Chapter VI: The Company Returns to Paris

The night passed. Did its protecting darkness banish Madame Destival's irritation and her husband's fatigue? Did Dalville determine to be virtuous, and Bertrand to be sober? Did the sprightly Athalie become reconciled to the necessity of sharing her husband's bed, and did Monsieur de la Thomassinière sleep well beside his wife? These are mysteries which I am unable to solve.

All I know is that Madame Destival rose with her friend's pleasant confidence of the night before still in her mind, and that she said to herself as she dressed:

"The flirt did everything that she could to assure the conquest of Auguste. I saw all her simpering and smiles while they were singing. No doubt she hopes to receive a declaration in due form this morning; but I am sorry for you, madame, for I shall be on the spot, I shall not let you out of my sight, I will not allow such intrigues to be carried on in my house. Oh! women are such coquettes nowadays!--I think I will put this rose in my hair; it's more becoming than a ribbon. Mon Dieu! how badly my curl-papers work to-day!--And then they complain because men think unfavorably of our sex. Why, don't they justify them in that opinion by acting as they do? At the very first meeting, to let a man see that one is attracted by him--shocking! And a woman of twenty, married two years at most! Ah! Monsieur Auguste, you don't deserve any friends."

Monsieur Destival, on laying aside the silk handkerchief that covered his head at night, took his stand in front of his mirror and presented arms with a vessel which he had forgotten to replace in the night-table. Forgetting that he was in his shirt, Destival, who had dreamed of exterminating all the beasts in the district, made the circuit of his chamber at the double-quick, and took aim at his bolster with the tongs. But in that martial posture the remembrance of the forty francs he had lost at écarté the night before presented itself to his mind, and as one cannot attend to business while practising the manual of arms, our friend recurred to more peaceable ideas and proceeded to dress, thinking of nothing but the best means to become as rich as La Thomassinière, so that he might be able to lose a few crowns at play without losing his temper.

Dalville dreamed a little of the fair Athalie, a little of the young milkmaid, a little of Madame Destival, also of some other persons; like one who has no exclusive sentiment in his heart, but allows himself to be led by all the sensations, all the illusions, all the whims of his imagination. He rose without any well-defined plan of operations, without a determination to be more virtuous or more enterprising, without any intention of beginning a new intrigue. Chance should decide, he would act as circumstances might suggest, he would obey the dictates of his heart, or rather of pleasure. For a heedless fellow, that line of conduct was not devoid of wisdom; if to abandon oneself to the course of events, to lay no plans in advance, but to seize on the wing every opportunity to be happy--if that is heedlessness, it bears a strong resemblance to philosophy; in which there is nothing surprising, since extremes meet.

Bertrand had risen before dawn, always ready to carry out his master's orders, even when he did not approve of his conduct. The ex-corporal was well pleased with his repast of the preceding night, because the beaune was not spared, and Baptiste and Tony and the tall lackeys, while drinking with him, listened with respectful attention to his stories of his campaigns. He was walking on the terrace, ready to give Monsieur Destival a lesson in the manual, and perfectly reconciled to the life that people lead in the country.

The petite-maîtresse, whose head was as light as her heart, had risen very early, before her husband was awake. She had slept badly; innumerable thoughts crowded into her mind, but the principal one was as always the desire to attract, to make a sensation; that was the fixed point about which her other sentiments revolved by the force of gravitation, without disturbing the course of the planet whose satellites they were.

As for Monsieur de la Thomassinière, he had slept without waking, and in his dreams had imagined himself the _seigneur_ of a department, decorated with three crosses, a broad ribbon and a star, and richer, more conceited and more insolent than ever. Then he had found himself abruptly transported to the wine-shop of the _Learned Ass_, serving wine to peasants who treated him most cavalierly. That infernal sleep has no respect for anything; it displaces the most powerful men, and effects strange revolutions; it transforms a king into a shepherd, and sometimes raises the plowman to a throne; it confounds the great lord with the humblest plebeian; it makes of a minister of state a poor devil without bread or work or resource, starving in a garret; it transforms the banker into a petty clerk working fourteen hours a day to earn three francs; the poet who sells his pen, into a juggler employed to perform tricks before an audience which pays and despises him. To the kept woman it shows the hospital, to the public harlot, La Salpêtrière, to the young men who frequent roulette tables, the galleys or the nets of Saint-Cloud. It reminds the parvenu of his birth, the public official of the acts of injustice he has committed, the man without sense of honor of the insults he has endured. And all these people do as Monsieur de la Thomassinière did: they awake shrieking that they have a nightmare, and they ascribe those horrid dreams to a bad digestion. They would be very sorry to seek therein a memory of the past and a lesson for the future.

