Chapter VIII: The Blue Phial

Violette was seated behind her counter, making bouquets; she had a peculiar knack at blending colors, and giving its full effect to the simplest flower; her bouquets were tasteful, even when they were made up of modest flowers only; there was taste and charm in their arrangement; her art was apparent in every one. There are people who spoil whatever they touch, and others who can make something out of nothing.

Georget stopped a few feet away from the flower girl, and looked at her; but she was so busy over her bouquets that she did not see him, or at least did not seem to see him; so he decided to accost her.

“Good-morning, Mamzelle Violette.”

“Ah! is it you, Monsieur Georget?”

“Yes, it’s me; I have been here some time already, within a few feet of you, looking at you; but you didn’t deign to glance in my direction.”

“I didn’t deign! what does that mean? Do you think that I wouldn’t have said good-morning to you if I had seen you? Do you accuse me of being impolite now?”

“Oh, no! that isn’t what I mean, mamzelle; but sometimes, when one doesn’t care to talk with a person----”

“Are you going to begin that again, Georget? If I didn’t want to talk with you, what compels me to? I believe that I am my own mistress--alas! only too much my own mistress, as I don’t know my parents, and my last protectress, Mère Gazon, is lying yonder in the cemetery.”

“Well, now you are sad! I tell you, Mamzelle Violette, I was terribly sad last night too, for my mother was sick, and we were short of money.”

“Why didn’t you tell me so, Georget? I would have lent you money. You know very well that I have some, that I sell as much as I want to sell, and that it wouldn’t have troubled me at all.”

“Oh! upon my word! Borrow money of you, of you, mademoiselle! never!”

“What! never? what does this mean? Why not of me as well as of anybody else? Don’t you look upon me as your friend, or do you think me a hard-hearted creature, who would not take pleasure in obliging you?”

“Oh, no! no! it isn’t that! on the contrary I know very well that you are kind-hearted, that you love to do good; I have often seen you give money to unfortunate people! But it isn’t that; it is--mon Dieu! I don’t know how to express it; it is that I should be ashamed, I should blush to----”

“Well, well! you are getting all mixed up. I go straight to the point: Georget, do you want money? I have some here,--fifteen francs, twenty-five francs; it won’t embarrass me in the least.”

“Thanks, thanks, mamzelle; I am very grateful; but now it isn’t as it was last night; our position has changed, and we are in funds.”

“Is that really true? how does it happen that in so short a time--Georget, if you are deceiving me, it is very wrong; you have no money!”

To prove to the flower girl that he was not deceiving her, the messenger told her all that had happened since the evening before. Violette listened with the deepest interest, and her eyes filled with tears at the story of Monsieur Malberg’s kindness.

“Ah! that gentleman is a fine man!” cried the girl, almost leaping from her chair. “Suppose I should carry him a bouquet from you; would that please him?”

“Oh, no! On the contrary it would make him angry; he doesn’t like to be thanked; I am sure that he would be angry with me, if he knew that I had told you how kind he was.”

“That’s a pity; I would like to know him. Does he ever walk in this direction on market day?”

“No, I have never seen him here. He’s a man who doesn’t like society, nor noise; and when you don’t know him, why, he hasn’t an agreeable manner, I tell you!”

“But when one knows that he is kind and generous, then one ought not to be frightened by his manner.”

“No matter, I assure you, mamzelle, that in his presence no one dares to laugh.”

“Speaking of laughing, Monsieur Georget, I am going to scold you now.”

“Scold me?”

“Yes indeed. Oh! it’s of no use for you to assume your innocent air, I was not fooled by what happened yesterday afternoon. The idea of throwing my customers down! that’s very pretty, isn’t it? If you should do that often, I don’t think that I should sell so many bouquets.”

“But I didn’t throw anybody down!”

“No, not you, but that good-for-nothing Chicotin, who had planned the thing beforehand with you, because he knew that it would please you. Am I right? Come, Georget, answer me--didn’t you plan with Chicotin to throw that gentleman down?”

“Not that one, mamzelle, I haven’t any grudge against that one; it was the other one; Chicotin made a mistake.”

“One or the other, it was very wrong, monsieur, to run against my customers and overturn almost the whole of my shop.”

“But I tell you that Chicotin made a mistake.”

“And I tell you that if either you or he ever do that sort of thing again, that will be the end, and I will not speak to you any more.”

