Chapter IV: Part 4

Meantime the Commissioner examined and searched curiously among that brilliant heap of rags on which the General had died. My waist appeared to catch his eye. "Here is a mark," he said to one of his men--"a mark inside the waist, with the name and number of the maker. We can learn where these dresses came from. Wrap this waist in a newspaper and I'll take it."

They wrapped me in an old number of the _Official Journal of the Commune_. The following day we went to M. Worth, the Commissioner and I. The conversation was not long.

"Was this dress made by you?" the Commissioner asked.

"Yes; here's the mark."

"And for whom was it made?"

"Number 18,223. Wait a moment; I'll consult my books." The dress-maker came back in five minutes, and said to the Commissioner, "It was for the Baroness Z---- that I made this dress, eighteen months ago, and it isn't paid for."

THE INSURGENT

"Prisoner," said the President of the Council of War, "have you anything to add in your defence?"

"Yes, colonel," replied the prisoner. "The little lawyer you assigned me defended me according to his idea; I want to defend myself according to mine.

"My name is Martin (Lewis Joseph). I am fifty-five years old. My father was a locksmith. He had a little shop in the upper part of the Saint-Martin Quarter, and had a fair business. We just existed. I learned to read in the _National_, which was, I believe, the paper of M. Thiers.

"On the 27th of July, 1830, my father went out very early. That evening, at ten o'clock, he was brought back to us on a litter, dying. He had received a bullet in the chest. Beside him on the litter was his musket.

"'Take it,' he said to me. 'I give it to you; and every time there is a riot, be against the Government--always, always, always!'

"An hour later he was dead. I went out in the night. At the first barricade I stopped and offered myself; a man examined me by the light of a lantern. 'A child!' he exclaimed. I was not fifteen. I was very slight and undersized. I answered: 'A child, maybe, but my father was killed two hours ago. He gave me his musket. Teach me how to use it.'

"From that moment I became what I have always been for forty years, an insurgent! If I fought during the Commune, it was not because I was forced, nor for the thirty sous; it was from taste, from pleasure, from habit, from routine.

"In 1830 I behaved rather bravely at the attack on the Louvre. The urchin who first scaled the gate beneath the bullets of the Swiss was I. I received the Medal of July. But the shopkeepers gave us a king. It had all to be done over. I joined a secret society; I learned to melt bullets, to make powder--in short, I completed my education, and I waited.

"I had to wait nearly two years. On June 5, 1832, at noon, in front of the Madeleine, I was the first to unharness one of the horses of the hearse of General Lamarque. I passed the day in shouting, 'Long live Lafayette!' and I passed the night in making barricades. The next morning we were attacked by the regulars. In the evening, towards four o'clock, we were blocked, cannonaded, swept with grape-shot, and crushed back into the Church of Saint-Mery. I had a bullet and three bayonet-stabs in my body when I was picked up by the soldiers from the stone floor of a little chapel to the left--the Chapel of St. John. I have often gone back to that little chapel--not to pray, I wasn't brought up with such ideas--but to see the stains of my blood which still remain on the stones.

"On account of my youth I received a ten-year sentence. I was sent to Mont Saint-Michel. That was why I didn't take part in the riots of 1834. If I had been free I should have fought in Rue Transnonian as I had fought in Rue Saint-Mery--'against the Government--always, always, always!' It was my father's last word; it was my gospel, my religion. I call that my catechism in six words. I came out of prison in 1842, and I again began to wait.

"The revolution of '48 was made without effort. The shopkeepers were stupid and cowardly. They were neither for nor against us. The municipal guards alone defended themselves. We had a little trouble in taking the guard-house of the Chateau d'Eau. On the evening of February 24th I remained three or four hours on the square before the Hotel de Ville. The members of the Provisional Government, one after another, made speeches to us--said that we were heroes, great citizens, the foremost nation in the world, that we had broken the bonds of tyranny. After having fed us on these fine speeches, they gave us a republic which wasn't any better than the monarchy we had overthrown.

"In June I took up my musket again, but on that occasion we were not successful. I was arrested, sentenced, and sent to Cayenne. It seems that I behaved well there. One day I saved a captain of marines from drowning. Observe that I should most certainly have shot at that captain if he had been on one side of a barricade and I on the other; but a man who is drowning, dying--in short, I received my pardon, I came back to France in 1852, after the Coup d'Etat; I had missed the insurrection of 1851.

"At Cayenne I had made friends with a tailor named Barnard. Six months after my departure for France, Barnard died. I went to see his widow. She was in want. I married her. We had a son in 1854--you will understand presently why I speak to you of my wife and my son. But you must already suspect that an insurgent who marries the widow of an insurgent does not have royalist children.

"Under the Empire there was nothing to do. The police were very strict. We were dispersed, disarmed. I worked, I brought up my son with the ideas that my father had given me. The wait was long. Rochefort, Gambetta, public reunions--all that put us in motion again.

"On the first important occasion I showed myself. I was one of that little band who assaulted the barracks of the firemen of Villette. Only there we made a mistake. We killed a fireman, unnecessarily, I was caught and thrown into prison, but the Government of the Fourth of September liberated us, from which I concluded that we did right to attack those barracks and kill the fireman, even unnecessarily.

