Chapter IX: Part III: XVIII (2)

“She seems to be very much attached to her country--pays,--for she sighs for it and talks about it all the time!”

“Her country! oh, yes! Poland.--Did you make an appointment with her?”

“An appointment? Oh! we didn’t get so far as that!”

“How did you amuse yourselves then? A woman who is mad over you, who fairly eats you with her eyes!”

“Do you think so? What good fortune! She is so pretty, and her accent is so fascinating!”

“Yes, the Polish accent has much charm.”

“I am quite mad over her, my dear fellow.”

“And you are right. It would be downright murder not to carry that rose-bud away from that old caterpillar!”

“Carry her away! What! do you think that it will be necessary----”

“Hush! let me act; I will arrange the whole business.”

The play came to an end. Monsieur Poterne donned his umbrella-like hat, and gave the fair Chichette his arm. She, although sorely embarrassed in her costume, succeeded in holding her hand out straight behind her.

Daréna and his companion walked on the heels of the Poles, who took care not to turn around. Daréna almost compelled Chérubin to seize the hand which the lady obligingly held behind her back, and the young man turned crimson as he whispered in his friend’s ear:

“Ah! she squeezed my hand! she is squeezing it again! she keeps squeezing it!”

“Parbleu! what did I tell you?” rejoined Daréna. “Sympathy--I believe that you were made for each other.”

As he spoke, Daréna kicked Poterne’s legs viciously, to make him walk faster and force Mademoiselle Chichette to drop Chérubin’s hand, which she seemed to have resolved never to release.

The so-called foreigners entered a cab. Chérubin and Daréna took another and told the driver to follow the first, which stopped in front of a modest, furnished lodging house on Rue Vieille-du-Temple.

“Good,” said Daréna; “we know where they live, and that is enough for to-night. To-morrow you must write an impassioned letter to that Pole; I will undertake to see that she gets it without the knowledge of her husband, and I promise you that she will reply to it.”

Everything being agreed between them, Chérubin went home, where Daréna left him, congratulating himself on the success of his stratagem.

XX

LOUISE IN PARIS

Although fairly launched in fashionable society, although he had become the object of the allurements of several women whose conquest was desired of all; despite the ogling of grisettes and the assignation proffered him by lorettes, Chérubin had not wholly forgotten the village of Gagny, and little Louise, with whom he had passed his earliest years.

He often spoke of going to Gagny to see and embrace his dear Nicole; he had several times despatched Monsieur Gérondif to bring him news of her, accompanying the commission with little gifts for the people of the village, and bidding him inquire concerning Louise’s position and prospects. The tutor always half performed his errand: he went to Gagny, delivered the presents, devoured with his eyes young Louise, who improved every day, then returned and told his pupil that his former playmate was still in Bretagne, where she was so happy that she did not intend ever to return to Nicole.

But on the day preceding his visit to the Cirque with Daréna, Chérubin had once more spoken about going to Gagny, and he had stated positively, in Monsieur Gérondif’s presence, that he should not allow the week to pass without going to see and embrace his old nurse.

At that the tutor was greatly disturbed.

“If monsieur le marquis goes to Gagny,” he said to himself, “he will find young Louise there, and consequently he will see that I have lied to him. He is quite capable of discharging me; for, notwithstanding his usual mildness of manner, there are times when he is extremely quick to take fire. I am not at all anxious to lose a place worth fifteen hundred francs, in a fine house where I am boarded, lodged and coddled; where my duties are confined to sleeping, eating and reciting poetry to the mammoth Turlurette. Moreover, if my pupil sees young Louise again, it is probable that his love for her will revive; and that would interfere with my plans, for that girl has kindled a conflagration in my insides. My designs are honorable, I propose to make her my wife, to raise her to the honor of my name. But, in order to marry, I must obtain some advance in my pay. If I stay with the marquis two years longer, I can save money, for I can put aside almost all that I earn; the only thing is to put little Louise in a safe place, so that she can’t be whisked away from me.”

Monsieur Gérondif mused upon this subject all day, and in the evening he went to pursue his meditations in the company of the kindhearted Turlurette, who fed him on brandied fruits which she prepared to perfection; and while the professor was smacking his lips over his third plum, old Jasmin, who became less active every day, but was sorely aggrieved because his master had hired a young groom, entered the housekeeper’s room and said to her:

“Do you happen to know a lady’s maid who is out of a place?”

“Why do you ask, Monsieur Jasmin?” queried Mademoiselle Turlurette.

“Because not long ago I was waiting for my master at some reception.--He always forbids me to do it, but that day his little groom was sick, and I seized the opportunity to drive his cabriolet in the evening. In fact, I ran into two booths; some people won’t get out of the way.”

“Well, Monsieur Jasmin?”

“Well, I was talking in the antechamber with the servants who happened to be there--and we had time enough to talk; people stay so late at these parties nowadays! To cut it short, one of them says to me: ‘We’re looking for a lady’s maid for mademoiselle. Her mother’s gone to the country for a while; monsieur insisted on keeping his daughter at home with him; and just at that moment they had to dismiss the lady’s maid, because she talked too much with a floor-washer. As monsieur is very strict, it didn’t take long; but we are looking for another maid.’--At that I proposed a person I know, who’s as intelligent as can be; but when I told them that she was sixty years old, they informed me that it wasn’t worth while to send her. It’s surprising the way people act nowadays; they want children to wait on them.”

“I don’t know anybody who wants a place,” Mademoiselle Turlurette replied.