“Oh! never fear, mademoiselle, we shan’t do it again; not I, that is, for I can’t answer for others.”

“The others only do what you want.”

“Not speak to you any more? would that be possible? In the first place, I should keep on speaking to you!”

“But I wouldn’t answer you.”

“Then you would mean to kill me with grief?”

“Nonsense, people don’t die for that sort of thing!”

“Oh, you think so, because you don’t feel what I do, here in the bottom of my heart.”

“Georget, I thought that you intended to work hard to-day?”

“Ah! so I do, you are right.--By the way, mamzelle, you don’t happen to know a gentleman named De Roncherolle, do you?”

“No, I don’t know him.”

“True, this isn’t the quarter where I can expect to find him; I must go to Boulevard des Italiens, to the Chaussée d’Antin; that’s a pity, for it’s a long way from you.”

“Do you mean that you don’t expect to do errands except in the neighborhood of the Château d’Eau?”

“Why! of course I know that that isn’t possible; but I hate so to go away from you.”

“Really, Georget, you make me want to laugh; you are not old enough yet to be in love, it isn’t so very long since I used to see you playing marbles with urchins of your age!”

“Oh! upon my word! it’s a long, long time since I stopped playing marbles; why, that’s a game for children.”

“Oh! mon Dieu! don’t defend yourself so eagerly; there’s no harm in it. And let me tell you, Georget, you would do better to play now than to pass your time sighing and looking up at the sky, and always having a dismal expression; you are better looking when you laugh.”

“Do you think so, mamzelle? Well! it isn’t my fault, it isn’t by preference that I am dismal sometimes; but you always treat me like a child, and that annoys me. However, I am seventeen and a half, and I believe that I am almost as old as you.”

“No, I am more than eighteen; and at that age, a girl is much older than a boy and ought to have more common sense.”

“Oh! that’s all nonsense! on the contrary, there are men of seventeen who are already soldiers, and who have been in the army. Why, there’s a little drummer, who was lately stationed at the barracks in Faubourg du Temple, who was not more than eighteen years old, and he had been to Africa, where he passed three years, and was in battles with the Arabs.”

“Does that tempt you? Are you inclined to go as a drummer?”

“I don’t say that; still, if I didn’t have my mother, and if there wasn’t any hope of my being loved by the person I love, why, then----”

“Come, come! go and do your errand, Georget; you forget that that gentleman paid you in advance!”

“You are right, mamzelle; I stand here talking, and the time passes so quickly when I am talking with you! But I mean that you shall be satisfied with me; I won’t be sad any more, and I won’t loaf any more.”

“We shall see!”

“Then will you have a little affection for me?”

“Haven’t I already? do you doubt it? Yes, I have affection for you, because I know that you are not a ne’er-do-well, a good-for-nothing, like so many others of your age, and because you are so fond of your mother, whose only support you are. Ah! how lucky you are to have your mother, Georget, and to be able to work for her! If I only knew mine, I would take such pleasure in giving her the fruit of my work, in kissing her and coddling her and taking every care of her! Oh, yes! I would have loved my mother dearly! but I never had one, or rather she is dead; or else--she deserted me!”

“There, now it is you who are sad! don’t think about all that any more, mamzelle; they say that children without parents, and without a name, are the ones who always make their fortune.”

“Why! that is easily understood, because then the good Lord takes the place of their family, He never loses sight of them, and gives them good inspirations; and with a protector like Him, they can never fail to make their way.--But you must go, Georget!”

“Yes, mamzelle. Ah! I am happy this morning! my heart is full of joy; I have talked with you, and I shall have a good day.”

“Good! now you are in good spirits, and that is the way I love to see you, the way I would like you to be always, because--Well, it is changing already! your brow is clouded and you turn pale;--what is the matter, Georget? Don’t you feel well?”

The young messenger had, in fact, changed color, and his smiling face, his eyes beaming with happiness, had suddenly assumed a different expression. A single glance in the distance had sufficed to cause this revolution: Georget had caught sight of Monsieur Jéricourt, the handsome man who was in love with the flower girl, walking very slowly in front of the Château d’Eau, not like a person who was going elsewhere, but like one who had come there with a purpose.

Violette followed the direction of Georget’s eyes, and speedily discovered the cause of his change of countenance; thereupon she shrugged her shoulders impatiently and cried:

“Mon Dieu! is it going to begin again?--You are going to do your errand, I hope, Georget?”