"The siege began. I immediately opposed the Government, on the side of the Commune. I marched against the Hotel de Ville on the 31st of October and on the 22d of January. I liked revolt for revolt's sake. An insurgent--I told you in the beginning I am an insurgent. I cannot hear a discussion without taking part, nor see a riot without running to it, nor a barricade without bringing my paving-stone. It's in the blood.

"And then, besides, I wasn't quite ignorant, and I said to myself, It is only necessary to succeed thoroughly some day, and then, in our turn, we shall be the Government, and it will be better than with all these lawyers, who place themselves behind us during the battle, and pass ahead after the victory.'

"The 18th of March came, and naturally I was in it. I shouted 'Hurrah for the regulars!' I fraternized with the army. I went to the Hotel de Ville. I found a government already at work. It was absolutely the same as on the 24th of February.

"Now you tell me that that insurrection was not lawful. That is possible, but I don't quite see why not. I begin to get muddled--about these insurrections which are a duty and those which are a crime! I do not clearly see the difference.

"I shot at the Versailles troops in 1871, as I had shot at the royal guard in 1830 and on the municipals in 1848. After 1830 I received the Medal of July; after 1848 the compliments of M. de Lamartine. This time I am going to get transportation or death.

"There are insurrections which please you. You raise columns to them, you give their names to streets, you give yourselves the offices, the promotions, and the big salaries, and we folks, who made the revolution, you call us great citizens, heroes, a nation of brave men, etc. That's the coin we are paid with.

"And then there are other insurrections which displease you. As a result, transportation, death. Well, you see, if you hadn't complimented us so after the first ones, perhaps we wouldn't have made the last. If you hadn't raised the Column of July at the entrance of our neighborhood, we wouldn't perhaps have gone and demolished the Vendome Column in your neighborhood. Those two penny trumpets didn't agree. One had to upset the other, and that is what happened.

"Now, why I threw away my captain's uniform on the 26th of May, why I was in a blouse when I was arrested, I will tell you. When I learned that the gentlemen of the Commune, instead of coming to shoot with us behind the barricades, were at the Hotel de Ville distributing among themselves thousand-franc notes, were shaving their beards, dyeing their hair, and hiding themselves in caves, I did not wish to keep the shoulder-straps they had given me.

"Besides, shoulder-straps embarrassed me. 'Captain Martin' sounded idiotic. 'Insurgent Martin'--why, that's well and good. I wanted to end as I had begun, die as my father had died, as a rioter in a riot, as a barricader behind a barricade.

"I could not get killed. I got caught. I belong to you. But I wish to beg a favor of you. I have a son, a child of seventeen; he is at Cherbourg, on the hulks. He fought, it is true, and he does not deny it; but it is I who put a musket in his hand, it is I who told him that his duty was there. He listened to me. He obeyed me. That is all his crime. Do not sentence him too harshly.

"As for me, you have got me; do not let me go, that's the advice I give you. I am too old to mend; and then, what can you expect? Nothing can change it. I was born on the wrong side of the barricade."

THE CHINESE AMBASSADOR

In the beginning of the year 1870 some English and French residents had been massacred in China. Reparation was demanded. His Excellency Tchong-Keon, Tutor of the Heir-apparent and Vice-President of the War Department, was sent to Europe as Ambassador Extraordinary to the English and French governments.

Tchong-Keon has recently published at Pekin a very curious account of his voyage. One of my friends who lives in Shanghai, and who possesses the rare talent of being able to read Chinese easily, sent me this faithful translation of a part of Tchong-Keon's book:

HAVRE, _September 12, 1870_.

I land, and I make myself known. I am the Ambassador of the Emperor of China. I bear apologies to the Emperor of the French, and presents to the Empress. There is no Emperor and no Empress. A Republic has been proclaimed. I am much embarrassed. Shall I offer the apologies and presents that were intended for the Empire to the Republic?

HAVRE, _September 14, 1870_.

After much reflection, I shall offer the apologies and keep the presents.

HAVRE, _September 26, 1870_.

Yes; but to whom shall I carry the apologies, and to whom shall I present them? The Government of the French Republic is divided in two: there is one part in Paris and one part in Tours. To go to Paris is not to be thought of. Paris is besieged and blockaded by the Prussians. I shall go to Tours.

HAVRE, _October 2, 1870_.

I did not go, and I shall not go, to Tours. I received yesterday a visit from the correspondent of the _Times_, a most agreeable and sensible man. I told him that I intended going to Tours.

"To Tours! What do you want in Tours?"

"To present the apologies of my master to the Minister of Foreign Affairs of the French Republic."

"But that minister isn't in Tours."

"And where is he?"

"Blockaded in Paris."

A Minister of Foreign Affairs who is blockaded in a besieged town seemed to me most extraordinary.

"And why," the correspondent of the _Times_ asked me, "do you bring apologies to the French Government?"

"Because we massacred some French residents."

"French residents! That's of no importance nowadays. France no longer exists. You can, if it amuses you, throw all the French residents into the sea."

"We also thoughtlessly massacred some English residents."

"You massacred some English residents! Oh, that's very different! England is still a great nation. And you have brought apologies to Queen Victoria?"

"Yes, apologies and presents."

"Go to London, go straight to London, and don't bother about France; there is no France."

The correspondent of the _Times_ looked quite happy when he spoke those words: "there is no France."

LONDON, _October 10, 1870_.

I've seen the Queen of England. She received me very cordially. She has accepted the apologies; she has accepted the presents.

LONDON, _October 12, 1870_.