Monsieur Gérondif, who had not lost a word of what Jasmin said, interposed at this point, with an affectation of indifference.

“Who were the people who wanted a lady’s maid? I might be able to oblige some acquaintance of mine in Paris by offering her the place; but before I do anything about it, you will understand that I want to be sure that it’s with respectable people.”

“Oh! as to that, you needn’t be at all afraid, Monsieur Gérondif,” replied Jasmin. “It’s in the most honorable family you can imagine. Monsieur de Noirmont, an ex-magistrate, a man who never laughs, and who wouldn’t wrong a bird. He was a friend of the late Monsieur de Grandvilain, our marquis’s father.”

“What does the family consist of?”

“Monsieur de Noirmont, his wife, their daughter, who is fifteen years old, a cook, monsieur’s servant, and the maid they are looking for.”

“Is the man-servant young?”

“Yes, he’s the one I talked with. He’s only fifty-six, but he seems to be a very sensible fellow.”

Monsieur Gérondif smiled as he inquired:

“Do they receive much company, give balls? Are they the sort of people who pass their life in _varietate voluptas_?”

“Never a ball, and no _volupétas_, as you call them. The lady doesn’t care for society, and Monsieur de Noirmont passes his life in his library. So our young marquis doesn’t care to go to the house, although he has been invited.”

“Ah! he has been invited there, has he?”

“Yes; but I’ve often heard him say when he’s dressing in the morning: ‘I’ve no desire to go to that house; it must be horribly dull there.’”

“Are you sure that Monsieur Chérubin said that?”

“Yes; and I’ve heard Monsieur de Monfréville answer: ‘You are very wise; it’s a house which has little to offer that is attractive to a man of your age.’”

Monsieur Gérondif rubbed his hands and asked no more questions. The next day, after procuring Monsieur de Noirmont’s address, he went to his house, asked to speak to his servant, introduced himself as coming from old Jasmin and as having to suggest a lady’s maid for Mademoiselle de Noirmont.

Jasmin was the Nestor of servants; his recommendation was most influential, and that of so serious-minded a man as Monsieur Gérondif seemed to be could only confirm the favorable opinion which was sure to be entertained of Jasmin’s protégée.

The young servant of fifty-six informed the tutor that madame was absent, and that, as monsieur never interfered in any domestic details, the choice of another lady’s maid was left to him; that he was perfectly content to accept the one whom the venerable Monsieur Jasmin was kind enough to send, and that his only wish was that she should arrive as soon as possible.

Sure of success in that direction, Monsieur Gérondif thanked the servant, promised to bring the girl soon, and set out at once for Gagny and Nicole’s house.

The tutor’s presence always brought joy to the humble abode of the villagers; for he brought news of Paris, and with him they talked constantly of Chérubin.

After answering the questions of Nicole and Louise, who inquired first of all for the health of the object of their affections, Monsieur Gérondif turned to the girl and said:

“My child, it is principally on your account that I have come to Gagny, for I am thinking about your future, your lot in life. You are seventeen years of age, you are tall, and well-developed physically as well as mentally; I mean by that that you have intelligence beyond your years; and you have profited by being present at the lessons which I gave to my pupil; you read and write very fairly and speak quite correctly. Moreover, you handle the needle with facility, and you seem to be apt at all the tasks suited to your sex; isn’t that so, Mère Nicole?”

“Why, yes, it’s all true,” replied the good woman, staring at the visitor. “What scheme have you got in your head for our Louise; do you mean to make a duchess of her too?”

“No, not exactly; but I tell you again, I mean to assure her future. What would it be if she remained in this village? She has no relations, no fortune; so she must think herself very lucky if some uneducated country clown should want to marry her.”

“Oh! never! never!” cried Louise; “I won’t marry!”

“Bless my soul, my dear child,” said Nicole, “you know very well that nobody’ll force you to, and that I’ll never turn you out of our house.”

“That is all very well,” rejoined Gérondif. “But if Louise should find a good place in Paris, in a respectable family, where she could lay by a little money, and then find a good match, it seems to me that that would be worth thinking about.”

“In Paris!” cried Louise, with a joyful exclamation; “go to Paris! Oh! what bliss! how glad I should be! Oh! yes, yes! you’ll let me go, won’t you, mother?”

“What, my child, do you want to leave me too?” said Nicole sadly.

But Louise kissed her again and again, crying:

“Why, just think that _he_ is in Paris! If I live in the same city with him, it seems to me that I may see him, meet him sometimes; and that thought is the only thing that makes me want to go to Paris. Isn’t it true, Monsieur Gérondif, that people are sure to meet when they live in the same place, and that I should see him sometimes if I was in Paris?”

“See him? whom?”

“Why Chérubin--monsieur le marquis. Whom do you suppose I am talking about, if not him?”

The tutor realized that the hope of seeing Chérubin was the sole reason that led the girl to welcome his suggestion so joyously, and he was careful not to undeceive her.

“Certainly,” he replied, “when two people live in the same place, there is much more probability of their meeting than when one is at the north and the other at the south--or, if you prefer, when one is _per fas_ and the other _nefas_.--Well, my interesting young friend Louise, I have found what I wanted to find for you; the place of lady’s maid is offered you in a first-rate family; and when I say ‘lady’s maid,’ it’s as if I said ‘companion;’ and when I say ‘companion,’ it’s as if I said ‘friend,’ to a young lady of fifteen who is said to be as amiable as she is kindhearted. You will assist her to dress, and she will not assist you; but we see that every day between friends: there’s one who does everything, while the other one strolls about. Lastly, you will be well dressed; the friend who strolls generally gives the gowns and fichus that she doesn’t want to the friend who dresses her. And then you will earn money, which is never a bad thing to have; for with money--silver--you get gold, which is the purest of metals, when there’s no alloy in it.--Well! what do you think of my proposition? tell me.”

