Chapter XXVIII: Virginie Again

It was very early in the morning when Auguste left the pretty little cottage where he had passed a fortnight which he looked upon as the happiest period in his life. It was not without a mighty effort that he tore himself away from Denise; it requires a deal of courage to leave a woman whom one loves, when she has voluntarily offered one her heart. But we must remember that Auguste had been rich, and that every feeling of pride was not extinct within his breast. His pride could not accustom itself to the idea of offering Denise the hand of a penniless unfortunate; and furthermore he feared that it was from gratitude for what he had done for Coco that the girl offered him her hand. A heart bruised by misfortune is easily frightened; dread of humiliation makes us unjust; a benefaction seems like almsgiving, and consolation is nothing more than condescending pity.

With his little bundle tied to the end of his staff, Auguste started for Paris. When he saw the great city once more, he could not restrain a sigh. But he pulled his hat over his eyes and walked with lowered head, in dread of meeting some former acquaintance. However, it is no crime to be poor; why, then, should the unfortunate seem to avoid men's eyes when so many scoundrels go about with their heads in the air? Why should one be any more ashamed to say: "I haven't a sou," than to say: "I owe a hundred thousand francs"? Because in society we see and seek and care for none but those who have money; because we too often close our eyes to the source of the wealth of a multitude of schemers who cut a dash at the expense of the scores of families they have ruined, and who from their magnificent equipages look down in derision on those whom they have reduced to destitution; because we pardon all sorts of vices in the man who is able to cover them with gold, and refuse to pardon a trifling peccadillo in a poor devil; because we lavish attentions on a Messalina arrayed in silk and diamonds, and close our doors to a girl who has given herself for love to a man who cannot support her. All this is very sad, but it is all true.

Auguste was careful not to go near Rue Saint-Georges; he went in the direction of the Marais. It was necessary that he should be most economical in his outlay, and he found in an old house on Rue de Berry, a closet, said to be furnished, on the sixth floor, which he could hire for fifteen francs a month. He paid half of the first month's rent in advance.

The man who formerly passed his life in dissipation, who set the fashion in manners and style, who was sought after and fêted, for whom women disputed at parties, and whom they were proud to subjugate,--the brilliant Dalville found himself reduced to the necessity of occupying a garret and sleeping on a wretched pallet. When he entered the miserable den he had just hired, he could not control a feeling of regret, and he threw himself on a chair which wavered under him. As he glanced at the walls, only partially covered by a few tattered strips of paper; as he contemplated the furniture of his closet, and the tumbledown roofs near by, Auguste recalled old Dorfeuil's room; he remembered especially the old man's story and he dropped his head on his hands, saying:

"And that did not reform me!"

In a few moments, summoning his courage, he took his portfolio, glanced over a list that he had made of all the people who owed him money, and determined to spend the next day calling upon his debtors. At that moment, the payment of a single debt would be of great service to him; for, despite the economy with which he had travelled, he had but eleven francs left after paying his rent for a fortnight. He had given his name to the landlady as a teacher of music and drawing; but was he likely to find any pupils, and how could he live before he received the price of his lessons? Such reflections were ill adapted to make the aspect of his abode more attractive. If only his former companion had been there to comfort him and revive his courage! Again and again, impelled by the force of habit, Auguste turned and looked about the room for Bertrand; but, just as he was on the point of calling him, he remembered his desertion, and his heart was torn anew.

For a moment Auguste had thought of going to his former lodgings to inquire whether Schtrack had seen Bertrand, and whether the ex-corporal was in Paris; but he abandoned the idea when he reflected that he might meet Bertrand in the old concierge's quarters, and that he ought not to risk encountering a man who, by his ingratitude, had rendered himself unworthy of being regretted.

It was by thinking of Denise, by recalling the happy moments that he had passed with her, that Auguste strove to forget his deplorable plight. He was well aware that he would always find shelter under Denise's roof, but he could not make up his mind to live at her expense.

"It may be that it was from compassion that she offered me her hand," he said to himself.