Had a long conversation with Lord Granville, Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Queen of England. I explained to his Excellency that I meant to go home at once, and that I feel I need not pay further attention to my French embassy, as France no longer exists. Lord Granville answered me:

"Don't go away so soon; you will perhaps be obliged to come back, and sooner than you imagine. France is an extraordinary country, which picks up very quickly. Await the end of the war, and then you can take your apologies to the Government that France will have decided on giving itself. Till then remain in England. We shall be most happy to offer you our hospitality."

LONDON, _November 3, 1870_.

I did not return to China. I am waiting in London till the Minister of Foreign Affairs is not besieged, and till there is some way of laying one's hands on the French Government. There are many Parisians here who escaped from their country on account of the war. I dined yesterday with his Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales. Three Parisian women, all three young, and all three pretty, took possession of me after dinner. We had a very interesting conversation in English.

"You are looking for the French Government, the legitimate Government?" said the first of these Parisians. "Why, it is here in England, half an hour from London. To-morrow go to the Waterloo station and buy a ticket for Chiselhurst, and there you will find Napoleon III., who is, and has never ceased to be, the Emperor of the French."

"Don't listen to her, Mr. Ambassador," laughingly said the second Parisian, "don't listen to her; she is a terrible Bonapartist. Yes, the true sovereign of France is in England, quite near London, but not at Chiselhurst; and it is not the Waterloo station you must go to, but the Victoria station. You mustn't take a ticket for Chiselhurst, but for Twickenham, and there you will find at Orleans House his Royal Highness the Count of Paris."

"Don't listen to her, Mr. Ambassador," exclaimed in turn, and also laughing, the third Parisian, "don't listen to her; she is a terrible revolutionist! The Count of Paris is not the heir to the throne of France. To find the legitimate King you must go a little farther than Chiselhurst or Twickenham; you must go to Austria, to the Frohsdorf Palace. The King of France--he is the descendant of Henry IV.--is the Count of Chambord."

If I count aright, that makes three legitimate sovereigns, and all three deposed. Never in China have we had anything of that sort. Our old dynasty has had to fight against the invasions of the Mongols and against the insurrections of the Taipings. But three legitimate sovereigns for the same country, for a single throne! One has to come to Europe to see such things.

However, the three Parisians gayly discussed the matter, and seemed to be the best friends in the world.

LONDON, _November 15, 1870_.

As a sequel to the three Frenchwomen, representing three different monarchs, I met, this evening, at Lord Granville's, three Frenchmen representing three different republics.

The first asked me why I didn't go to Tours.

"You will find there," he said to me, "the authorized representatives of the French Republic, and in addressing yourself to M. Gambetta you are addressing France--"

"Don't do that, Mr. Ambassador!" exclaimed the second Frenchman; "the real Government of the real French Republic is shut up in Paris. M. Jules Favre alone can officially receive your visit and your apologies."

"The Republic of Paris isn't worth more than the Republic of Tours," the third Frenchman then told me. "If we have a Republic in France, it will be neither the Republic of M. Gambetta nor the Republic of M. Jules Favre."

"And whose Republic then?"

"The Republic of M. Thiers--"

Whereupon the three Frenchmen began to dispute in earnest. They were very red, shouted loudly, and made violent gestures. The discussion about the three monarchies had been much gentler and much more agreeable than the discussion about the three republics.

During the evening these Frenchmen managed to slip into my ear, in turn, two or three little phrases of this kind:

"Don't listen," the first one said to me, "to that partisan of the Government of Paris; he is a lawyer who has come here with a commission from M. Jules Favre. So you see he has a big salary, and as he wishes to keep it--"

"Don't listen," the second one said to me, "to that partisan of the alleged Republic of M. Thiers; he is only a monarchist, a disguised Orleanist--"

"Don't listen," the third one said to me, "to that partisan of the Republic of Tours; he is a gentleman who has come to England to get a loan for the benefit of the Government of Tours; so, as he expects to get a lot of money--"

Thus I am, if I reckon correctly, face to face with six governments--three monarchies and three republics.

LONDON, _December 6, 1870_.

I think that his Excellency, M. de Bernstoff, Prussian Ambassador to England, takes pleasure in making fun of me. I never meet him but that he announces to me that Paris will capitulate the next day. The next day arrives and Paris does not capitulate. However, this evening his Excellency looked so perfectly sure of what he was saying that I think I can prepare to start for Paris.

PARIS, _February 20, 1871_.

I only left on the 10th of February. At last I am in Paris. I travelled slowly, by short stages. What a lot of burned villages! What a lot of sacked houses! What a lot of devastated forests, dug-up woods, and bridges and railroads destroyed! And these Europeans treat us as barbarians!

However, among all these ruins there is one the sight of which filled me with the keenest joy. The palace of Saint-Cloud was the summer palace of the Emperor Napoleon, and not a stone upon a stone remains. I contemplated curiously, eagerly, and for a long time the blackened ruins of this palace. Pieces of old Chinese vases were hidden in the heaps of rubbish among the wreck of marble and fragments of shell.

Where did those old Chinese vases come from? Perhaps from the summer palace of our Emperor, from that palace which was devastated, burned, and destroyed by those English and French soldiers who came to bring us civilization.

I was extremely well received by the English, who overwhelmed me with invitations and kindnesses; but none the less I hope that the palaces of Buckingham and Windsor will also have their turn.

PARIS, _February 25, 1871_.