There was no trace of the storm of the preceding evening. The sky was clear, and the country seemed lovelier than ever; the trees glistened with a brilliant green undimmed by dust, the flowers were fresher, the brooks more noisy; everything invited one to enjoy the charms of nature; and that doubtless was the reason that Auguste was already in the garden, standing in the gateway leading into the courtyard, undecided whether he should go for a walk in the fields or remain on the premises. Meanwhile, Athalie had taken a seat under a clump of trees at the end of the garden; she was occupied in arranging some flowers, but her glance constantly wandered to right and left to see if someone was coming to bear her company; while Madame Destival strolled along an adjacent alley ready to join the persons whom she expected to meet in the garden.

Suddenly Auguste heard a voice that was not unknown to him crying:

"Whoa, White Jean! whoa, I say! Have you forgotten that we stop here?"

And at the same instant a milkmaid with her tin cans entered Monsieur Destival's courtyard. Auguste uttered an exclamation of delight when he recognized Denise, and hurried across the courtyard to meet the pretty milkmaid.

"It is really you, lovely Denise!"

"Yes, monsieur, it's I. Didn't I tell you yesterday that I came here every morning to bring milk? I'm very glad to see you again, monsieur."

"Really, Denise, did you want to see me?"

"Yes, monsieur, I wanted to ever so. Oh! that was such a nice thing you did! it was so generous! and even if you do have a little too much blarney with us girls, no matter--I let it go on account of that."

"Bless my soul! what on earth have I done, Denise, to bring down all these compliments on my head?"

"What about Coco, and his soup-bowl, and his old grandmother--don't you remember them?"

"How do you know so much, Denise?"

"Pardi! as if everything wasn't known in the country! The old grandma'am came to the village to buy some things. Coco came with her, and he told everybody that a fine gentleman had given him money to buy another bowl. The grandmother described you, and I knew you right away. It's too bad that Père Calleux is such a drunkard; he passed the whole night in the wine-shop drinking up the crown piece you gave him, and he'll soon get away with the money you left for Coco too. But that ain't your fault, and you were mighty kind to 'em."

"I did nothing except what was perfectly natural, Denise, and I am well rewarded at this moment."

Denise had become more and more animated as she told Auguste what she knew, and the young man's glances made her blush more than ever. She lowered her eyes and smiled, and stood for some moments before the man who was gazing at her, her arms hanging at her sides. Her awkwardness, her embarrassment and her coarse woolen skirt made the charms of her pretty face even more alluring.

At last she took up her cans, which she had placed on the ground, and said:

"I must take this milk to Mamzelle Julie; she's generally up by this time."

"One moment, Denise, I beg you."

"Have you got anything to say to me, monsieur?"

"Oh, yes! In the first place, you look even prettier this morning than you did yesterday."

"Oh! if that's all it is, I may as well go."

"One instant, Denise, please; I feel that the more I see you, the more I love you!"

"Well, then, you mustn't see me any more, monsieur."

"Does it make you angry to have me love you?"

"Oh no! for I'm pretty sure it ain't dangerous."

"If you would listen to me----"

"Adieu, monsieur."

And Denise started to walk away. But Auguste took her hand and stopped her, gazing tenderly at her,--too tenderly for a fickle youth who gazed so at all pretty women. A seducer's eyes should express nothing but inconstancy; unluckily, the eyes lend themselves to every sort of scheme. But perhaps Dalville was moved at that moment by genuine feeling, who knows? Who can read the human heart?

At this juncture Bertrand entered the courtyard; he approached his master, unseen by him, and said:

"Did I hear monsieur call me?"

"Why, no! I didn't call you," replied Auguste angrily, dropping Denise's hand; "you always appear at the wrong time. Is it proper to interrupt people when they are talking together?"

"Pardon, lieutenant, I didn't hear you say anything; I didn't know people talked without speaking."

"Leave us, Bertrand."

Bertrand made a half wheel to the left and went toward the garden; but as he passed Denise, who, although she said that she was going, did not go, and seemed very busy with her little cheeses, the corporal said to her in an undertone:

"Look out for yourself!"

Auguste once more approached Denise, who had started in surprise at Bertrand's words.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing, monsieur, but I must go."

"Will you do me a favor, Denise?"

"Oh, yes! with pleasure, monsieur, if it's anything I can do."

"I have taken a liking to that child I met on the road yesterday. His pretty face, his little honest way, everything speaks in his favor."

"You mean Coco Calleux?"

"Yes."