“Oh! I ask nothing better--if my adopted mother consents!”

“Dear me! my child,” said Nicole, “if it will make you so happy to go to Paris, I won’t stand in your way; besides, I don’t think that Monsieur Gérondif, who’s been the village schoolmaster, could propose anything that wasn’t for your good.”

“You are as wise as Æsop, Dame Nicole, although you are not hunchbacked! My only desire is to assure a happy lot for this _puella formosa_,--and the future will prove it.”

“And--Monsieur Chérubin?” ventured Louise, who no longer dared to say “Chérubin” simply, when she spoke of the young man she loved; “does he know of this plan that you propose to me? does he want me to go to Paris?”

Monsieur Gérondif scratched his nose a moment, then replied with assurance:

“Does he know it? why, of course he does; and he is very anxious that my offer should please you.”

“Oh! in that case, there must be no hesitation; must there, dear mother?--I accept, monsieur; I will start whenever you choose; I am ready.”

“Then we will start at once.”

“What!” cried Nicole, “do you mean to say you’re going to take the dear child right away like this?”

“I must, Dame Frimousset; the place I have secured for her is wanted by a great many people; if we delay, it may be given to somebody else. We are not flooded with good places in Paris, so that I must introduce her and have her engaged to-day.”

“Oh, yes! let me go, mother! I know that it will make you unhappy not to have me with you, and it makes me unhappy too to leave you. But, on the other hand, I am so glad to be near--Monsieur Chérubin. Besides, he wants me to come to Paris, and we mustn’t vex him. But I will come to see you; oh! I won’t do as he did, I shall never forget the village and those who have taken the place of my parents.”

Nicole embraced the girl lovingly, and said at last:

“Go, my child; I am not your mother; I haven’t any rights over you, and even if I had, I wouldn’t stand in the way of your future good. But do at least come to see me sometimes. She’ll be allowed to, won’t she, Monsieur Gérondif?”

“Oh! certainly. She will enjoy a reasonable liberty, on condition that she doesn’t abuse it.--Come, sweet Louise, make a bundle of your belongings--only those that are most necessary. You needn’t carry your wooden shoes--you won’t wear that kind where you are going. Make haste; I will wait for you.”

Louise hastily made a bundle of her clothes; she was so surprised, so bewildered by what had happened to her, that it seemed to her that it must be a dream. Her heart leaped for joy at the thought of going to Paris. But the pleasures of the great city were not what she was thinking about, nor beautiful dresses, nor a less laborious life than she had led; in that journey she saw but one thing--that she was going to live in the same city with Chérubin.

While Louise was making her preparations for departure, Monsieur Gérondif took the nurse aside and said to her in a grave and imposing tone:

“Now, virtuous Nicole, I must disclose a secret to you. My main purpose in taking Louise to Paris is to remove her from the seductions which it is proposed to employ in order to triumph over her virtue and pluck the flower of her innocence. In two words, here are the facts: your foster-child Chérubin has become a great libertine in Paris; he will not endure resistance. Not long ago he remembered Louise, the playmate of his boyhood, and he exclaimed: ‘She must be a charming girl by now! I am going to make her my mistress.’”

“Great God! is it possible?” cried Nicole, opening her eyes to their fullest extent. “My little Chérubin has got to be such a rake as that?”

“It’s as I have the honor to tell you. In Paris, with lots of money, a man soon learns to be what they call a _lion_, and lion means seducer.”

“Chérubin, a lion! And he used to be a perfect lamb!”

“I tell you there are no lambs in Paris now. To make a long story short, I thought that you wouldn’t lend a hand to the ruin of your adopted daughter, and that you would approve my putting the child beyond the reach of any attempt at seduction.”

“Oh! you did just right, monsieur le professor, and I approve of it.”

“Now, when Chérubin comes to see Louise, you must tell him that she’s been in Bretagne a long while, with a relation of yours, and that she’s very happy there.”

“All right, I’ll tell him that! Great God! Chérubin a rake! so that’s why he’s forgotten the village altogether!”

Louise soon had her parcel ready. She put on the little hat of coarse straw, which she sometimes wore to walk about the neighborhood, and beneath which, although it was not of fashionable shape, her face was as lovely as possible.

She threw herself into Nicole’s arms and whispered in her ear:

“When I see him, I’ll tell him that it’s very wicked of him not to come to see you!”

Nicole covered Louise with kisses.

“If by any chance you should get sick of it, my child,” she said, “if you ain’t happy there, you know that there’s always a place for you here, and that we’ll be very happy if you conclude to come back.”

Monsieur Gérondif speedily put an end to these farewells by taking the girl’s arm. Jacquinot was at the wine-shop as usual. Louise cast a last glance at her adopted mother and went away with Monsieur Gérondif, who had incurred the expense of a cab by the hour, in order to take the girl to Paris more quickly.

On the way he said to her:

“I must give you some preliminary instructions, my lovely child, as to your behavior in the place you are to fill. In the first place, if they ask you what you know how to do, answer boldly: ‘everything!’”

“Everything! But that would not be true, monsieur, for I know how to do very few things.”