I have written to M. Jules Favre to let him know that I have been waiting six months for the opportunity of presenting to him the compliments and apologies of the Emperor of China. M. Jules Favre answered me that he is obliged to start for Bordeaux. I shall have an audience in the beginning of March.

PARIS, _March 7, 1871_.

Another letter from M. Jules Favre. He is expected at Frankfort by M. de Bismarck. My audience is again put off.

PARIS, _March 17, 1871_.

At last, to-morrow, March 18th, at four o'clock, I am to be received by M. Jules Favre at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

PARIS, _March 18, 1871_.

We dressed ourselves, I and my two secretaries, in our official costumes, and departed at three o'clock, accompanied by an interpreter. We arrived. The court of the house was filled with people who appeared busy and hurried, and who came and went, carrying cases and packages. The interpreter, after having exchanged several words with an employee of the ministry, said to me:

"Something serious has happened--an insurrection. The Government is again obliged to change its capital!"

At that moment a door opened, and M. Jules Favre himself appeared with a large portfolio under his arm. He explained to the interpreter that I should have my audience at Versailles in several days, and having made me a profound bow, which I returned him, he ran away with his large portfolio.

VERSAILLES, _March 19, 1871_.

I had to leave Paris at twelve o'clock in a great hurry. There really is a new Government at Paris. This Government is not one of the three monarchies, nor one of the three republics. It is a seventh arrangement, which is called the _Commune_. This morning an armed troop of men surrounded the house where I live. It seems that the new Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Paris of the Commune would have been charmed to receive a Chinese ambassador. They had come to carry me off. I had time to escape. It is not the Minister of Foreign Affairs in Paris that I ought to see, it is the Minister of Foreign Affairs in Versailles.

Good heavens, how complicated it all is! And when shall I be able to put my hand on this intangible person, who is now blockaded in Paris and now chased out of Paris?

VERSAILLES, _April 6, 1871_.

At last, yesterday, I had the honor of being received by his Excellency, and we discussed the events that had occurred in Paris.

"This insurrection," M. Jules Favre said to me, "is the most formidable and the most extraordinary that has ever broken out."

I could not allow such a great historical error to pass. I answered M. Jules Favre that we had had in China for millions of years socialists and socialistic uprisings; that the French Communists were but rough imitators of our Chinese Taipings; that we had had in 1230 a siege at Nankin which had lasted seven years, etc. In short, these Europeans are only beginning again our history with less grandeur and more barbarity.

VERSAILLES, _May 15, 1871_.

My mission is ended; I could return to China; but all that I see here interests me extremely. This civil war immediately succeeding a foreign war is a very curious occurrence. There is here, for a Chinaman, an excellent opportunity of study, on the spot and from life, of European civilization.

VERSAILLES, _May 24, 1871_.

Paris is burning, and on the terrace of the palace of Saint-Cloud, in the midst of the ruins of that palace, I passed my day looking at Paris burn. It is a dead, destroyed, and annihilated city.

PARIS, _June 10, 1871_.

Not at all. It is still the most beautiful city in Europe, and the most brilliant, and the most gay. I shall spend some time in Paris.

PARIS, _June 29, 1871_.

Yesterday M. Thiers, in the Bois de Boulogne, held a review of a hundred thousand men. Will there always be a France?

IN THE EXPRESS

"When one bears the name of Luynes or La Tremoille, I can readily understand the desire to continue the Luynes or the La Tremoilles; but really when one is named Chamblard, what possible object can there be in--Eh? Answer."

In this fashion young Raoul Chamblard talked while comfortably settled back in a large red velvet arm-chair. This happened on the 26th of March, 1892, in one of the parlor-cars of the express to Marseilles, which had left Paris at 8.50 that morning. It was now five minutes past nine. The train with much racket was crossing the bridge of Charentin. Young Chamblard was talking to his friend, Maurice Revoille, who, after a six weeks' leave, was going to join his regiment in Algeria.

The lieutenant of light cavalry responded to his friend's question with a vague gesture. Raoul Chamblard continued:

"However, it's my father's fixed idea. There must be Chamblards after me. And as papa has but one son, it's to me he looks to do what is necessary."

"Well, do what is necessary."

"But I am only twenty-four, my dear fellow, and to marry at twenty-four is hard. It seems to me that I'm still entitled to a little more fun, and even a good deal."

"Well, have your fun."

"That's just what I've done up to now. I have had a first-rate time! But I've taste only for expensive amusements. I don't know how to enjoy myself without money, and I haven't a cent. Do you understand? Not a cent!"

"You? You are very rich."

"A great mistake! Upon coming of age, three years ago, I spent what was left me by my mother. Mother wasn't very rich; she was worth six hundred thousand francs, not more. Papa made almost a love-match. The six hundred thousand francs vanished in three years, and could I decently do anything else as the son of my father? He is powerfully rich!"

"That's what's said."