On the following day, after carefully brushing his old coat, and trying to dissemble his destitution, Auguste set out to visit his debtors. His first two calls were not fortunate; one man was dead, the other had gone to Bordeaux, whither Auguste could not go to seek him. At his third attempt he was more fortunate; the debtor was a young man who, like Dalville, was devoted to pleasure; he was in the act of performing his second toilet when his creditor was ushered into his presence.

One does not put oneself out for a poorly dressed person, and the young man, who did not recognize Dalville, said to him while continuing to tie his cravat:

"What do you want?"

"First of all, to see you. Is it possible that Léon does not recognize me?"

Surprised at being addressed by his baptismal name, the young man bestowed a contemptuous glance upon Auguste and said:

"Deuce take me if I know you. Can it be that we have ever had anything to do with each other?"

"Yes, monsieur, for Auguste Dalville has had the privilege of doing you a favor more than once."

"Auguste Dalville!" cried the young man, turning his head once more; "what! can it be you, my dear fellow?"

"Myself!"

"Oh! it's impossible! you are dressed like a highwayman! Are you just out of prison?"

"No, thank God! unfortunate as I am, I have never put myself in the way of being imprisoned."

"Look you, my dear fellow, that doesn't prevent one's being an honest man; I've been to Sainte-Pélagie more than once myself, and it's likely that I shall go again. Poor Auguste!--Damn this knot! I shall never get it tied.--Well, what chance brings you here, my dear friend? You haven't been seen anywhere for a century."

"It's three years since I left Paris; I have been in Italy and England."

"The devil you say! Tell me, is it true that the English tie their cravats like a groom?"

"That isn't the kind of thing I gave my attention to on my travels. As I have told you, Léon, I am not in luck; but when I was rich you had recourse to my purse more than once. I lent you more than a thousand francs; half of that sum would be of great service to me now, and I have come to ask you to pay me five hundred francs on account of what you owe me."

"Parbleu! my dear Auguste, you have chosen a very bad time. I lost at roulette yesterday all the money I had. I determined to put my luck to the test. I have nothing left, and if I can't pick up ten louis or so to-day, to take a lovely little woman to the Bois, I am a lost man. My charmer will probably go to the Bois with somebody else, and you can understand--Does my cravat look all right?"

"I thought that you had a better heart, Léon. You will find ten louis to take your charmer to drive, but you can't find them for me, to whom you owe them, and who am in a lamentable plight."

"I don't say that I won't find them for you, my dear fellow. Come again in a few days; I promise to put aside all I win at cards, and it shall be for you. Poor Dalville--on my honor, I am distressed.--This corner of my collar won't stay in place; it's terribly annoying, it spoils all the harmony of a costume."

Auguste left the young dandy's apartment, wondering how he could ever have been the friend of a man whose head was as empty as his heart. He called upon others of his debtors: some were out, some had moved. He returned home, tired out and with little hope of faring better on the morrow. For several days he persistently pursued them; but the majority were not to be found or not to be seen; those whom he succeeded in seeing never had any money, and it was impossible for him to catch young Léon at home again. He sought fruitlessly the abode of the Marquis de Cligneval; but one day, as he was going home, he saw monsieur le marquis, ran after him and stopped him.

"What do you want of me?" said Monsieur de Cligneval haughtily.

"I have something to say to you, monsieur."

"I don't know you."

"You don't know me!" cried Auguste angrily, standing in front of the marquis, who was about to walk away. His tone and the flash in his eyes evidently refreshed Monsieur de Cligneval's memory, for he replied, trying to smile:

"Oh! I beg pardon! a thousand pardons! It's Monsieur Dalville. I was so engrossed--I am going out to dinner--I am late, and----"

"Monsieur, you have owed me money for a long, long time, which you borrowed for a few days only."

"I, owe you money? Oh! you are mistaken, I assure you."

"What, monsieur?"

"I beg pardon--I paid you! I give you my word that I paid you, a long time ago; that's why you have forgotten it."

