Chapter IX: Three for a Bouquet

But the result of that dinner was that Jéricourt’s thoughts recurred to Violette, and he said to himself:

“They made fun of me to-day on the subject of the flower girl; if I don’t succeed with her, they will do it again. That will injure my reputation; I shall seem as big a donkey as Saint-Arthur. I have gone too far to stop. Besides, the girl is so pretty! I am inclined to think that I love her; I am not quite sure of it, but it may be so. I did not lie when I said that she would outshine Mademoiselle Zizi; she’s worth ten, yes, a hundred Zizis!--I have an idea: suppose I should advise her to go on the stage? she would be a charming actress, and I can find managers enough who will be delighted to bring her out. I will give her lessons and advice.--By Jove! that’s an excellent idea of mine. One of these days I will work it into a vaudeville.--Violette will not hold out against that proposition. The stage! the hope of making a sensation on the boards, the pleasure of appearing in a lot of unusual costumes--those things always fascinate a girl. This one must be as much of a coquette as the others, or she wouldn’t be a woman! She will give way, and I shall triumph. A flower girl turned into an actress--what would there be so surprising in that? We have seen great talents start from much lower down in the scale. And then, when a woman is pretty, it takes so many difficulties out of the way. The thing will go all alone.--I really must make a play out of this idea.”

With such thoughts in his mind, Jéricourt came to the Château d’Eau the next day, and he lost no time in accosting the flower girl, who was still looking after the young man who had found it so hard to leave her.

“Good-morning, my lovely flower girl.”

“Good-morning, monsieur.”

“Oh! what a curt tone! I see that you are still angry with me.”

“I, monsieur? Why so?”

“Why, on account of what I said yesterday.”

“Oh! I forgot that long ago! Such things go in at one ear and out at the other; they never stay in my head.”

“If they stayed in your heart, that would be better.”

“Thank heaven, my heart doesn’t waste any time on such nonsense!”

“Mademoiselle Violette, you will not always talk like this, unless nature has given you a heart protected by a triple steel cuirass.”

“Oh! I don’t wear a cuirass, monsieur; a corset’s quite enough!--Do you want to buy a bouquet, monsieur?”

“In a moment. I have many things to say to you, and I would like to talk with you first.”

“If it’s to repeat what you said yesterday, I assure you it isn’t worth while to begin the conversation.”

“Are you afraid that I am going to talk of love?--You have a way of saying things that is far from encouraging!”

“Mon Dieu! I don’t choose my words; I say just what I think.”

“A woman who says what she thinks! do you know that they are very rare?”

“I say, do you know that you ain’t very complimentary to women? Have they caught you very often?”

“That isn’t what I meant. Look you, Violette, I admit that I did wrong yesterday; I spoke to you as if I were certain that you loved me, and you hadn’t given me any right to do it.”

“Just as soon as you admit that you did wrong, that’s the end of it, it’s all forgotten. Let’s talk about something else.”

“It isn’t that my feeling for you has changed; on the contrary, I adore you more than ever!”

“I say--it seems to me you’re beginning yesterday’s song again!”

“No; yesterday I made certain propositions that displeased you.”

“Pardi! they were very pretty, your propositions! to dine with monsieur at a restaurant! to offer to furnish lodgings for me! Why on earth don’t you marry me and be done with it?”

“That might have come in time!”

“Yes, in the thirteenth arrondissement! But I prefer the other twelve. As for furniture, I have some, monsieur, and it’s my very own; Mère Gazon left it to me; it ain’t violet wood, to be sure, but it’s good enough for me; and besides, I think a great deal of it, in memory of the one who gave it to me.”

“All that is very praiseworthy, no doubt; but I don’t think that there’s anything wrong in trying to improve one’s position, to make a fortune; that’s the object of all who haven’t money, and no one has ever blamed them.”

“Make a fortune! To be sure, that ain’t unpleasant, that is, if you do it by honest means! If not, one had better stay in one’s little corner.”

“Oh! bless my soul! who said anything about ceasing to be honest? What extraordinary creatures these girls are--always thinking that somebody means to lead them astray!”