"And it's very true. He has a dozen millions which are quite his own, and can't be hurt by an accident; and his bank still goes on, and brings him in, one year with another, besides the interest on his dozen millions, three or four hundred thousand francs more. Nothing is more solid than the Chamblard bank; it's honest, it's venerable. Papa isn't fair to me, but I'm fair to him. When you have a father in business, it's a good thing when you go out not to be exposed to meet eyes which seem to say to you, 'My dear fellow, your father has swindled me.' Papa has but one passion: from five to seven every day he plays piquet at his club, at ten sous a point, and as he is an excellent player, he wins seven times out of ten. He keeps an account of his games with the same scrupulous exactitude he has in all things, and he was telling the day before yesterday that piquet this year had brought him in six thousand five hundred francs over and above the cost of the cards. He has a seat in the orchestra at the opera, not for the ballet, but for the music only; he never goes on the stage--neither do I, for that matter. Dancers don't attract me at all; they live in Batignolles, in Montmartre; they always walk with their mothers; they completely lack charm. In short, my father is what one calls a good man. You see I continue to be fair to him. Besides, I'm always right. Yes, it's a very good thing to have an honorable father, and Papa Chamblard is a model of all virtues, and he accumulates for me with a zeal! but I think, just at present, he accumulates a little too much. He has cut off my income. No marriage, no money. That's brief and decisive. That's his programme. And he has hunted up a wife for me--when I say one, I should say three."

"Three wives!"

"Yes. One morning he came to me and said: 'This must end. Look, here's a list--three splendid matches.' There were the names, the relations, the dowries--it was even arranged in the order of the dowries. I had to yield and consent to an interview with Number One. That took place at the Salon in the Champs Elysees. Ah, my boy, Number One--dry, flat, bony, sallow!"

"Then why did your father--"

"Why? Because she was the daughter, and only daughter, of a wealthy manufacturer from Roubaix. It was splendid! We each started with a hundred thousand francs income, and that was to be, in the course of time, after realized expectations, a shower of millions! It made papa supremely happy--the thought that all his millions in Paris would one day make an enormous heap with all those Roubaix millions. Millions don't frighten me, but on the condition that they surround a pretty, a very pretty and stylish woman--a great deal of style! That's _my_ programme. I want to be able to take my wife to the theatres without having to blush before the box-openers."

"What do you mean? Before the box-openers?"

"Why, certainly. I am known, and I've a reputation to keep up. You see, the openers are always the same--always; and of course they know me. They've been in the habit of seeing me, during the last three or four years, come with the best-known and best-dressed women in Paris. Which is to say, that I should never dare present myself before them with that creature from Roubaix. They would think I had married for money. I tried to explain that delicately to papa, but one can't make him hear reason. There are things which he doesn't understand, which he can't understand. I have no grudge against him; he's of his time, I'm of mine. In short, I declared resolutely that I would never marry Number One. Notice that I discoursed most sensibly with papa. I said to him: 'You want me to have a home' (home is his word), 'but when I should have placed in that home a fright such as to scare the sparrows, my home would be a horror to me, and I should be forced, absolutely forced, to arrange a home outside. Thus I should have a household at home and a household outside, and it's then that the money would fly!' But papa won't listen to anything! He doesn't understand that I must have a little wife who is pretty, Parisian pretty--that is to say, original, gay, jolly, who is looked at on the street, and stared at through opera-glasses at the theatre, who will do me honor, and who will set me off well. I must be able to continue my bachelor life with her, and as long as possible. And then there's another thing that I can't tell papa. His name is Chamblard--it isn't his fault; only, in consequence, I too am named Chamblard, and it's not very agreeable, with a name like that, to try to get on in society. And a pretty, a very pretty, woman is the best passport. There, look at Robineau. He has just been received into the little club of the Rue Royale. And why? It's not the Union or the Jockey; but never mind, one doesn't get in there as into a hotel. And why was Robineau received?"

"I don't know."

"It's because he has married a charming woman, and this charming woman is a skater of the first rank. She had a tremendous success on the ice at the Bois de Boulogne. In the society columns of all the papers there was mention of the exquisite, delightful, and ideal Mme. Robineau. She was in the swim at one stroke. And Robineau, he too was in the swim. He was a member of the little club six weeks later! Papa, he doesn't understand the importance of these things; one can't reason with him about it; it's all Greek to him. However, as he had absolutely cut off my supplies, I had to submit, and consent to an interview with Number Two."

"And what was Number Two like?"

"Ah, my dear fellow, what was she like! She was the daughter of a rich merchant of Antwerp. A Belgian article! First a provincial, and then a foreigner! Papa doesn't like Parisians. Mamma was from Chatellerault, and she was indeed a saint. Number Two happened to be in Paris; so last night, at the Opera Comique, they showed me a Fleming, who was very blond, very insipid, very masculine--a Rubens, a true Rubens; a giantess, a colossal woman, a head taller than I, which is to say that materially one could not take her in a lower stage-box, and those are the only boxes I like. On leaving the theatre I told papa that I wouldn't have Number Two any more than Number One, and that I had had enough, and that I wouldn't see Number Three. The discussion was heated. Papa went off banging doors and repeating, 'No more money!' I saw that it was serious. I went to bed, but I couldn't sleep--I thought; but I could think of nothing to save me from the fat hands of the Antwerp girl. Suddenly, towards three in the morning, I had an inspiration--I had an idea that I can call, if you'll permit it, a stroke of genius."

"I'll permit it."

"Yes, genius. I knew that you left to-day for Marseilles, and this morning I departed, English fashion, without explanation, and in a little while, at the first stop, at Laroche--I have looked at the time-table, I have thought of everything--I shall send the following despatch to my father," and Raoul triumphantly pulled a paper out of his pocket. "It's all ready. Listen. 'M. Chamblard, 8 Rue Rougemont, Paris, Laroche station. I left on the express for Marseilles with Maurice. I am going to make a voyage around the world. I sha'n't be more than six months. I have engaged by telegraph a state-room on the _Traonaddy_ which leaves to-morrow for Singapore. Anything rather than a Flemish alliance! Farewell. With regrets for leaving you, your affectionate son, Raoul Chamblard.' My telegram's all right, isn't it?"