"You dare to assert----"

"My dear sir, you confuse my debt with somebody else's; really I paid you. Think carefully and you will remember. When you lend to a number of people, you get them mixed and forget; it's like boston--there are people who always ask you twice for the trick.--Adieu! au revoir! I am going out to dine."

Monsieur de Cligneval was already far away. Auguste stood still, petrified by his debtor's impudence; but what is one to do with a man who denies a debt, when one has no evidence thereof? To thrash him would be some compensation at least, but the law would put you in the wrong.

Auguste went home more depressed and dejected than ever, and, to cap the climax of his misfortunes, fatigue and anxiety had inflamed his blood. He was consumed by fever; he was alone, on a bag of straw, and ere long it would be impossible for him to obtain those things which were essential for his restoration to health.

Stretched on his bed, where he had passed the whole day, Auguste courted sleep, which avoided his eyes. He was in pain, he breathed with difficulty, and sounds of mirth disturbed the silence of his abode. The person who lived below him seemed to be singing over her work; her voice pierced the thin ceiling that separated her from the hapless invalid, and the latter, on his bed of suffering, distinguished from time to time a vaudeville air or the refrain of a _chansonnette_.

"Those people haven't a fever like me," he said to himself. "Oh! this is an excellent time to be philosophical, but nature speaks louder than philosophy."

After a sleepless night, the poor fellow, devoured by thirst, found that he had no more water with which to satisfy it. He summoned all his strength, left his bed, and dragged himself down to the concierge's room; for he dared not apply to any neighbors, and moreover he was alone, between two lofts, on his sixth floor.

"Oh! are you sick, monsieur?" cried the concierge, at sight of Auguste.

"Yes, I have been suffering greatly since yesterday."

"You must take care of yourself and not go out."

"Oh! that would be impossible!"

"Leave your key outside, monsieur; I'll come up to-night to see if you want anything."

Auguste thanked the woman, crawled back to his garret with much difficulty, and threw himself on his bed once more.

The concierge, like all of her class, loved to talk, and very soon all the lodgers who stopped at her lodge knew that there was on the sixth floor a young man with a very distinguished bearing who was probably going to have inflammation of the lungs.

Among the persons who stopped to chat with the concierge was the singer who lived below the sick man. This singer was no other than Virginie, who had not succeeded in making a fortune by riotous living. Dissipation soon banishes the hues of health, late hours circle the eyes, fatigue of all sorts impairs beauty, and beauty was almost the sole possession of Virginie, who, with three years added to her age, had fewer lovers than of yore. All this was the reason why she was living in the Marais, in a very modest fifth floor apartment; that she often passed her evenings in working, because she no longer had some pleasure party for every evening; and lastly, that she sang over her work, because she had retained her voice and her cheerfulness.

Virginie had a kind heart, she had never sinned except through excess of sensibility. There are women who have no sensibility except where pleasure is concerned, but Virginie was still capable of sympathy with the unfortunate. On learning that there was a young man above her who was alone and ill, Virginie asked the concierge:

"Have you been up to see if he wanted anything?"

"I haven't been yet because I've got to watch my stew; but I'll go up to-night."

"Well! you are a good one! Suppose the man gets sicker before then? I'll go myself. I'm only sorry I didn't know it sooner, for I sang all last evening, and when a person is feverish he don't like trills; but I was in good voice! I could have sung _Armide!_ I'm going up to see my neighbor. He's young, you say?"

"Why, yes--twenty-nine or thereabouts."

"Poor boy! perhaps he's lovesick. But no, men never lose their health for love. I'm curious to see him; if he was old, I'd go all the same; but a young man is always more alluring."

Virginie went upstairs, and kept on to the sixth, passing her own door without stopping. The key was on the outside of Auguste's door.

"When a man lives in this hole," thought Virginie, "he don't eat green peas in January." And she tapped softly on the door, saying aloud: "It's your neighbor from downstairs, monsieur, come to ask if you want anything."