“That’s because we know you, my fine gentlemen; and, if I remember right, you didn’t propose to me yesterday that I should become a _rosière_.”[A]

[A] The maiden who wins the rose offered as a prize for virtue in certain villages.

“Listen, Violette; I will come straight to the point.”

“Well! let us hear what your point is.”

“You have been to the play sometimes, of course?”

“Why, yes, several times.”

“And you like it?”

“I should say that I do like it! I think it’s beautiful, and if I was rich, I’d go often.”

“And what do you think of the actresses? Don’t you think it must be delightful to appear in public, to be applauded, to wear hundreds of different costumes, and to be stared at and admired by a whole theatre full of people?”

“Oh! how fast you go! That must be fine when one has talent. I have seen some women who acted so well that you couldn’t get tired listening to them; but I’ve seen others who acted so poorly that everybody grumbled, and laughed when they were trying to make you cry. I have seen some pretty ones; but there are some terribly ugly ones; and it’s no use for them to wear handsome costumes and a lot of paint on their faces; it don’t make them any better-looking.--But what makes you say all this to me?”

“Because, Violette, if you choose to go on the stage, it rests with you to do it; a glorious career is open to you, and I am sure that you will succeed, that you will obtain glory and wealth at once!”

“I an actress!--Are you making fun of me again, monsieur?”

“No, indeed, I am speaking in all seriousness. Listen to me: I am a dramatic author, so that the stage is my livelihood, or rather my constant study; therefore you must admit that I ought to know something about it. You have all that is needed for success on the stage: your figure is well set up, you are tall but not too tall; your face is lovely.--Oh! I am not paying compliments; indeed, you must know that you are pretty, you have been told so often enough! Your voice is clear and well modulated; with all these advantages and the lessons I will give you in declamation and in carrying yourself on the stage, it is impossible that you should not make a grand success. As for your getting a chance to make your début, that is my concern; I will undertake that and I shall have no difficulty. Better still, I will give you a part, a splendid part, in my next play; and as a reward of my zeal, of my lessons, of all that I will do for you, I will not ask you for anything,--except a little gratitude when you are a popular actress.--Well! what do you say? isn’t that better than being a flower girl?”

“Is that all you’re buying this morning, monsieur?”

“But you don’t answer my proposition, Violette. Don’t you understand that I am offering you a brilliant future--all the enjoyments, all the pleasures of life? And that won’t interfere with your remaining virtuous.”

“It’s too risky in that business! No, thank you, monsieur, all this don’t tempt me; it amuses me to see other people act, but it don’t make me want to act myself. Everyone to his taste, and I prefer my flowers to your stage.”

“Nonsense! it isn’t possible that you refuse, when I undertake to remove all obstacles.”

“Buy this bouquet;--just see what a pretty one it is, and what a sweet smell! I’ll bet that it don’t smell so good in your wings.”

“Surely, this isn’t your last word, Violette? You will think it over, and you will accept.”

“Oh! my reflecting’s all done, monsieur; it don’t take long with me; I know right off what suits me. I don’t feel any calling for the stage.”

“But I tell you----”

“Don’t take the trouble to say any more, monsieur; you’ll just waste your words, and that would be a pity, as you make your business out of them, and you sell wit on paper.”

Jéricourt was so vexed by the rejection of his proposition, when he expected a complete triumph, that he was tongue-tied, and could not think of a single word to answer the flower girl.

At that moment he felt a hand on his arm, and someone said to him:

“Good-day, Monsieur Jéricourt; I recognized you from behind by your cane; I said: ‘That’s my neighbor’s cane.’--How are you?”

Jéricourt turned and found himself face to face with the little young man who squinted so horribly and whom we have already met at the Château d’Eau flower market, with his mother and sister--Monsieur Astianax Glumeau, whose room was on the floor above his parents, on the same landing as Jéricourt’s apartment.

“Ah! is it you, young man?” said the author, as, with a patronizing air, he offered a finger to little Astianax, who deemed himself highly honored by that favor; because, in his eyes, a man who wrote plays which were actually performed was a demigod. “What are you here for, my little rake? to buy a bouquet for some fair one whom you are courting, I suppose?”