"It isn't bad, but do you seriously mean--"

"Yes, I shall go if, before I reach Marseilles, I haven't an answer from papa; but I shall have one, for two reasons. In the first place, Papa Chamblard knows how to reason, and he will say to himself: 'What shall I gain by it? Instead of fooling round with little white women in Paris, he will fool round with little yellow ones at Singapore.' And then another reason, the best one, is that Papa Chamblard adores me, and he can't do without me, and the little sentimental phrase at the end of my despatch will appeal to his heart. You'll see how it will turn out. At 11.20 my telegram will leave Laroche; papa will receive it at half-past twelve. And I'll bet you ten louis that at Dijon or Macon I'll find in the wire screen of the station a telegram addressed to me, and worded thus: 'Return; no longer question of Antwerp marriage.' Papa's telegram will be brief, because he is saving and suppresses unnecessary words. Will you take the bet?"

"No, I should lose."

"I think so. Have you the papers?"

"Yes."

They read three or four papers, Parisian papers, and read them like true Parisians. It took a short fifteen minutes. While reading they exchanged short remarks about the new ministry, the races at Auteuil, and Yvette Guilbert--particularly about Yvette Guilbert. Young Chamblard had been to hear her the day before, and he hummed the refrain:

"Un fiacre allait trottinant
Cahin-caha
Hu dia! Hop la!
Un fiacre allait trottinant
Jaune avec un cocher blanc."

And as the light cavalryman had never heard Yvette Guilbert sing the "Fiacre," young Chamblard threw up his arms and exclaimed: "You never heard the 'Fiacre,' and you had three months' leave! What did you do in Paris? _I_ know the 'Fiacre' by heart."

Upon which Raoul began to hum again, and while humming in a voice which became more and more slow, and more and more feeble, he settled back into his arm-chair, and soon fell into a peaceful slumber, like the big baby that he was.

All at once he was waked up with a start by the stepping of the train, and by the voice of the conductor, who cried, "Ouah! Ouah! Ouah!" The cry is the same for all stations. This time it was meant for Laroche. And now for the telegram. Young Chamblard ran to the telegraph-office. The immovable operator counted the sixty-seven words of that queer despatch. "All aboard, all aboard!"

Young Chamblard had scarcely time to jump on the step of his car.

"Ouf! that's done," he said to the cavalryman. "Suppose we lunch."

So they both started on their way to the dining-car. It was quite a journey, for two parlor-cars separated them from the restaurant-car, and those two cars were crowded. It was the season for the great pilgrimage of a few Parisians and a good many English towards Nice, Cannes, and Monte Carlo. The express was running very fast, and was pitching violently. One needed sea-legs. Then a furious wind beat against the train, and wrapped it in clouds of dust, making the crossing of the platforms particularly disagreeable.

They advanced, walking with difficulty through the first car, over the first crossing, and encountering the first squall, then through the second car; but Chamblard, who went ahead, had difficulty in opening the door to the second platform. It resisted on account of the force of the wind; finally it yielded, and Raoul received at the same time in his eyes a cloud of dust, and in his arms a young blonde, who exclaimed, "Oh, excuse me!" while he, too, exclaimed, "Oh, excuse me!" and at the same time he received the cavalryman on his back, who, also blinded by the dust, was saying, "Go on, Raoul, go on."

The two doors of the cars had shut, and they were all three crowded in the little passage in the wind--young Raoul, young Maurice, and the young blonde.

The "Oh, excuse me" was immediately followed by a "M. Maurice!" which was replied to by a "Mlle. Martha!" The little blonde knew the cavalryman, and perceiving that she was almost in the arms of a stranger, Mlle. Martha disengaged herself, and backed cleverly towards the platform of the car, saying to Maurice, "You're on the train, and you're going?"

"To Algeria."

"We to Marseilles. I am getting a shawl for mamma, who is cold. Mamma will be delighted to see you. You will find her in the dining-car. I'll see you later."

"But I will accompany you?"

"If you like."

She walked on, but not without first having slightly bowed to young Chamblard, who had remained there astounded, contemplating Mlle. Martha with eyes filled with admiration.

She had time before going to notice that he was a good-looking young fellow, that he wore a neat little suit, and that he looked at her with staring eyes; but in those staring eyes a thought could be clearly read that could not displease her: "Oh, how pretty you are!"

Raoul was, in fact, saying to himself: "My type, exactly my type! And what style--what style in the simplicity of that costume! And the little toque, a little on one side over the ear--it's a masterpiece! How well she knows how to dress! What an effect she would make in an audience! And that little English accent!"

For she had a little English accent; she had even taken a good deal of trouble for several years to acquire that little accent. She used to say to her governess, Miss Butler:

"Yes, of course I want to know English, but I wish especially to speak French with an English accent." She had worked for nothing else. She had been, fortunately, rewarded for her perseverance; her little Anglo-Parisian gibberish was at times quite original.