“Yes, mamzelle, yes, I’m going, I’m going right away; for if I didn’t, I might do more foolish things. Here comes that perfumed dandy who makes love to you--here he comes again; it seems that he means to come every day now; it’s a regular thing!”

“That gentleman is perfectly free to walk on the boulevard; what makes you think it’s on my account?”

“What makes me think so? why, it’s plain enough; you know as well as I do that it’s on your account. Oh! what a pity that the boulevard’s free to everybody!--I’m going, mamzelle, I’m going!”

Georget made up his mind to go, at last; he passed Jéricourt, upon whom he bestowed a savage glance; but that gentleman did not notice him.

On the previous day the young author had been flatly snubbed by the flower girl, and before witnesses too, which made his discomfiture even more unpalatable. While dining at Bonvalet’s restaurant, with his friend Saint-Arthur and the piquant little actress who was his friend’s mistress, Jéricourt had had to submit to the raillery of Beau Alfred, who, to compensate himself for having been thrown down and having broken his suspenders, had not ceased to repeat:

“It was Jéricourt’s fault! he was making love to the flower girl, and there seemed to be no end to it; but the pretty peddler didn’t bite at his gallantries--I fancy that our dear friend will have nothing to show for his seductive propositions. Ha! ha! ha! repulsed with heavy loss by a flower girl! It’s incredible, it’s most annoying! He doesn’t choose to admit it, but I am sure that he’s terribly annoyed.”

And Mademoiselle Zizi, the young actress who was so alluring in salacious rôles, and who perhaps had her own reasons for taking the thing to heart, outdid the little man in jocose remarks, and exclaimed with a most significant glance at Jéricourt:

“Ah! that was well done! it was well done! How pleased I am! I shouldn’t be any happier if I were offered an engagement at the Palais-Royal! What a nice little story to tell at the theatre! How they will laugh!--Ah! so our author friends affect flower girls, do they? that is very fine! Instead of sticking to actresses, who at least are in their line, and whom it would certainly induce to put more fire and talent into their parts--Ha! ha! to make love to a flower girl, and to have nothing to show for it! how humiliating!--Poor Jéricourt! he looks as glum as an owl.”

The young author, affecting the utmost tranquillity, simply replied to these attacks:

“If that young flower girl should appear on the stage, I’ll wager that she would eclipse many people who think now that they have a hold on the public!”

“Is that meant for me?” cried Mademoiselle Zizi, throwing a lobster claw in Jéricourt’s face.

“Why, no! of course not!” hastily interposed Saint-Arthur, as the author did not respond. “For you! upon my word! how can you imagine such a thing, when Jéricourt is wild over your talent? For he has told me so a hundred times; he says that you will replace Déjazet.--Haven’t you said that to me often, Jéricourt?”

But the angry author continued to maintain an obstinate silence, which increased the irritation of the little actress.

“In any event,” she cried, “no one will be able to judge of my talent in any of monsieur’s plays; for some time past he has given me nothing but unimportant parts.”

“I give you more than my brother authors do, for they don’t give you any parts at all.”

“What does that prove? That all authors belong to a coterie; that they allow themselves to be inveigled by the prayers of this one and the enticements of that one, or by the advice of the manager, who has his reasons for looking after still another one. O the stage! O you authors! it’s shocking, the injustice we have to put up with; and then they throw a flower girl in our faces! and tell us that she has only to appear to leave us behind! In that case, we’re only stop-gaps, eh?--Oh! it’s an outrage! it’s abominable! O God! my nerves! I am suffocating! I am dying!”

And Mademoiselle Zizi threw herself back on the divan, stretching out her legs and arms, gnashing her teeth, and wriggling like one possessed; whereupon Beau Saint-Arthur quickly seized a carafe, exclaiming in a tone of deep distress:

“The deuce! now she’s going to have a nervous attack; that’s very pleasant. The devil take you, Jéricourt, you’re the cause of it all; you spoke so roughly to her! Look, see how rigid she is!”

“That will pass away!” replied Jéricourt very calmly, helping himself to some truffled calves’ brains.

_“Canaille!”_ muttered Mademoiselle Zizi, still rigid.

And Alfred, as he approached his charmer with a glass of cold water, was repulsed by her so sharply that a part of the contents of the glass splashed in his face, while the young woman muttered, taking pains to grind her teeth together:

“I want my blue phial with the opal stopper; I must have it.”

