Chapter XXVII: A Resemblance

The Comte de Brevanne had a reason for going to Paris, but he did not wish to confide to anyone the purpose of his journey; having completed his visit, he was driven, about five o'clock, to Boulevard du Temple, near Rue d'Angouleme, and there he looked about for Georget, who, intent upon following Monsieur Jericourt, had forgotten his appointment with the count. The latter, without alighting from his carriage, drove to his city home, where the concierge informed him that Georget had not called.

"I can guess where he probably is, and what has made him forget the appointment," thought Monsieur de Brevanne. "Driver, take me to the flower market on Boulevard Saint-Martin."

The driver whipped up his horse and the count said to himself:

"Here is an opportunity to see this girl who is so pretty, and who has turned my poor Georget's head; I will wager that he is within a few steps of the flower girl's booth, and that he can't make up his mind to go away. A boy loves so earnestly at eighteen! and this poor fellow's heart is too soft; he will be unhappy for a long while if I do not succeed in curing him. But how? First of all, I must find out whether this girl is really a bad girl."

The count left his carriage at the corner of the boulevard, and entered the flower market, saying:

"How shall I know Mademoiselle Violette? Why, of course, from Georget, whom I shall probably see hovering about her booth."

And Monsieur de Brevanne walked along, examining all the flower dealers. He saw some who were old and others who were not pretty. Beauty is a rarer thing than is generally supposed. Go into a theatre, and turn your opera glass in all directions: sometimes out of six hundred women in the audience, you will not find a single one who is really beautiful. Let us not be surprised at the vast number of conquests that pretty women make, for their number is very, very small.

The count walked on, not surprised at not seeing Georget, as there seemed to be no fascinating flower girls. But as he drew near the Chateau d'Eau, a lovely face instantly attracted his eyes. It belonged to a flower girl, and she was probably the one he sought. Georget was not there, however; but the girl was so lovely that it was impossible that there could be another among the dealers in flowers that could be compared with her.

Monsieur de Brevanne stopped in front of the flower girl, and gazed at her with an interest which became deeper with every moment; as he scrutinized her features, he was conscious of an emotion which he could not comprehend at first; the girl reminded him of someone; he searched his memory for a moment, but it did not take long to decide whose portrait he saw in the girl.

"What an extraordinary resemblance!" said the count to himself, his eyes still fastened upon Violette's face, for it was her booth at which he had stopped. "This girl has all Lucienne's features, but Lucienne's features when I was paying court to her, when she was not my wife; only, Lucienne had a merry expression, a smile always on her lips, and this girl has a melancholy look, her brow is careworn; but probably she is not always thus. Is it a delusion of my senses? No, that profile, that nose, the outlines of the face--it is impossible for two persons to resemble each other more closely. And is this the Violette with whom Georget is in love? It must be she; but no matter, I must make certain."

The count walked to the flower girl's booth, picked up a bunch of roses and asked the price. Violette replied, and her voice made a profound impression upon the count, for that too was his wife's. He bent so piercing a glance upon the girl that she was confused and lowered her lovely eyes.

"I beg pardon, mademoiselle," said the count, as he paid for his roses; "but perhaps you can assist me in finding the person for whom I am looking; it is a young flower girl named Violette."

"Violette--why, I am Violette, monsieur."

"Ah! are you she?"

"There is nobody else of that name in this market."

"Oh! I believe you; indeed, I suspected that you must be the one."

"What do you wish of me, monsieur?"

"It will seem strange to you, mademoiselle, but I was looking for you in order to find another person."

"I don't understand you, monsieur."

"I will explain myself: I have with me now, at my place in the country, a young fellow who used to be a messenger, and whose stand was on this boulevard."

Violette, who instantly flushed crimson, exclaimed:

"You must mean Georget, monsieur."

"Yes, his name is Georget."

"In that case, monsieur, you must be the gentleman of whom he has told me so much good: that Monsieur Malberg, who was so kind to him when his mother was ill, who gave him money, and----"

"I am Monsieur Malberg," replied the count, hastening to put an end to the girl's eulogium; "but it's Georget, not I, of whom we are speaking; he came to Paris with me to-day, and he made an appointment with me at five o'clock, to return to Nogent, where my country house is. I am surprised at his lack of punctuality, and I thought that I might find him at this market. You have not seen him, mademoiselle?"

"I beg pardon, monsieur, I did see him for a moment, but it was more than two hours ago. He was over there, opposite me; I don't know whether he had been there long, but when I looked at him, when he saw that I saw him, he instantly disappeared, and I haven't seen him since then."

"And he didn't speak to you?"

"Oh, no! he doesn't speak to me now, monsieur."

As she said this, Violette's voice changed, she heaved a deep sigh, and her eyes filled with tears.

The count was touched; as he listened to the girl, he did not tire of gazing at her with a close scrutiny which would have alarmed her if she had not been at that moment engrossed by the thought of Georget.

"Is your mother still living, mademoiselle?" the count suddenly asked; and Violette, surprised by a question which had no connection with Georget, faltered:

"No, monsieur, no, I have no mother.--Did Georget tell you that he knew me, monsieur?"

"Yes, yes, he told me that.--Is it long since you lost her?"

"Why, monsieur, it is several weeks now since I have seen him; so he is in the country with you, is he, monsieur?"

"Georget? yes, he is with me. But I was talking about your mother; I was asking you if you lost her when you were young?"

"My mother? why, I never knew her, monsieur; I am a poor girl, deserted by her parents; and I owe the position that I have to-day to a kind-hearted woman who sold flowers on this same spot."

"Ah! I understand," replied the count, thinking that the girl had been brought up at the Foundling Hospital. "I beg your pardon, I am sorry that I asked you that question; I should be terribly distressed to cause you pain; I must seem very inquisitive to you, but your features remind me strongly of someone whom I once knew very well."