“You can learn the others; you are saturated with intelligence, therefore you will learn very rapidly; so that it’s the same as if you already knew. Do what I tell you--it is essential, to inspire confidence; in the world you must never act as if you were uncertain of yourself. Secondly, you must understand that you must not speak of the young Marquis Chérubin and say that you were brought up with him. The world is very unkind! people might think things; and you mustn’t trifle with your reputation.”

“What, monsieur? What could people think, pray? Is it wrong to love one’s foster-brother, then?”

“Foster-brother! foster-brother! as much as you please! I must make you understand me better: my noble pupil does not want it to be known now that he remained out at nurse until he was sixteen; that annoys him terribly. And then you must see that a marquis can’t be the friend of a--a--a lady’s maid; if you should talk about him, it might make him blush.”

“Blush!” cried Louise, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. “What! monsieur le--Chérubin blush because of my friendship, my acquaintance? Oh! never fear, monsieur; I shall never speak of him, I shall never mention his name.”

“That is very well, _O flavia_!--No, you are not a blonde.--Come, come! don’t weep any more about that; what I say doesn’t prevent the marquis from still being interested in you, and myself as well. I will say no more now, young Louise, but be virtuous and prudent; do not joke with the young men; if anyone should presume to take any equivocal liberty with you, scratch the insolent knave’s face; for you must keep yourself free from stain, like the Paschal Lamb, until--But, mum’s the word! I will go no farther now.”

Louise had ceased to listen; she was thinking of Chérubin, who was ashamed of knowing her; and that idea destroyed all the pleasure she had enjoyed in the fact of going to Paris.

Meanwhile, the cab had entered the city; Monsieur Gérondif told the driver to take them to Faubourg Saint-Honoré, whereupon Louise exclaimed:

“Is it near Monsieur Chérubin’s house?”

“Not very far, my child; in fact there are no distances in Paris now; the six-sou carriages take you to all quarters of the city, and you don’t even need to know the way, which is very convenient for strangers.”

The carriage stopped in front of a handsome house which Monsieur Gérondif pointed out to the driver, very near Rue de la Concorde. The tutor helped Louise to alight and carried his gallantry so far as to offer to carry her bundle.

“Follow me,” he said; “it’s in this house, on the second floor; a magnificent apartment; they’re very swell people. See how this staircase is polished! It doesn’t look much like our village hovels, which are floored with mud.”

As he spoke, the professor slipped down two stairs and nearly broke his neck on the waxed staircase; perhaps it was a punishment from on high for his ingratitude to the village. But he clung to the rail, muttering: “_Ne quid nimis!_ They put on too much wax.”

Louise followed Monsieur Gérondif; she was slightly tremulous and covered with confusion at the thought that she was about to appear before people whom she did not know, and that she must remain alone amid those surroundings which were so strange to her. She heaved a profound sigh and invoked the memory of Chérubin to sustain her courage.

It was Comtois--that was the name of Monsieur de Noirmont’s servant--who received Monsieur Gérondif when he introduced his protégée. Louise’s aspect could not fail to prepossess everybody in her favor, and the valet smiled with satisfaction as he said:

“Ah! mademoiselle seems to have every quality likely to give pleasure here: a gentle, unaffected manner. I am sure that she will please our young Mademoiselle Ernestine, who has said to me several times: ‘Above all things, Comtois, I want a young lady’s maid, because if I have an old one, I shall not dare to give her any orders, or to laugh in her presence!’--Mademoiselle is a very merry young person; a little quick-tempered, a little whimsical; but that is perfectly natural at her age, and she isn’t the least bit unkind with it all. When she loses her temper, she asks our pardon; that isn’t common with masters, I tell you!”

“This servant is very talkative!” thought Monsieur Gérondif, as he blew his nose.

Comtois, after looking at Louise again with a satisfied air, continued:

“I will present mademoiselle at once.--By the way, what is your name?”

“Louise, monsieur,” replied the girl timidly.

“Louise--very good; that is your Christian name. And your family name? sometimes one is very glad to know that.”

The girl blushed and lowered her eyes, without replying; but Monsieur Gérondif made haste to say:

“Louise Frimousset; Frimousset is the name of this young woman’s parents.”

Louise glanced at the tutor; but he had assumed a solemn air, which seemed to indicate that it would not be proper to contradict him, and that it was only after mature reflection that he had replied; so the girl said nothing.

“Frimou--Frimousse--Friquet,” said Comtois. “That’s a queer name; however, I only asked so that I might know it; for you understand of course that mademoiselle will always be called by her baptismal name here. As I was saying, I am going to present you now. If madame was here, I should naturally take you to her first; but madame has been absent a fortnight; she has gone to see an aunt of hers, who’s sick. She wanted to take her daughter, but monsieur insisted on keeping Mademoiselle Ernestine with him; for, although he looks very stern, monsieur is very fond of her--he never refuses her anything; and sometimes I’ve even known him to be angry with madame, because he claimed that she spoke to mademoiselle too sharply, and that she didn’t love her. But, to be just, I must say that monsieur is mistaken; I am sure that madame’s very fond of her daughter. However, it’s true that sometimes she hardly speaks to her, she responds coldly to her caresses; but we all have days when we’re in ill humor, more or less.”

Monsieur Gérondif blew his nose at great length, saying to himself:

“Is this never going to finish?--My worthy man,” he said to Comtois, “excuse me if I interrupt you; but it seems to me that it is not necessary for me to be present at the introduction of our young Louise, as you tell me that the business is settled. So I will take my leave, urging you to watch over this child, as if she were your niece.”

