when I began to tell her of my love-affairs; and I did not stop until I had begged her to go to Madame Dumeillan’s with me at once.

But my mother did not share my eagerness, which indeed made her smile. She was very glad that I was thinking of settling down, and she had no doubt that I had made an excellent choice; but she fell back on the heartless conventional phrases:

“We must see; we must make sure; we must not be in a hurry.”

Not be in a hurry when one’s happiness is in the balance! ah! parents never choose to remember the time when they were in love! I urged and entreated my mother to go at once to see the ladies. She calmly called my attention to the fact that it was four o’clock, that she was dining out, and that it was too late for her to call upon Madame Dumeillan that day. All that I could obtain from her was a promise to go on the following day; she even gave me permission to inform the ladies that she would call.

I had no choice but to make the best of it. I left my mother, and I would have sworn that, before I reached the foot of the stairs, she had already forgotten my visit, and was wondering what partner she would have at whist that evening.

I returned to Eugénie after dinner. Nowhere else could I be patient and find means of passing the time until the day when I should be her husband.

Unluckily, it was the evening of Madame Dumeillan’s reception; many people came, and we could not talk. My eyes expressed to Eugénie all the impatience that I felt because I was unable to talk to her of my love; and her glances told me that she shared my annoyance. At that moment, society was most disagreeable to us. If all those people had known how pleased we should have been to see them go!

However, the card tables being arranged, I hoped to be able to approach Eugénie at last; but behold, Monsieur Giraud and his wife arrived. After the usual greeting and exchange of compliments, Madame Giraud took possession of Eugénie, and her husband joined me. He talked to me in what, as I thought, he intended as a sly tone. He had evidently heard that I was paying court to Mademoiselle Dumeillan; he thought that perhaps I would ask him to negotiate my marriage, to speak for me, to arrange the provisions of the contract. Poor Giraud! I saw what he was driving at; I pretended not to understand his hints and allusions. When he mentioned Eugénie, I changed the subject. He was offended; he rose and left me. That was what I wanted. I was sure that his wife was going through the same manœuvres with Eugénie. Bélan was right: those people would never forgive us if we married without letting them have a hand in it; but we could do without their forgiveness.

Madame Giraud walked away from Eugénie with evident displeasure. Eugénie glanced at me with a smile; I had guessed aright the subject of their conversation. The husband and wife met and whispered earnestly together; then they walked toward Madame Dumeillan and surrounded her, one at her right, and the other at her left; she could not escape them. They evidently proposed to try to learn more from Eugénie’s mother; but I knew that they would waste their time, that Madame Dumeillan would tell them nothing; she invented an excuse for leaving them after talking a few moments.

Giraud and his wife were very angry. They came toward me again, and I expected that they would hurl epigrams at me and tear me with their claws. I was not mistaken; Madame Giraud began, speaking to her husband so that I should hear:

“It is very amusing, isn’t it, Monsieur Giraud?”

“Yes, Madame Giraud, very amusing; there is a great deal of diplomacy here.”

“Yes, they make a mystery of something that is everybody’s secret.”

“Aha! they evidently take us for fools.”

“It seems that way to me.”

“Wouldn’t anyone say that it was a question of uniting two great powers?”

“Perhaps they are afraid they will have to invite us to the wedding.”

“Great heaven! weddings! we have no lack of them; in fact, we have so many that it is fairly sickening.”

“I declined an invitation to another to-morrow. And there is poor Bélan who has already invited us to his, which is to be at Lointier’s.”

“That young man will make a very good husband. Does he get along all right with Madame de Beausire?”

“Oh, yes! since I went to see the mother-in-law, all the obstacles have disappeared. There are some people who aren’t afraid to let me take a hand in their affairs, and who are greatly benefited by it.”

“Let us go, Monsieur Giraud; we still have time to go and see our good friends who have that expensive apartment on Rue de la Paix, and whose daughter you found a husband for two months ago.”

“You are right; I am sure that they expect us to have a cup of tea.”

The husband and wife disappeared without a word to anyone. And those creatures were offended with us because we found it natural and convenient to manage our own affairs! But in society it takes so little to make enemies, especially of narrow-minded people.

The guests began to leave, and I found a moment to talk with Eugénie. I told her that my mother would come to see her the next day. She blushed and sighed as she replied:

“Suppose she doesn’t like me? suppose she isn’t willing to have me for her daughter?”

Not like her! who could fail to like her? I was not at all disturbed. I reassured Eugénie, and I left her at last when the clock so ordered, as I had not as yet the right not to leave her at all.

On returning home, I met Ernest coming down from his mistress’s room. Since I had been spending all my time at Madame Dumeillan’s, I had sadly neglected my friends of the fifth floor. Ernest reproached me for it mildly, but they were not offended; they knew that I was in love, and thought it quite natural that I should think of no one but my love. But Ernest said to me:

“I hope that you will come to see us sometimes, although Marguerite will soon cease to be your neighbor.”

“Is she going to move?”

“In a week. She is not going to live in an attic any longer, thank heaven! Poor child! she has been miserable enough; she has made so many sacrifices for me, that I may well be glad to offer her a pleasanter position at last. Thank heaven! my affairs are prosperous. I have been successful, my friend, and I have made money. I have not squandered it at the cafés or restaurants, because I have always remembered Marguerite, in her attic, poor and destitute of everything. You see that, whatever my parents may say, it is not always a bad thing to have a poor mistress, for it has made me orderly and economical in good season.”

“I see that you are not selfish, and that you are not like many young men of your age, who think that they have done enough for a woman when they have taken her to a theatre and to a restaurant,--pleasures which they share with her,--but who cease to think about her as soon as they have left her at home.”

“I have hired a pretty little apartment on Rue du Temple, nearly opposite the baths. That is where we are going to live; I say we, because I hope that before long Marguerite and I shall not be parted. It matters little to me what people say; I propose to be happy, and I shall let evil tongues say what they will.”

“You are right, my dear Ernest; happiness is rare enough for a person to make some sacrifices to obtain it. I am going to marry my Eugénie! I have attained the height of my ambition!”

“I might marry Marguerite too; but we are so happy as we are! Why should we change? Besides, we have plenty of time, haven’t we? Adieu, my dear Blémont. You will come to see us, won’t you?”

“Yes, I promise you that I will.”