"Oh! you haven't offended me, monsieur; I ask nothing better than to answer you; I was so anxious to know you, since I knew how kind you had been to Georget."

"How old are you?"

"I am eighteen and a half, monsieur; I shall be nineteen in three months, I believe."

"That is strange!"

"Is Georget very happy at your place in the country, monsieur? Does he never come to Paris, he who formerly could not pass a day without walking on the boulevard? To be sure, in those days he used to speak to me, he used to talk with me, and I had to scold him very often, to make him go to work; and now he never looks at me, or else he has such a contemptuous expression, and all because someone told him something about me--as if he should have believed it! Ah! if anyone told me that Georget had stolen, or that he had done anything mean, would I believe it?--I beg your pardon, monsieur, but does he ever speak to you of me? Do you think he has forgotten me altogether?"

For several moments the count had not been listening to the flower girl; he was preoccupied, absorbed by his memories, and he did not hear what she said to him. At last, abruptly driving away the thoughts that beset him, he exclaimed:

"I am a madman! just because of a resemblance, such as nature often produces, I must needs imagine--Adieu, mademoiselle, adieu! once more, pray excuse my curiosity."

And the count hastened away, without answering the last questions of the pretty flower girl, who was more depressed than ever, as she looked after him, saying to herself:

"He wouldn't answer what I asked him about Georget; perhaps he told him not to. To be despised, when one has nothing to blame oneself for! that is horrible! and yet, I feel in the bottom of my heart that the main thing is to have one's conscience clear. I have nothing to reproach myself for, and some day they will reproach themselves for having made me so wretchedly unhappy."

The count entered his carriage and started for Nogent. But on the way, his mind was full of that extraordinary resemblance, and the young flower girl's face constantly returned to his thoughts.

In vain did Georget make all possible haste, he did not reach Nogent until fully two hours after the count. Chicotin left his comrade on the outskirts of Vincennes, panting for breath, exhausted and dying with thirst, because his friend would not consent to enter a wine-shop for refreshment, as that would have delayed them. He shook hands with Georget, saying to him:

"My dear boy, I am very glad I came with you, but I've had enough; if I went any farther I should have the pip, and I believe I should break in two. Deuce take it! you have a way of walking that leaves cabs and omnibuses nowhere. Au revoir; I'll call and say good-day to you at Nogent, but I shall go all alone, and take my own time walking; I prefer that way."

Georget presented himself before his master, decidedly shamefaced; he was afraid of being scolded because he was not on hand punctually at the place which his patron had appointed; but the count simply said to him:

"As I didn't find you at the place I mentioned, I concluded that you had forgotten the time at the flower market, with the pretty flower girl, and I went there to look for you."

"You went there, monsieur? Did you see Violette?"

"Yes, I saw her and talked with her."

"You talked with her? Ah! I didn't speak to her! With one of my old comrades, named Chicotin, who wouldn't believe that Violette had behaved badly, I followed that Monsieur Jericourt, the man to whose rooms she--she went; and as Chicotin knows that man, he begged him to tell us the truth about the flower girl. As I expected, he confirmed what I had already heard."

"It's a pity, for that girl is very interesting, and I discovered in her features a resemblance to a person who was very pretty also--long ago!"

"Oh! isn't Violette lovely, monsieur? I told you so! And--excuse me if I ask you a question--but what did she have to say to monsieur?"

"She talked about you, my boy."

"About me! about me! why on earth did she speak of me, when she doesn't love me and has made me so unhappy? Why does she think of me, when another man has her love, when she did not care for mine, which was so true, so sincere? Is it to make me unhappy again? is it to make me still more desperate, that she speaks of me? I don't want her to talk about me, I will tell her not to!"

"Come, come, be calm, Georget; you are not reasonable, my friend; and I think that I shall do well not to let you go to Paris again."

"Forgive me, monsieur; you are right to scold me.--Mon Dieu! to think that I hurried back so fast, because I had good news to tell monsieur, and here I have forgotten all about it and haven't told him! It is all Violette's fault, you see, monsieur; she upsets my wits, she makes me forget everything; it is worse than sickness, monsieur!--And she talked about me?"

"Well, Georget, as you have thought of it at last, what is the news that you have to tell me?"

"Monsieur, I haven't forgotten that sometime ago you employed me to find the residence in Paris of a person whom you wished to find; it was a Monsieur de Roncherolle, wasn't it, monsieur?"

At the name of Roncherolle, the count's face instantly lighted up, and he seized Georget's arm, exclaiming:

"Yes, yes, it was he! Well, go on--what do you know?"

"I know that gentleman's address, at last."

"You know it?"

"Yes, monsieur.--Mon Dieu! if I had happened to mention it sooner to Chicotin, my old comrade, I should have known it a long while ago. He is that gentleman's messenger, he works for him."

"And his address?"

"Monsieur de Roncherolle lives on Rue de Bretagne, in the Marais, in a furnished lodging house. He doesn't know the number, but as the street is short, it will be easy to find."

"Rue de Bretagne, in the Marais,--a furnished lodging house?"

"Yes, monsieur, that is right."

"So I have found him at last!" murmured the count, intensely excited.

"If I should go this evening--but no, it is too late. He would not admit me perhaps. But to-morrow morning--yes, I will see him to-morrow."

"What could Violette have had to say to you about me, monsieur?" faltered Georget, walking toward his master; but he simply pointed to the door and said: "Leave me," in a tone which permitted no reply.

Poor Georget left the room, disconcerted, and saying to himself:

"It is strange! I thought I should make him very happy by giving him that gentleman's address; but it seems to have produced a contrary effect."