While Maurice was retracing his steps with Mlle. Martha, Raoul placed himself at a table in the dining-car. He soon saw them come back with mamma's shawl. Maurice lingered for a few minutes at the table where the mother and the young brother of the little blonde were lunching. Then he came back to Raoul, who said as soon as he approached:

"Who is she--quick, tell me, who is she? Whenever one pleases I will marry her--now, on getting down from the train. In my arms! I held her in my arms! Such a waist! A dream! There are, as you must know, slim waists and slim waists. There are waists which are slim, hard, harsh, stiff, bony, or mechanically made by odious artifices in the corsets. I have thoroughly studied the corset question. It's so important! And then there's the true slim waist, which is easy, natural, supple. Supple isn't sufficient for what just slid through my hands a short time ago. Slippery--yes, that's the word. Slippery just expresses my thought--a slippery waist!"

Raoul was quite charmed with what he said.

"Yes," he continued, "slippery; and that little pug-nose! and her little eyes have quite a--a Chinese air! But who is she, who is she?"

"The daughter of one of my mother's friends."

"Is she rich?"

"Very rich."

"It's on account of papa that I asked you that, because I would marry her without a dowry. It's the first time I've ever said such a thing on meeting a young girl. And now the name."

"Mlle. Martha Derame."

"Derame, did you say?"

"Yes."

"Isn't the father a wealthy merchant who has business in Japan and China?"

"The same."

"Ah, my dear fellow--no; one only sees such things in the comic plays of the minor theatres, at Cluny or Dejazet."

"What's the matter with you?"

"What's the matter with me? She's papa's Number Three--yes, Number Three. The father of that little marvel is one of papa's piquet players at the club. And I wouldn't see Number Three, and she falls into my arms on the platform between Paris and Lyons. You will present me after lunch, and I shall speak to the mother and tell her all."

"How, all?"

"Yes, all; that her daughter is papa's Number Three, and that I didn't want Number One or Two, but that I should like Number Three. Ah, dear boy, how pretty she is--especially her nose, so charmingly turned up. She has just looked at me, and in a certain way; I am sure I don't displease her. Did you mention me, did you tell my name?"

"No."

"You were wrong. At any rate, right after lunch--Do you know what I think? That this affair will go through on wheels. I shall first telegraph papa, and then to-morrow--Oh, heavens! I hope there's a telephone between Paris and Marseilles--"

He interrupted himself and called:

"Porter! Porter!"

"Sir."

"Is there a telephone between Paris and Marseilles?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ah! That's all Thanks. The telephone, Maurice, there's the telephone! Papa can speak for me to-morrow by telephone. It will be charming! Marriage by express. Express, electric, telephonic, and romantic marriage, all at the same time. You understand that between a little phiz like that and a voyage around the world I don't hesitate. But why haven't you thought of marrying her?"

"Oh, too wealthy--too wealthy a match for me; and then she is not the kind of little person to go and bury in a garrison town in Algeria. She is a Parisian, a true Parisian, who wants to amuse herself, and who will amuse herself."

"Just what I want, absolutely just what I want. I too wish to amuse myself. She will amuse herself, I shall amuse myself, we will amuse ourselves."

Young Raoul was in a frenzy, and as soon as he had finished his luncheon he scrawled a new despatch on the restaurant table to his father, and, while writing, talked very excitedly.

"I'll send my despatch from Dijon, and I'll address it to the club; papa will be there about five o'clock, and also the father of this little marvel. They can immediately discuss the affair. Shall I ask for an answer at Lyons? The time-table, pass me the time-table. Lyons, 5.25. No, that would be too short. Answer at Marseilles. They stop at Marseilles? Yes? For twenty-four hours? All right, so do I. At what hotel? Hotel de Noailles? All right, so do I. So answer Hotel de Noailles. My despatch is very good. You will see. As good as the other--better, even. I've the knack of telegrams to-day. Yes, it's very good."

He wrote and wrote; he was inspired, he was animated; he made a few more mistakes than usual in spelling, that was all--it was emotion. He reread his despatch with complaisance, he made Maurice read it, who could not help thinking the incident funny. Raoul counted the words of his despatch--there were about a hundred and fifty--and calling the waiter of the dining-car, he said, "Send this telegram off for me at Dijon. Here are ten francs; there will be two or three over for you."

Then turning at once to Maurice he asked, "Is that enough?"

"Why certainly."

"Well, for such a marriage--ah, my dear fellow, you sail to-morrow at what time?"

"At two o'clock."

"Oh, we have plenty of time, then; all will be settled by two o'clock."

"Oh, settled; you're crazy!"

"Not at all; it's already very far advanced, since it's papa's Number Three. I only ask one thing of you: present me to the mother shortly. After that let me alone. I'll manage everything; only, at any cost, we must leave our car and find two arm-chairs in the same car, and near my mother-in-law."

"Your mother-in-law!"

"That's what I said; my mother-in-law. Once the two arm-chairs are procured, I am master of the situation. You don't know me. I already know what I shall say to the mother, what I shall say to my young brother-in-law (he is very nice), and what I shall say to my future bride. I shall have made a conquest of all of them before we reach Lyons. Lyons? No; that's going a little fast--say Valence or Montelimar. Pass me the time-table again. Let us settle everything, and leave nothing to chance. Oh, look at her! She has nibbled nuts for the last fifteen minutes, and how she cracks them--crack! one little bite--and what pretty little teeth! She is very pretty even while eating--an important thing. It's very rare to find women who remain pretty while eating and sleeping, very rare. Little Adelaide, the red-headed one, you remember, ate stupidly. And this one over there eats brightly; she eats--crack! another nut--and she looks at me on the sly. I can see that she looks at me. All goes well, all goes well!"