“Never fear, monsieur; mademoiselle is in a good family; I am quite sure that she won’t be unhappy here.”

“Adieu then, Louise, adieu! I shall come to inquire for you, to learn how you are getting on; in short, I shan’t lose sight of you; you will always be my guiding star, my object, my--my polygon!”

The girl offered her hand to Monsieur Gérondif, who seemed inclined to kiss her, and said in an undertone:

“You will tell him that I am in Paris; won’t you, monsieur? that I didn’t hesitate to come, as he wished it, but that it makes me very depressed not to see him, and that my only desire----”

“I shall say all that it is my duty to say,” replied the tutor, showing his teeth, although he had no desire to smile. Then, turning quickly on his heel, he saluted Comtois and went out.

The valet escorted him to the door, and Monsieur Gérondif said in his ear:

“This girl is very pretty, and the men in Paris are terribly licentious. I need not urge you to watch over her innocence and not allow her to converse with floor-washers.”

“Monsieur,” Comtois replied rather stiffly, “none but respectable people are received in this house, and no young girl will ever be ruined here. If the last lady’s maid was a giddy creature, it wasn’t our fault; and at all events she was discharged at once, as well as the floor-washer.”

“Your reply scatters all the clouds which might have obscured my firmament. Adieu, excellent Comtois, I repeat my assurances of esteem.”

Monsieur Gérondif took his leave, and Comtois returned to Louise, who was standing, lost in thought, in the hall; he motioned to her to follow him, led her through a salon, then opened the door of another room, and said, standing in the doorway:

“Mademoiselle, this is the lady’s maid I was expecting; she has just arrived.”

A voice replied at once from within the room:

“Oh! let her come in, show her in at once! I am waiting so impatiently for her!”

Comtois let Louise pass him; she stepped forward, trembling and afraid to raise her eyes; but she soon felt reassured when young Ernestine exclaimed:

“Oh! how pretty she is! I like her very much!--Come, mademoiselle; don’t be afraid of me; I am not a bit terrible, am I, Comtois? I am not stern, like mamma! But, for all that, mamma’s very kind, and papa too.--What is your name?”

“Louise, mademoiselle.”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen, mademoiselle.”

“Seventeen! Why, how tall you are! and so strong! I am fifteen--I am rather small for fifteen, am I not?”

Louise could not help smiling; and as she looked at her who was to be her mistress, she felt a thrill of joy at the aspect of that dainty creature, so like a child, whose sparkling blue eyes were fixed on hers with a kindly expression that instantly dissipated the terror that she had felt on entering.

“Am I not very small for fifteen?” repeated Ernestine, after Louise had looked at her.

“You still have plenty of time to grow, mademoiselle.”

“Oh, yes! that is my only consolation. Have you been in service in Paris before?”

“No, mademoiselle, I am just from my village; I have never been in service anywhere, and I have no doubt that I shall be very awkward at first; but I promise to pay close attention to whatever you tell me, so that I may learn quickly and be able to satisfy you sooner.”

Young Ernestine began to leap and dance about the room; she seized Louise’s hand and pressed it, crying:

“Oh! I like to hear you talk like that! I feel that I shall love you dearly; indeed I love you already. I either like a person instantly, or never! You will like me too, won’t you?”

“That cannot be very difficult, mademoiselle, you seem so kind and sweet!”

“Ah! I am very happy, Comtois. But has Louise brought her bundle, all her clothes? Can she stay here now?”

“Yes, mademoiselle,” said Louise, “I have brought all my clothes and I can stay with you now, if you care to keep me.”

“Certainly; I don’t mean to let you go.--Comtois, see that her chamber is prepared--the little one behind mine, you know. Be sure that she has everything that she wants or needs.”

“Never fear, mademoiselle.”

“At all events, I will go myself to see if everything is all right.--You see,” continued Ernestine with comical gravity, “during mamma’s absence I have to look out for everything and take her place here.--Go, Comtois, and take Louise’s things to her room; meanwhile I will take her to my father. Is he in his study?”

“Yes, mademoiselle.”

“Come, Louise, don’t be afraid; he has rather a stern manner, but he isn’t unkind.”

“Suppose that monsieur your father should not like me?” murmured Louise timidly; “suppose he should think me too young to be in your service, mademoiselle?”

“Oh! don’t worry about that; as soon as I tell him that you suit me, father won’t think of sending you away.”

Ernestine led the way through her mother’s bedroom, then through another smaller room, and knocked at a door, saying:

“It’s I, papa.”

And Monsieur de Noirmont’s sharp voice replied:

“Well! what is it now?”

The pretty minx opened the door of her father’s study, passed her head only through the opening, and said:

“Are you busy? I have come to introduce someone.”

“Who is it?”

“A new lady’s maid who has been engaged for me, and who has just arrived.”

“The idea of disturbing me for a lady’s maid! What have I to do with such matters? Really, Ernestine, you wear out my patience.”

“Oh! don’t be cross with me, papa! But as mamma is away, you must see my new maid; I can’t manage the house all alone!”

“Well! bring her in,” rejoined Monsieur de Noirmont in a gentler tone; “where is she? let us have it over.”

Ernestine led Louise into the room; the girl cast down her eyes, and felt that she was trembling, for Monsieur de Noirmont’s voice was far from being as sweet as his daughter’s.

After scrutinizing for some time the village maid who stood before him, Monsieur de Noirmont asked her:

“How old are you?”