There was no reply, so she decided to open the door noiselessly. She entered the hovel, in comparison with which her room was a palace. She went to the bed on which lay the sick man, whose fever had increased, and who no longer had the strength to open his eyes. She leaned over him and gave a little shriek when she recognized Auguste.

That shriek caused the invalid to open his eyes; he tried to give Virginie his hand, while she threw herself upon him, kissed him again and again, wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and the next moment drenched his face with her tears, crying:

"It is you, Auguste! it is really you! O mon Dieu! in this garret! on this wretched bed! My poor dear! sick, alone--and I didn't know it! Poor Auguste! and I sang last night while he was groaning here! Oh! I feel as if I should choke! I can't say any more."

But at last Virginie realized that her tears and kisses were no longer sufficient for the invalid, who motioned that he was consumed by thirst.

"Wait--wait, my dear," she said, "I'll give you--Great God! there's nothing here but water! Why, that's no good--it increases the fever. I'll go--the doctor must come right away; I'll go and fetch him. I'm going. Don't be impatient, my friend; I won't be long; and after this you won't be alone any more; I shan't leave you again!"

Virginie ran to the door, returned to the bed, pulled the clothes over the sick man, arranged his head, then ran downstairs four at a time, and arrived at the concierge's door all out of breath, saying:

"A doctor! where's there a doctor?"

"Why, there's several in the quarter. Is the gentleman sicker?"

"His address--quick!"

"A doctor's address? There's one on this street--yonder, next to the fruit store; then there's the one that bled me; but----"

Virginie was no longer listening; she was already at the door the concierge had pointed out. She ran up to the doctor's room and begged him to come instantly to see a sick man, in the tone that only women can assume when the object of their affection is involved. The doctor made no reply but took his hat, which was much better, and followed Virginie, who led the way to Auguste's garret. He ascended the six flights almost as quickly as she did, and when he entered the room apparently saw nothing but the invalid. All honor to the men who devote their lives to relieving the ills of mankind, and who show the same zeal for the poor as for the rich. Their number is large, and although Molière did poke fun at the doctors, doubtless he would be the first to do them justice to-day.

Virginie gazed anxiously at the doctor's face while he was feeling the invalid's pulse. His eyes gave no favorable indication; while Auguste, heedless of everything that was going on about him, seemed neither to see nor to hear anything.

"Well, monsieur?" queried Virginie at last.

"The young man is in bad shape; he has a high fever and there is every reason to expect that it will increase; however, with extreme care, I hope we shall save him."

"Oh, monsieur, don't neglect anything, I beg you!"

"But he is very badly off here; the room is so small, there is so little air, and the sun beats down so fiercely on the roofs, and makes these garrets burning hot; this is a very unhealthy place."

"Oh! he shall leave this garret this very day; he shall live in my room as long as he's sick. It's right below here; he'll be much more comfortable there, for it's a good size, at least--one can turn round in it. He'd have been there before this if I could have carried him alone. If you would be kind enough to help me, monsieur, it would soon be done!"

"Let's try it, mademoiselle."

And the doctor went to the bed and lifted the only mattress that there was on the straw; Virginie did the same on the other side, and thus they carried Auguste to the floor below and laid him upon the only bed in the room.

"Where will you sleep, mademoiselle?" queried the doctor.

"Oh! that don't worry me, monsieur. I'll bring down the straw bed from upstairs; indeed, I shan't feel like sleeping as long as he's sick."

The doctor looked at her again, then wrote a prescription and took his leave, promising to come again early the next morning.

When Virginie was alone, she looked at the prescription and tried to read it.

"Bless my soul!" she muttered, "how badly these doctors write! like cats. 'Syrup of--infusion of'--No matter, the druggist will understand; this much is clear, that here's syrups and infusions--consequently, money. Poor Auguste! I'm quite sure he hasn't any. And I haven't much more. But never mind--I have got to find some. He gave me enough when he was rich. I must go at once and get whatever he needs."