"I'm fond of him, too, but the poor little fellow's had a hard time since he lost his mother. His grandmother's rough and cross, and his father's a drunkard, and they want that child, only six years old, to go to work so soon! Can you imagine such a thing? Why, he often has nothing but bread to eat, and he's lucky when he doesn't have a beating for his supper. So we in the village don't like that drunken pig of a Calleux, and if the cottage wasn't some distance from the village, Coco would be at our house more than he's at home, I tell you."

"Well, Denise, be good enough to keep an eye on the child and buy him whatever he needs--in short, take my place with him, will you?"

"Oh! with pleasure, monsieur!"

"Here, take this purse, and use the contents to the best advantage for my little protégé. When that is gone, I'll give you more. I shall always approve whatever use you may make of it."

"Ah! you've got a kind heart, monsieur! How glad I am! But such a lot of money as this will last a long time."

"You will do me this favor, won't you?"

"Will I! Pardi! I should say so! Don't you think it's pleasant to be employed to do good? Who could refuse such a commission?--I say, monsieur, I must kiss you for this--do you want me to?"

"Do I want you to, Denise!"

Auguste already had his arms around the girl, and had deposited more than one kiss on the plump cheeks which she offered him with pleasure, when an exclamation and a burst of laughter reached their ears simultaneously. Dalville turned: Madame Destival and Madame de la Thomassinière stood behind him.

"Oh! this is too much!" cried Madame Destival, walking forward with a wrathful glance at Denise, while Athalie continued to laugh, albeit her laughter seemed slightly forced.

"Delicious!" she said. "What! even with milkmaids? I shall remember this! the picture was truly rural."

Denise was not disturbed, for she had no thought that she could be blamed; so she looked at the two ladies in amazement, trying to divine the cause of the merriment of the one and the anger that gleamed in the eyes of the other, and still holding in her hand the purse that the young man had given her.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Madame Destival, with a contemptuous glance at the young milkmaid.

"As you see, madame, I have brought cheese and milk as usual."

"I didn't order any cheeses of you; in fact, yours are bitter, and I don't want any more of them. As for your milk, you put water in it, and I propose to take mine of somebody else."

"Water in my milk!" cried Denise, whose eyes filled with tears when she heard her merchandise thus vilified. "You're the first person that ever said that, madame, I tell you! And I swear----"

"All right, mademoiselle, that's enough; I don't want you ever to set foot inside my doors again. I thought that you were a decent, virtuous girl; I don't like little hussies."

"Hussies! Mon Dieu! what have I done to madame?"

"We saw it all, mademoiselle. And that purse in your hand is proof enough."

"That purse, madame," said Auguste, walking to Denise's side, "is destined for a charitable purpose, to relieve an unfortunate person. But I see that an evil interpretation is always put upon everything.--Poor Denise! I am responsible for your being made wretched! And when, by chance, I attempt to do a good deed, they think that I am trying to seduce you.--Do you suppose, mesdames, that one wins the love of a milkmaid with money? Remember, please, that this is not Paris."

While Auguste was speaking, Denise became calm; she wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron, and recovered sufficient assurance to say to Madame Destival:

"I ought not to cry at what you said to me, madame, for I haven't done anything to be ashamed of.--Adieu, monsieur; I'll take your money and try to carry out your kind intentions."

With that, Denise curtsied to the company, and, still choking back her sobs, returned to White Jean and left the business agent's house.

Madame Destival, conscious of some embarrassment, returned to the garden. Athalie walked up to Auguste and said, with a laugh:

"You must admit, monsieur, that you kissed her at least six times in succession."

"I didn't count, madame."

"You seemed to like it."

"Very much, madame."

"Monsieur is frank, at all events."

"That is, perhaps, my one good quality."

"But why did you kiss her?"

"Is she not very pretty, madame?"

"Pretty! perhaps; as coarse, rustic beauties go."

"No, no! on the contrary, her features are extremely delicate."

"But she's a milkmaid!"

"What difference do you see between a pretty country girl and a pretty city girl?"

"Why, an enormous difference, monsieur. What about education, good manners, and refinement--do you count all those as nothing? Would you go out in Paris, or even in the country, with a milkmaid on your arm?"

"No, madame, I admit that I should not be enough of a philosopher for that. But just put on Denise----"

"Who is Denise, pray?"

"This little milkmaid, madame."

"Oho! so monsieur knows her name?"

"Yes, madame."

"Well, monsieur, what do you propose to put on Mademoiselle Denise?"

"A pretty hat, a stylish dress, a handsome shawl----"

"Ah! she would cut a strange figure in all those things!"

"Mon Dieu, madame, habit is everything. You yourself, despite all your charms, might be awkward in a milkmaid's cap. Those things that can be acquired, madame, are of little worth; but the things that are innate are beauty, grace, intellect, a sweet voice and glance and smile--in a word, the charm which takes us captive and which you possess in such abundant measure, madame."