Before Louise could reply, little Ernestine exclaimed:

“She is seventeen; isn’t she very tall for her age, papa? and isn’t she lovely? I like her so much! Her name is Louise; she has never been in service, but I am glad of that, because I can train her according to my ideas.”

Monsieur de Noirmont with difficulty restrained a smile, provoked by his daughter’s speech.

“It seems to me,” he said, “that this girl is too much of a child to be in your service.”

“Why so, papa? On the contrary, see how sensible she is! Besides, I tell you that I will train her, and Comtois has had only the best reports of her.”

“All right, if she suits you.--What part of the country do you come from?”

“From Gagny, monsieur,” replied Louise tremulously.

“Gagny? Why, that is very near Paris. Your parents are laboring people, no doubt?”

“Yes--yes, monsieur,” faltered Louise, in an almost unintelligible voice.

“And instead of keeping their daughter at home, they send her out to service in Paris!--However, it seems to be the custom in the country! and still people extol the morals of the rural districts! But you seem modest and respectable, my girl, and I am glad to believe that your conduct will not belie the promise of your face. Besides, I know Comtois, and I rely upon his prudence. Go, go!”

Monsieur de Noirmont motioned to them to leave him; but his daughter ran to him and kissed him; then she hastened from the room with Louise, and closed the door, saying:

“That’s over; I was sure that it would come out all right.”

Young Ernestine next took Louise to a pretty little room which was to be her own. The sweet child made sure that her new maid was provided with everything that she needed, and displayed so much interest in her that Louise, who was deeply touched, thanked heaven for bringing her to that house.

The first day was employed by Ernestine in giving instructions to Louise, and she, not knowing how to lie, frankly confessed to her young mistress that she was entirely ignorant of the duties of her position, and that she must beg her to be as indulgent as possible. Ernestine repeated emphatically that she would have no difficulty in training her and that she need not worry.

In Monsieur de Noirmont’s family, the valet ordinarily waited at table, unless there were many guests at dinner; so that the duties of the lady’s maid were limited to waiting on the two ladies, assisting them to dress, and working almost all the time for them, or at some household work.

Louise could sew very well; she was active and clever, and she very soon learned what was expected of her; moreover, Ernestine taught her to embroider, to make tapestry, and to do innumerable little things that women do; things which are unknown in villages, but which it is essential to know in Paris.

Louise made rapid progress, and Ernestine said to her father:

“Oh! if you knew how much I like my maid!”

“Is she so very clever?” inquired Monsieur de Noirmont.

“Clever--yes; but she knew nothing at all; I have shown her everything.”

“What do you say? that girl knew nothing?”

“What difference does it make? When I show her anything, in two days she does it better than I do. Oh! I am sure that mamma will congratulate me for engaging her.”

Louise’s modest and serious manner eventually won Monsieur de Noirmont’s good-will as well as his daughter’s, and he spoke to her less coldly. Comtois was delighted with his new fellow-servant, and the cook was never tired of extolling her extreme sweetness of temper. As for Ernestine, although she sometimes lost her patience and cried out, when her maid was awkward about dressing her, the next moment she would run to her and kiss her, and beg her not to be offended by her quick temper. In fact, each day that passed increased her affection for Louise, and the latter would have been happy in her new position, had not the thought of Chérubin constantly filled her mind. But she was beginning to lose all hope of seeing him in Paris, for she very rarely left the house, and only to do errands for her young mistress in the shops nearby.

Louise had been in Ernestine’s service three weeks, when her mistress said to her one morning:

“Mamma is coming home at last! Papa has just told me that she will be here in three days. I am awfully glad, for she has been away nearly six weeks, and I long to see her. Oh! what joy! Then I shall have everything I want. And mamma will like you too; I am sure that she will be as pleased with you as I am.”

Louise made no reply, but she felt deeply moved; she could not understand her own perturbation when she learned that she was to see Madame de Noirmont.

XXI

THE FIRST RENDEZVOUS.--THE PERFUMERY

Chérubin followed Daréna’s advice; he wrote a very amorous, but very timid, note for the young woman he had seen at the play. On the following day Daréna called upon his friend in good season and found him finishing his lovelorn espistle.

“Are you writing to the lovely foreigner?” asked Daréna, dropping into an easy-chair.

“Yes, my dear fellow, I have just finished my letter, which you have promised to forward to its destination.”

“Parbleu! cannot one do anything with money? Do not all obstacles vanish before it? Valets, maid-servants can be bribed, duennas and concierges corrupted. I will spend money in profusion.”

As he spoke, the count slapped his pockets, then exclaimed:

“But in order to spend it, I must have it, and I find that my pockets are empty.”

Chérubin went to his desk and took out several rouleaux of gold pieces, which he handed to Daréna, saying:

“Take this, my dear fellow, take this; don’t spare it. Reward generously all who help to forward my love.”

“You do not need to give me that injunction; I will play the magnificent, the Buckingham! After all, you are rich, and if you did not use your fortune to gratify your wishes, really it wouldn’t be worth while to have it. Is your note very ardent?”

“Why, I think that it is very honorable----”

“Honorable! that’s not what we want, my dear friend.--Come, read me what you have written, and let me see if it’s all right.”

Chérubin took up the letter and read:

“‘I ask your pardon, madame, for the liberty that I take in writing
you, but----’”

Daréna’s roar of laughter interrupted Chérubin, who inquired:

“What are you laughing at? Isn’t it all right?”

“Ha! ha! ha! Your innocence is enchanting; one would think that it was a letter from a boy to his aunt on her birthday. Let’s hear the rest.”