“Oh! upon my word, Monsieur Jéricourt! I should not dare--I am too young as yet. However, it isn’t the inclination that is lacking.”

“How old are you, pray?”

“Nineteen.”

“At that age I had already had fifty love-affairs!”

“Oh! but you--an author--that’s a very different matter; you weren’t shy.”

“I never was that; there is nothing more disastrous for a man. If you take my advice, you will cure yourself of that failing.”

“Papa and mamma don’t say so; they want to keep me in leading strings like a poodle. Let them keep my sister so if they choose; that’s all right--she’s a girl! But me! Yes, you’re right; there’s nothing more foolish than a bashful man. But I don’t propose to be bashful any more; I feel inclined to make people talk about me.--Were you buying flowers, Monsieur Jéricourt?”

“Yes--that is to say, I was looking over them; I haven’t decided yet.”

Little Astianax put his mouth to his neighbor’s ear and whispered:

“The flower girl’s mighty pretty!”

“Do you think so? That’s a matter of taste.”

“Hum! nonsense! Anybody can see that; I noticed her yesterday; I came with mamma and my sister to buy some flowers, because it was papa’s birthday. I didn’t buy any; I gave him some nougat.”

“A very pretty bouquet that!”

“Oh! it doesn’t make any difference, I am going to give him some flowers to-day; and I came here again, for I dreamed of the flower girl all night.”

“Really!”

“Yes, yes; I was a pacha and she was a slave.”

“Mademoiselle,” said Jéricourt aloud, turning to Violette, “here’s a young man who dreamed about you all night, just because he saw you yesterday.”

Monsieur Astianax turned scarlet; he pulled the skirt of Jéricourt’s coat and whispered: “Oh! I won’t tell you anything more! You make me blush!”

“Don’t be alarmed; on the contrary, I am acting in your interest; you are in love with mademoiselle--very good, I tell her so for you. Who knows? perhaps you will be more fortunate than the rest of us, especially as you have all that a man requires to succeed.”

Jéricourt uttered the last words in such an ironical tone that any other than little Astianax would have taken them in very bad part; but he, on the contrary, accepted them as the truth; he smiled and twisted his mouth into the shape of an ace of spades, while his eyes shot flames to right and left.

Violette restrained the intense desire to laugh caused by young Astianax’s contortions of feature; she said as she arranged her flowers:

“Come, monsieur, choose. Do you want a bouquet? Here’s a very pretty one,--as monsieur doesn’t take it.”

“Yes--that is to say, you must make me one; but I’ll explain what you must put in it: I want some heliotrope--that’s the flower of witty people; then some myrtle--that means interest, affection; and a tulip in the centre--that means an honest heart, decent behavior.”

“What, my dear Astianax, does the tulip mean all that?” said Jéricourt, laughingly; “I should never have suspected it. The devil! you are very learned about flowers. Go on--what else do you want?”

“A few red carnations--they mean that one would fight at need for the object of one’s love; I put them in for myself, you understand; then a poppy and some immortelles--they promise strength and health, and they will please my father, for he is always thinking that he’s sick; he took a bottle of lemonade only this morning--you know, the kind of lemonade that purges.--Surround the whole with pansies, and I shall have a bouquet full of meaning--a genuine _selam_.”

“Bravo, young man, bravo! With such bouquets you will make your way very rapidly with the ladies!”

“This one is for papa; but later, I hope----”

“I am very sorry, monsieur,” said Violette, “but I can’t make such a bouquet as you want; I have no red carnations; you will hardly find any at this season, and I haven’t any myrtle, or any poppies.”

“The devil! that’s annoying; but I should be sorry to apply to another flower girl; on the contrary, I mean to give you my custom.”

“I am quite sure, monsieur, that no other flower girl will have what you want--not in this quarter, at all events. Take my advice, monsieur, and buy this bouquet that I was offering to monsieur--just roses and violets; it’s very pretty, and it’s the last one; I haven’t got anything left to make one like it.”

“I don’t say that it isn’t very nice, but it doesn’t express my meaning--and it isn’t a _selam_, either.”

“But just see the pretty roses, the lovely buds! Anybody would say it was a lovely bouquet.”