Virginie took her purse and went out to buy what was required for the draught the doctor had ordered. She did not amuse herself by babbling with the concierge, but made haste back to her room to nurse the sick man. His fever had changed to delirium; he did not know her, and he seemed to be much worse. Virginie nursed him with redoubled zeal. She succeeded, not without difficulty, in making him take the potion prescribed for him. She did not take one moment's rest during the night; she was constantly beside the sick-bed, leaving it only to return to her work. Her work was making linen garments, for since her opportunities for pleasure had fallen off, she had realized that in order to live something more was required than fine eyes and a fetching smile. This work brought her but little money; but she redoubled her efforts when she had Auguste to care for.

While she worked, Virginie kept her eyes on the invalid.

"Poor boy!" she would say to herself; "his travels evidently didn't bring him luck. But how does it happen that good old Bertrand isn't with him? He must be dead, not to be with Auguste. He was a true friend, he was! not like those popinjays who swindled him! And Denise, who loved him so dearly! If she knew he was in this condition! Suppose I should write to her? But no, that might make Auguste angry; perhaps he's seen her again, and they've had a row; one can never tell! I must cure him first; then he will tell me all his adventures."

The doctor came the next day, as he had promised; he was unable as yet to give a definite opinion, but he agreed to come again in the evening, and told Virginie to follow the same treatment.

For three days Auguste was very ill. The doctor was not sparing of his visits, and Virginie followed all his prescriptions to the letter. But in the afternoon of the third day she found nothing in her purse, and she had no work ready to carry back. She needed money, however, for a thousand things that her patient must have. Virginie was not at a loss; she took off her bracelets and earrings, the sole relics of the days of her early prosperity, and sold them to a jeweller as gayly as if she were going to a party.

The doctor's treatment and Virginie's nursing were not thrown away. On the fourth day Auguste was better; he was no longer delirious and was surprised to find himself in a room which he did not recognize. He pressed Virginie's hand and would have spoken; but the doctor had prescribed perfect rest, so Virginie said to him:

"Hush! wait till you're better before you talk; meanwhile, don't worry about anything; you're in my room, and I'll take care of you as well as if you had a dozen black servants. All that I ask you is to drink your medicine like a good boy, and think of nothing but rose-bushes. When you are getting better, I'll sing as much as you want me to; I'll even go so far as to dance, if that will amuse you, so as to bring back your spirits."

Auguste smiled and held his peace. He continued to improve, but his convalescence bade fair to be very long; and as a sick man always requires innumerable things, the jewelry money was soon expended. Thereupon, while Auguste was asleep, Virginie looked over her wardrobe to see what she had that she could do without. In reality it contained nothing that was not strictly necessary, but she succeeded in finding several things of which she made a bundle, saying to herself:

"This will rid me of a lot of old stuff that I am sick to death of."

And the bundle went to join the jewels.

When Auguste had recovered a little strength, he was able to tell Virginie the story of his adventures. When she learned that Bertrand had voluntarily left his master, she dropped a glass of medicine that she was about to hand to Auguste, and exclaimed:

"My arms have gone back on me! That Bertrand, whom I always thought worthy of being embalmed! whom I looked upon as a faithful dog in his attachment to you! You can't trust a man! My friend, the English beer must have changed all his feelings!"

But when Auguste told her of his stay at Denise's cottage, Virginie interrupted him to describe the peasant girl's grief and despair when she learned of his departure--in short, all her love for him.

"Is it possible?" said Auguste; "she really loves me? Then she did not deceive me! it wasn't pity that made her offer me her hand!"

"Does she love you! She adores you, monsieur. The poor child made me feel so sad. She cried so! But you men are unique! when a woman loves you, you're surprised, and when she doesn't love you, you're surprised too."

"Oh! how happy you make me, Virginie!"

"In that case, get well right away, and go and console poor Denise."

"Oh no! I shall not go there."

"What's that? you won't go? You know that she loves you, that she is in despair at your absence, and you won't go back to her?"

"I am destitute--I can't accept her hand."

"My dear friend, that's a piece of delicacy that I can't understand. When a person loves us, what's theirs is ours; and if a prince should fall in love with me, although I haven't any more money than you have, I shouldn't hesitate a moment about marrying him."