Chérubin continued:

“‘But I should deem myself most fortunate if I might have the
pleasure of making your acquaintance. My family is well known, I am
received in the best society, and----’”

“Enough! enough!” cried Daréna, rising. “That won’t do, my dear fellow; you are on the wrong track!”

“Do you think that my letter is too bold?”

“On the contrary, it isn’t bold enough! She would laugh at you when she read it.”

“Remember that this is the first time I ever wrote a billet-doux, and I don’t know how they are usually expressed.”

“Take your pen again and write what I dictate.”

“All right, I prefer that.”

Chérubin seated himself at his desk again and Daréna dictated:

“O woman more than adored! I burn, I wither, I languish! Your eyes
are the flame, your smile the brazier, my heart the conflagration!
You have set fire to my whole being. A word of love, of hope, or I
will not answer for the consequences--I will kill myself at your
feet, before your eyes, in your arms! Derision! damnation! if you
do not answer!”

Chérubin ceased to write.

“Great heaven, my dear count!” he exclaimed; “why, that is horrible!”

“It is what you need.”

“And then, I must admit that I don’t clearly understand the letter.”

“If you understood it, the charm would be destroyed.”

“Why not write simply, as one speaks?”

“Because three-fourths of the women, who are impervious to seduction by what is simple and natural, are delighted when a man seems to have lost his head for love of them. Trust me; this note will deliver the heart of the lovely Pole into your keeping. Sign that and give it to me.”

Chérubin did as he was told.

“By the way,” said Daréna, as he took the letter, “don’t mention this intrigue to your Monsieur de Monfréville.”

“Why not?”

“In the first place, because an intrigue with such distinguished persons as these Poles requires to be conducted with the utmost secrecy. Monfréville is very inquisitive and very talkative; he would want to see the lovely foreigner and that would spoil everything.”

“But you are very much mistaken; Monsieur de Monfréville is neither inquisitive nor talkative; on the contrary, he is a most sensible man, and he gives me excellent advice.”

Daréna bit his lips, seeing that it was useless for him to try to destroy Chérubin’s good opinion of Monfréville.

“Monfréville, sensible, virtuous!” he retorted in a sarcastic tone. “At all events, he hasn’t always been; I remember a time when he was the greatest ne’er-do-well; nothing was talked about but his conquests. To be sure, it was fifteen or eighteen years ago. When the devil grows old, he turns hermit. For my part, I am not changed, at all events; as I always have been, so I propose to remain; I prefer that. However, my dear fellow, I tell you again that, if I consent to act for you in your love-affair with the young Pole, I do it solely on account of my friendship for you; but you understand that the slightest indiscretion would compromise me. I demand secrecy, or I will have nothing to do with it.”

Chérubin swore that he would not mention his new conquest to a soul, and Daréna left him, promising to return as soon as he should have anything to tell him.

Daréna had hardly left his young friend, when Jasmin entered his master’s presence. The old servant’s manner was important and mysterious, and at the same time showed much satisfaction with the errand he had to perform. He tried to walk on tiptoe, as if he was afraid of being overheard; he went close to his master, nearly falling upon him because he lost his balance trying to lean over him, and said, with an expression at once serious and comical:

“There’s a woman here, monsieur, who wishes to speak to us--that is to say, to you--if you are alone.”

Chérubin could not help laughing at his old servant’s expression and at the malicious meaning which he tried to impart to his message.

“Who is the woman, Jasmin? Do you know her?”

“Yes, monsieur, I recognized her from having seen her in her mistress’s antechamber; you go to the house sometimes.”

“What do you say?”

“Why, yes, she’s a lady’s maid. Oh! she doesn’t come on her own account, it’s her mistress who sends her--I know all about it. Many of them used to come to see monsieur le marquis, your father, before he was married. There was sometimes a line waiting in our little salon. Ha! ha! I used to toy with all the maids.”

“Well, from whom does this one come?”

“Didn’t I tell monsieur? From Madame de Valdieri.”

“The pretty countess! Show her in at once, Jasmin.”

Chérubin was very curious to know what Madame de Valdieri could possibly want of him. Jasmin went to call the maid, a tall, stoutly-built girl of some twenty years, with red cheeks and rather an attractive face, who seemed not at all abashed at calling at a gentleman’s apartments. After ushering her into his master’s room, the old servant, imagining doubtless that he had gone back to the time when they used to stand in line at Chérubin’s father’s door, essayed, as he left the room, to put his arms about the waist of the pretty lady’s maid; but his foot slipped, and, to avoid falling, he was obliged to cling tightly to her, whom he had intended simply to caress; luckily the girl was firm on her legs, and able to sustain the weight of the old fellow, and she merely laughed in his face as he slunk from the room in dire confusion.

As soon as Jasmin had gone, the maid took from the pocket of her apron a tiny scented note, which she handed to the young marquis, saying:

“Madame told me to hand this to monsieur, and to request an immediate answer.”

Chérubin quivered with pleasure as he took the note, and while the maid discreetly stepped back, he eagerly read the pretty countess’s missive, which contained these words:

“You are not agreeable; I have not seen you for several days. To
make your peace with me, will you give me a moment this morning,
and tell me your opinion of some verses which have been sent to me?
I shall expect you at one o’clock.”

Chérubin was beside himself with joy; he read that pleasant epistle once more, then said to the maid:

“I accept your mistress’s invitation with great pleasure, mademoiselle; I will be with her at one o’clock; I shall not fail.”

“Then monsieur will not write his answer?” asked the maid.