In truth, all did go well. At Montbard, 12.32, Raoul was presented to Mme. Derame, who, on hearing the name of Chamblard, had a little shiver--the shiver of a mother who has a young daughter to marry, and who says to herself, "Oh, what a splendid match!" Her husband had often spoken to her of young Chamblard.

"Ah," he used to say to her, "what a marriage for Martha! We speak of it sometimes before and after our piquet, Chamblard and I; but the young man is restive--doesn't yet wish to settle down. It would be such a good thing--he is richer than we. Chamblard is once, twice, three times richer! And Martha isn't easy to marry; she has already refused five or six desirable matches on all sorts of pretexts. They didn't please her: they were too old, they had no style, they didn't live in fashionable neighborhoods, she didn't wish to go into sugar, or cotton, or wine--or anything, in short. She would accept none other than a young husband, and not too serious. She must have a very rich man who did nothing and loved pleasure."

How well young Chamblard answered to that description! When there was question of doing nothing, Raoul showed real talent. As soon as one talked horses, dogs, carriages, hats, dresses, jewelry, races, fencing, skating, cooking, etc., he showed signs of the rarest and highest competence.

So, as there was general conversation, Raoul was very brilliant. In the neighborhood of Chalons-sur-Saone (3.10), while relating how he, Chamblard, had invented a marvellous little coupe, he did not say that: that coupe had been offered by him to Mlle. Juliette Lorphelin, of the ballet corps at the Folies-Bergere. This coupe was a marvel; besides, it was very well known; it was called the Chamblard coupe.

"Small," he said, "very small. A coupe ought always to be small." But what a lot of things in such a small space: a drawer for toilet necessaries, a secret box for money and jewelry, a clock, a thermometer, a barometer, a writing-shelf--and that was not all!

He became animated, and grew excited in speaking of his invention. Martha listened to him eagerly.

"When you pull up the four wooden shutters you naturally find yourself in the dark; but the four shutters are mirrors, and as soon as one has placed a finger on a little button hidden under the right-hand cushion, six little crystal balls, ingeniously scattered in the tufting of the blue satin of the coupe, become electric lights. The coupe is turned into a little lighted boudoir; and not only for five minutes--no, but for an hour, two hours, if one wishes it; there is a storage-battery under the seat. When I submitted this idea to my carriage-maker he was smitten with envy and admiration."

Martha, too, was smitten.

"What a charming man!" she said to herself. "Oh, to have such a coupe! But pearl-gray--I should want it pearl-gray."

Then they discussed jewelry, dresses, hats, stuffs. And Raoul proved on all those questions, if possible, more remarkable than ever. He had paid so many bills to great dress-makers, great milliners, and great jewellers! He had been present at so many conferences on the cut of such a dress or the arrangement of such a costume, at so many scenes of trying on and draping! And as he drew easily, he willingly threw his ideas on paper, as he said, neatly. He had even designed the costumes of a little piece--played in I do not know what little theatre--which was revolutionary, anarchistic, symbolistic, decadent, end of the century, end of the world.

He took his little note-book and began to outline with a light hand, in spite of the movement of the train, several of his creations. He had tact, and thought of everything. "It was," he said, "for charades played in society at my friend's, the baron so and so." He invented the baron, and gave him a resonant name.

Martha was delighted. Never had a man, since she had been allowed to chat a little with young men, seemed to her to have such an original and interesting conversation.

"Lately," said Raoul, "one of my cousins--she often applies to me--consulted me about a dress for a ball at Nice, during the carnival. This is what I advised her. See, I draw at the same time--look."

Oh, how she did look!

"I am going to try to make myself well understood. A foundation of smooth white satin, clinging, very clinging--blue, I adore blue."

That pained her; she disliked blue.

"Yes, very clinging; my cousin has a delightful figure, and can stand it."

He took Martha's figure in with a hasty glance, and the glance seemed to say, "You could, too." She understood and blushed, charmed with that delicate flattery. Raoul continued:

"Pale, very pale blue satin. Then on my foundation I threw an over-dress of pompadour lace of very soft tones: greens, pinks, mauves, cream, and azure. Very large sleeves with a double puff of blue velvet, wristlets of Venetian point. Am I clear?"

"Oh, very clear, very clear."

And in an excited voice she repeated:

"A double puff of blue velvet, with wristlets of Venetian point."

All of a sudden the brakes scraped, and the train came sharply to a stop. One heard the cry of "Macon! Macon!"

"Macon already!" said Martha.

That "_already_" rang delightfully in Raoul's ears. There was much in that _already_. Raoul profited by the five minutes' stop to complete and fix his little sketch, which was slightly jolted; and he did not notice that his young brother-in-law had been sent out with a despatch to the telegraph-office. The despatch had been secretly written by Mme. Derame, and had, too, been directed to the Old Club.

The train started--4.11. Raoul had not thought to get down to see if under the railing there was not a despatch addressed to him. There was one, which was to remain eternally at Macon. The telegram contained these words: "Return; no longer question of Antwerp marriage."

The train ran on and on, and now there was question of another dress--a silk dress, light pink, with a large jabot of lace down the front. Raoul literally dazzled Martha by his inexhaustible fertility of wise expressions and technical terms.

* * * * *