“And I agree with anybody; the bouquet is as pretty as the seller; and faith! that’s saying a great deal!”

These last words were uttered by a gentleman of mature years, dressed with some elegance, whose bearing, whose manners, and whose smile even, instantly pointed him out as one who frequented the best society. His features were regular, refined and distinguished; but they also indicated that their owner had taken a great deal out of life; his face was worn, the flesh beneath his eyes was puffed out, his forehead and cheeks were furrowed with wrinkles. In a word, he was naught but a remnant of a very good-looking man, but he still had the _comme il faut_ manner, the intelligent eye, and the slightly impertinent and satirical tone.

This individual was leaning on a very handsome cane, holding in his right hand an eyeglass through which he was examining Violette; he had paused in front of her booth and listened to her last words; and with his eyes fixed upon her lovely face, he muttered between his teeth:

“It’s strange! there is a resemblance--to whom I can’t say; but I know a face like that.”

Jéricourt and little Astianax were greatly surprised when they saw the newcomer take the bouquet from the girl’s hands, saying:

“How much for this bouquet?”

“Three francs, monsieur.”

“Three francs! Pardieu! that’s nothing at all; bouquets seem to be cheap in this quarter. I’ll take it. Here, my pretty flower girl, pay yourself.”

And he handed Violette a five-franc piece; whereupon little Astianax stood on tiptoe and cried:

“But I bargained for that bouquet before you did, monsieur, and I am going to buy it. You can’t purchase it, not you.”

The gentleman contented himself with a disdainful glance at the young man as he repeated:

“Here, my girl, pay yourself.”

At this point Jéricourt thought fit to take part in the discussion. He stepped between Astianax and the stranger, and, assuming a self-sufficient tone, remarked to the latter:

“I was the first one who negotiated for that bouquet; so the flower girl has no right to sell it to anybody else, as I am ready to pay the price she asked. Be kind enough to give it to me, monsieur;--do you understand?”

The elderly gentleman simply turned his eyeglass on Jéricourt, and holding his head a little sidewise, said with an ironical smile:

“When I was your age, monsieur, I never allowed anything that I had in hand to be taken from me, and I have clung to that habit as I grew older;--do you understand?”

The gentleman’s self-assured manner and the tone of persiflage in which he made this retort surprised our man of letters, who did not know just what to do; but it was not so with little Astianax, who was furious because the stranger seemed to pay no heed to him, to treat him like a child. He stepped up to him, looked him in the face as well as he could, and shouted, in a voice which anger made exceedingly shrill:

“I don’t know why monsieur didn’t answer me! You see, I don’t allow myself to be insulted! I don’t propose to be treated like a child, I don’t! I have plenty of spunk, I have!”

“So! you are spunky, are you, my good friend?” rejoined the gentleman, turning his glass upon Astianax. “Indeed! so much the better! I congratulate you, for it may be a good thing for you when you grow up.”

“What’s that? when I grow up? I am nineteen years old, monsieur, and at that age one isn’t afraid of anybody!”

“Nonsense! nonsense! that isn’t possible! You mean nine.”

This remark made little Astianax tremble with rage; he stamped the ground and seemed disposed to rush at the gentleman, who continued to stare at him and even ventured to smile as he scrutinized him. Violette, fearing that the little man would resort to violence, had risen to restrain him, and Jéricourt, whom the quarrel seemed to amuse, was wondering what would happen next, when the scene changed as suddenly as when the manager’s whistle is heard at the Opéra.

On the boulevard, however, Chicotin Patatras acted once more as the scene-shifter.

Georget’s friend had been sauntering about the Château d’Eau for several minutes; being desirous to spend during the morning all the money that he had left from the day before, the young rascal had breakfasted so sumptuously that his brain was a little excited, and he felt in the mood for perpetrating a practical joke. In this frame of mind, he had noticed that several gentlemen were standing in front of the flower girl’s booth, and he soon recognized Jéricourt as the man whom he had tried to throw down on the preceding day. He said to himself instantly:

“Why shouldn’t I do to-day what I missed doing yesterday? My little Georget don’t like that scented dandy; he’s there again, prowling round the flower girl; if I knock him over, I shall be doing a friend a favor, and then too it’s fun for me. I must go about it playfully; Chopard ain’t here to push me--that’s a shame.--Ah! pardi! I’ll just go and grab that cabby’s glazed hat, as he stands dreaming there by his horses; of course he’ll chase me, and I’ll run between my man’s legs.”