Chérubin hesitated; he walked toward his desk, realizing that it would be better policy perhaps to seize the opportunity to write something agreeable to his charming friend; but he remembered that Daréna had just told him that he did not know how to write a love letter. Fearing that he might make some blunder, he tossed his pen aside, crying:

“No, I think not; I haven’t time to write. Besides, I have too many things to say to your mistress; I should not know where to begin; simply assure her that I will not keep her waiting.”

The maid smiled, made a pretty little curtsy, and seemed to be waiting for the young man to slip something into her pocket and take on her cheek an earnest of what he was to take from her mistress. But, finding that he did nothing of the sort, she shrugged her shoulders imperceptibly and left the room, taking pains, as she passed through the reception room, not to approach the old servant, who seemed inclined to try again to pull her over.

“The servant is terribly old,” she said to herself, “but the master is very young!”

Chérubin was in an ecstasy of delight. Madame de Valdieri’s note had caused him to forget the Polish lady altogether. At nineteen years it is common enough to think of present happiness only; the new love expels the old; it is not always necessary to be nineteen years old in order to experience that phenomenon; but can all these sentiments which are constantly replacing one another properly be called love?

Chérubin glanced at his clock; it was half after eleven; he was not to be at Madame de Valdieri’s until one, but he proposed to make an extremely careful toilet. He rang for Jasmin, he rang for his other servant, he ordered several suits to be brought, and could not determine which one to wear. He had his hair dressed, crimped and curled, rising constantly to look in a mirror. He told his old servant to perfume his handkerchief, upon which Jasmin emptied several phials, smiling cunningly, and murmuring: “What did I say? Our _bonnes fortunes_ are about to begin. We are going to have some sport now! We are quite good-looking enough for that.”

As he dressed, Chérubin thought of the pretty woman with whom he was soon to be alone for the first time; he was not very composed in mind, for he was wondering what he should say to her. He was well pleased to have the assignation, but he regretted that Monfréville was not there to tell him how one should behave with a lady of the most fashionable set, who invites one to read poetry to her.

It was too late for him to consult Monfréville; the appointed hour was drawing nigh. Chérubin completed his toilet, but did not notice that Jasmin had saturated him with perfumery: his coat was scented with essence of rose, his waistcoat with patchouli, his handkerchief with Portugal water; and, in addition, all his other garments smelt of musk. He looked himself over, concluded that he was becomingly arrayed, stepped into his tilbury, and soon reached the countess’s abode.

He was admitted by the same maid, and instead of taking him to the salon, she led him through several secret passages to a delicious boudoir, where the light was so soft and mysterious that one could scarcely see. However, after a few seconds, Chérubin’s eyes became accustomed to that doubtful light, and he spied the pretty countess half-reclining on a couch at the back of a little curtained recess, which seemed intended to perform the functions of an alcove.

Chérubin made a low bow and said:

“I beg pardon, madame, but I did not see you at first, it is so dark here.”

“Do you think so?” rejoined the fair Emma affectedly. “I don’t like broad daylight, it tires my eyes.--It is very kind of you, Monsieur Chérubin, to consent to sacrifice a few moments to me--you are in such great demand everywhere!”

“It is a great pleasure to me, madame, and I--I--really I cannot promise to read poetry very well. I am not much used to it.”

The countess smiled and motioned him to a seat beside her. Chérubin was exceedingly perturbed in spirit as he entered the delicious little recess and seated himself on the couch, which was not very broad, so that he was necessarily very close to the other person upon it.

There was a moment’s silence. Emma, flattered by Chérubin’s evident emotion and embarrassment in her presence, decided to begin the conversation, which she was not accustomed to do.

“How do you like my boudoir?”

“Exceedingly pretty, madame; but it seems to me to be a little dark for reading poetry.”

The little lady arched her eyebrows slightly and rejoined:

“Do you like Madame Célival’s boudoir better?”

“Madame Célival’s boudoir? Why, I have never been in it, madame; I don’t know what it is like.”

“Oh! what a fib!”

“I assure you, madame----”

“You are lying!--However, I cannot blame you; discretion is the first condition one should exact in love.”

“Discretion----”

“Oh! you play the innocent to perfection; but I am not taken in by that ingenuous air. Mon Dieu! there is such a strong smell of perfumery here--a mixture of scents. Have you essence of rose about you?”

“Rose? I don’t know; it is possible. Does it affect you unpleasantly?”

“My nerves are so sensitive! but it will pass away.”

The pretty countess lay back a moment, put her handkerchief to her face, and drew a long breath.

Chérubin looked at her, and dared not stir. There was another long pause; the young man would have liked to say a multitude of things, but, as he did not know how to express himself, he inquired at last:

“Is your husband well, madame?”

The pretty creature burst into laughter which seemed a little forced, and replied:

“Yes, monsieur, my husband is singing! So long as he is making music, that is all that he wants.--Mon Dieu! there’s a smell of patchouli here, too, and musk. Ah! it gives me a sort of vertigo!”

And whether as a result of the vertigo, or for some other reason, the young woman half-reclined against Chérubin, so that her face almost touched his, and he would have had to move very little nearer to kiss her; but, deeply moved to find that lovely mouth so near to him that he could almost feel her breath, he dared not move a muscle, and finally he faltered:

“Madame, I believe that I was to read poetry to you.”

The little countess abruptly raised her head and rested it on the back of the couch, as she replied with a touch of spite in her voice:

“Mon Dieu! what a memory you have, monsieur!--Well, take that album in front of you and read.”