“Where is it, dear love? Shall I feel in your pocket?”

“Don’t come near me. My phial is at my rooms, on my dressing table in the boudoir.”

“Very good--I’ll send a waiter.”

“No, monsieur, I insist on your going yourself; the waiter would make some mistake.”

“But you haven’t two blue phials, and----”

“I insist on your going yourself, or else I won’t try to live.”

These last words were accompanied by such violent gnashing of the teeth, that the affectionate Alfred, fearing that his mistress would dislocate her jaw, hastened to take his hat, saying to Jéricourt:

“I must humor her; you see what a paroxysm she is having, and her blue phial contains some salt, I don’t know what--some mixture that brings her round at once. So that she often sends me to get it, for she never remembers to take it with her. I will run to her house; luckily it isn’t far--Rue Basse. But for all that it isn’t amusing.--Don’t leave her, Jéricourt, above all things; do what you can for her.”

“Never fear.”

The dandified Saint-Arthur, leaving Bonvalet’s, almost ran to Rue Basse-du-Temple, and on reaching his mistress’s abode, was received by her maid, who also was dining, and who had hurriedly locked the dining-room door, taking the precaution to remove the key; she ushered the young lion into the salon, saying:

“Come in here, monsieur, and wait; I’ll go and fetch madame’s phial.”

“I could have waited in the reception room just as well; I’m in a hurry.”

“No, indeed, monsieur, I should think not! I know too well what I owe you; stay here, I won’t be long.”

“Don’t bring the wrong phial!”

“Oh! there’s no danger of that--madame sends for it often enough. I know what she uses it for.”

Left alone in the salon, Alfred lost patience; he returned to the reception room, where he was nearer madame’s boudoir; thereupon he heard quite distinctly the rattle of knives and forks and glasses, and the popping of corks, which sounds proceeded from the dining-room.

He even heard a sneeze, so loud that the doors shook. But the maid returned with the blue phial with the opal stopper and handed it to the young man, saying:

“Why didn’t monsieur stay in the salon? Perhaps monsieur heard noises in the dining-room? Madame’s two cats are dining with me; they amuse me and are good company for me.”

“My dear girl, one of them has a cold in the head; he sneezes pretty loud for a cat--loud enough to break the windows.”

“Oh! monsieur is mistaken, the sneezing was in the yard. The concierge does nothing else; it’s downright disgusting!”

Paying no further heed to what the maid said, our young elegant, armed with the precious phial, ran back to the restaurant, and going at once to the door of his private room, tried to open it; but to no purpose did he turn the knob, the door was bolted inside.

Saint-Arthur began to knock and call.

“What does this mean? It’s I, Zizi!--Jéricourt! Why do you lock yourselves in? What’s the meaning of this jest?”

“Have you brought the phial?” murmured the young actress in an altered voice.

“Yes, of course I’ve brought it.”

“Is it my blue phial?”

“To be sure; I know it well enough.”

“With the opal stopper?”

“The stopper is in it! It’s perfectly tight.”

“Well! take it back, that isn’t the one I want; I want the yellow one with an agate stopper.”

“Oh! this is too much! Zizi, you abuse my good nature.--Open the door, Jéricourt.”

“I should be delighted to, but madame says no. She has taken a knife and threatens to bury it in her breast if I take a step toward the door.”

“Oh! in that case, don’t budge, my friend! do me the favor not to budge, stay where you are! I know the mad creature; she would do some insane thing or other. I will run and fetch the yellow phial!”

And the simple-minded fellow started off again to get the yellow phial.

To those who say that this is an improbable incident, we reply that we have seen such ladies make the man whose fortune they were squandering do much more improbable things; and, in truth, they are quite right to do it, when they find blockheads ready to gratify all their whims.

On returning with the yellow phial, Alfred opened the door without difficulty. He found Jéricourt still at the table, attacking the dishes with more ardor than ever; and Mademoiselle Zizi, with cheeks as red as cherries, flew into his arms, crying:

“I wanted to put your love and trust to the proof, dear love, and you have come out triumphant from the trial; you are worthy of my affection; I give it to you once more, and more entirely; let me kiss you on the left eye.”

Alfred submitted to the caress, smiling at Jéricourt with an expression that seemed to say: “You see how she loves me!”--And the dinner came to an end most amiably; everybody was satisfied.