Chicotin put his plan into execution forthwith. The cabman, bereft of his hat, ran after the _gamin_, shouting at the top of his lungs; he fled in the direction of the flower girl and hurled himself suddenly against the legs of someone, whom he bowled over, while the others hastily stepped aside; but Chicotin had missed his aim again; it was not Jéricourt, but little Astianax, who was sprawling on the asphalt.

“Upon my word, Mademoiselle Violette, it’s impossible to stop in front of your booth, it seems!” said Jéricourt, turning angrily away. “I congratulate you on the way you treat your customers, and especially on the champion you have chosen for that purpose. If it’s for him that you insist on remaining a flower girl, it doesn’t speak well for your taste.”

“What’s that? what did the dark-haired dandy say?” cried Chicotin, rising and tossing the cabman his hat. “I didn’t understand his apology.”

“I don’t know what the gentleman said,” exclaimed Violette, “but I do know this, Monsieur Chicotin, that you have played the same trick two days in succession on people who were standing in front of my shop; and I propose that it shall stop; if not, I know to whom to complain.”

During this exchange of words, young Astianax had risen, with a lump on his forehead, and both knees of his trousers torn; because he wore straps under his feet, which inevitably caused the cloth to tear at the slightest strain.

The rents that he saw in his trousers seemed to distress young Astianax; he heaved a deep sigh and muttered:

“Sapristi! and it’s only the second time I have worn them!”

Thereupon, giving no further thought to the bouquet or to his quarrel, the little fellow walked rapidly away, trying to hold his hands over the holes in his garments, which his short coat did not cover.

Meanwhile the elderly gentleman had held the bouquet in his hand, still leaning rather heavily on his cane.

“Nobody will dispute possession of these flowers with me any more,” he said at last. “My two rivals have abandoned the ground; it’s a dangerous place, it seems, if I am to believe what that gentleman said.--Ha! ha! you rascal! is it true that you amuse yourself throwing down mademoiselle’s customers?”

“Oh, no! it’s only a joke, monsieur!” Chicotin replied slyly; “but I have bad luck, I never hit the ones I aim at.”

“Were you aiming at me, pray?”

“No, indeed, monsieur; of course not!”

“Because, you see, I have the gout, and if you had knocked me down, it might have been a more serious matter for me than for that little man, who ought not to have lost the habit of tumbling yet.”

“Oh! monsieur, if I had had that misfortune, I should never have forgiven myself; but I’d have picked you up.”

“That would have been most generous on your part; but I prefer that you shouldn’t have any occasion to pick me up. You look to me like a genuine ne’er-do-well; but I don’t dislike knaves of your sort.”

“Monsieur’s a good judge.”

“Would you like to come with me? I’ll give you an errand to do.”

“Yes, monsieur, why not? And you won’t be sorry that you chose me; I do errands in first-class shape!”

“Very good! if I am satisfied with you, I will give you my work. What’s your name?”

“Chicotin--nicknamed Patatras because----”

“Parbleu! I have a shrewd suspicion why you had that name given you, if you always make your entrée as you did just now, by throwing people down.--But this pretty flower girl doesn’t like the way you treat her customers, and she is right.”

“Bless me! monsieur,” said Violette, “it’s the second time in two days that he has run into my counter like that.”

“It’s the last time, Mamzelle Violette; I promise you I won’t do it again; I’m done.”

“This girl is really lovely!” muttered the gentleman, as he paid for his bouquet. “Whom in the devil does she look like? Faith! I’ve known so many!--Follow me,” he said, turning to Chicotin.

He walked away, leaning on his cane and putting his left foot to the ground with great precaution, which necessarily kept him from walking fast.

And Monsieur Chicotin followed him, taking several steps very rapidly, then falling back to cut a caper or some monkey trick.

“If we keep on at this pace,” he said, “we shan’t beat the railway train.”