Auguste held his peace, and Virginie said nothing further on a subject that seemed to distress him. To restore the sick man's strength, he was given no more infusions to drink; old wine and rich soups were prescribed by the doctor, and Virginie, who searched her drawers in a vain endeavor to make money, decided to sell a shawl which was her most beautiful possession, and which she almost never laid aside.

But Auguste saw how much he was costing Virginie, and his distress on that account retarded his convalescence. He watched her as she worked incessantly, often passing a large part of the night at her sewing, and he sighed, as he said to himself:

"She is killing herself for me! and I shall never be able to requite all her care of me!"

When Virginie returned after procuring a sum of money by means of her remaining resource, Auguste noticed that she was without the shawl she usually wore.

"Where have you been, Virginie?" he asked in a feeble voice.

"For a little walk, to take the air. I saw that you were asleep and didn't need me."

"Why aren't you wearing your shawl?"

"My shawl? Why, I didn't put it on because it's too warm."

"You had it on when you went out."

"Did I?--Well, the truth is that I've lent it to a friend of mine who's going to a party to-night; but she'll give it back."

"You are deceiving me, Virginie."

"No, monsieur, I am not deceiving you."

"I am costing you a great deal; and you deprive yourself of everything in order to take care of me, so that I may lack nothing! You are stripping yourself clean for me!"

"What are you talking about, Monsieur Auguste? I deprive myself of everything! Let me tell you, monsieur, that I deprive myself of nothing. Who told you that I am not well fixed, that I haven't money put by?"

"And you work a great part of the night!"

"I work because it amuses me, and because I don't care to sleep. The fact is that I have all I want; I had a hoard; I am certainly at liberty to spend it as I please.--The idea of telling me that he is a burden to me! How shameful of him! I, whom he has been kind to so many times! And he is angry because I am taking care of him!--Monsieur would prefer that somebody else should do it, perhaps. If you give me any more nonsense like that, I'll throw the stew out of the window. As for my shawl, it's true that I haven't got it now; but I didn't like it. In the first place, the color isn't in fashion any longer; and then I don't want a flower pattern--it's bad form."

Auguste said no more; he simply sighed as he took Virginie's hands in his; and she pretended to be more lighthearted than ever, and sang all day to prove that she did not regret her shawl.

The doctor came to see his patient; he found him much better, and complimented Virginie on her nursing. She, although she had no idea how she was going to pay him, asked him to tell her how much she owed him. But the doctor replied that he never charged anything when he went higher than the fourth floor; and he ran away from the thanks of Auguste and Virginie, enjoining anew upon the convalescent to be careful and to wait until his strength had returned before going out.

"There's a mighty fine man!" cried Virginie, looking after the doctor. "He isn't handsome; certainly no one can say he's handsome; in fact, one eye's smaller than the other. But for all that he's been a little Cupid in my eyes ever since I saw what zeal he showed in his care of you."

Auguste smiled; Virginie's remarks often made his eyes sparkle; but when he thought of his plight, his brow darkened and he sighed, despite all the efforts of his nurse, who said to him constantly:

"You didn't use to sigh like that when you made love to me."

Auguste was anxious to get up and go out, but he was not strong enough; and yet Virginie gave him everything that the doctor ordered. But his convalescence seemed certain to be very slow, and although she told Auguste every day that he must not worry, that she had money enough to last a long while, Virginie discovered one morning that she had nothing left of the proceeds of the sale of her shawl.

But the doctor, who had called on the evening before, had said that Auguste could eat chicken, and Virginie, after searching her boxes, her drawers and her purse, where she found nothing, muttered under her breath:

"It's no use for me to look; there's nothing to raise money on--not even enough to buy a lark; and my work won't be done till day after to-morrow! No matter! if I have to put myself in pawn, he shall eat chicken to-day!"

And Virginie put on her cap and the little neckerchief which had replaced her shawl; then, leaving Auguste still asleep, she stole softly from her room, saying to herself:

"I won't come back without a chicken."