"Ah! you did well to end in that way; if you had not I should have been angry. Madame Destival is right; you are a ne'er-do-well, a dangerous man. By the way, I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you in Paris, monsieur; I often give balls, and I have a reception every Thursday in winter."

"Madame is too kind; but your husband has said nothing to me."

"Mon Dieu! has he any time to think to invite people? He is so distraught, so engrossed by his speculations, that I alone attend to the invitations. Will you come?"

"Is it not absolutely necessary for me to see you again? If I should yield to my inclinations, I would never leave you."

"Bless my soul! I believe that we are dropping into sentiment. Are you going to make me a declaration?"

"Is it possible to see you without loving you?"

"Look out! you are becoming serious, and I like none but merry people. That melancholy air doesn't suit you."

"Have you no pity, then, for the pain you cause?"

"Oh! not the least! Sighs do not move me an inch; to please me, it is necessary to keep me laughing constantly."

While they talked, Auguste and his companion had strayed into the shaded portion of the garden. He had taken the young woman's arm and was pressing it tenderly. Athalie was still laughing, but was making no effort to avoid Dalville's gentle caresses, when Bertrand appeared before them at a bend in the path.

"They are waiting for you and madame at breakfast, lieutenant," said the corporal, putting the back of his hand to his forehead.

Auguste stamped on the ground impatiently; but the vivacious Athalie had already dropped his arm and was frisking away.

"Parbleu! you are exceedingly awkward, Bertrand!" said Auguste, glaring at the corporal, who still stood before him.

"What have I done, lieutenant?"

"You seem to have made it your business to disturb me when I am engaged in an interesting conversation with a pretty woman."

"Excuse me, lieutenant, but I can't tell what you're saying."

"A shrewd man can guess it at a glance. Once for all, when I am alone with a woman, I forbid you to interrupt me."

"That settles it, lieutenant; if the house should burn down, I wouldn't disturb you."

The whole party had assembled in the dining-room; even La Thomassinière, having waked with a tremendous appetite, had not devised any previous business which would have vexed his stomach, and he bestowed a most affable nod upon Dalville, which meant that his wife had informed him that she proposed to receive the young man at their house. Madame Destival too seemed desirous to be reconciled to Auguste, who had treated her coldly since the scene in the courtyard.

"I must be in Paris before noon," said La Thomassinière, shuffling a mass of papers that he took from his wallet; "I have ten appointments for to-day. I am sure that at least twenty people have called at my house before this. A little more coffee, if you please. It isn't Mocha----"

"I beg your pardon," said Destival, as he poured out some for him.

"Oh, no! I assure you that isn't; I know what I am talking about. I laid in lately a _consequential_ supply; it's very different from this."

"I must be in Paris this morning," said Destival, puffing himself out; "I have numerous matters on the carpet, some of great importance! Monin wants to buy a house, and I have just what he wants."

"Who's he? that little man who bet two sous at écarté?"

"The very same."

"What! that fellow buy houses! I shouldn't have suspected it; his coat was very threadbare--and patched on the elbows."

"Oh! that means nothing in the country."

"Never mind! you must admit that a man in a threadbare coat doesn't promise great things--it doesn't give you a very exalted idea of his wit. Oh! I have a keen glance, I have; and then, being used to seeing only rich and well-dressed people,--I say, footman, just tell my people to harness up, to put my horses to my calèche."

"I expect my milliner this morning," said Athalie; "she is to bring me the sweetest bonnet. We must go at full speed, monsieur, for I am very anxious to try on that bonnet."

"You are aware, madame, that my steeds do not travel like cab-horses. I feed them rather well, and they cost me so much that I can afford to make them gallop."

"Baptiste," Monsieur Destival called to his servant, who was leaving the room, "you will hitch up too, do you understand?"

"That's the way," muttered Baptiste, "no sooner out of the kitchen than I must go to the stable!"

"I say, Baptiste, while you're about it, tell my little Tony to put the horse to my cabriolet," said Dalville, smiling at the pompous air of La Thomassinière, who said, rubbing his hands:

"On my word, it's very pleasant for each to have his own carriage; it's very genteel; one is certain at all events that one is with _comme il faut_ people. To be sure, you have only cabriolets, but everybody can't have a calèche, a coupé and a landau, like me."

"What, are you going too, Monsieur Dalville?" asked Madame Destival, with a most expressive glance at the young man; "this is polite, everybody abandons me!"

"It is a fact, my dear fellow," said Destival, "that my wife relied on you to keep her company, and----"

"I never said that I relied on monsieur; most assuredly I should not have dreamed of saying such a thing!" said Emilie, interrupting her husband; "but as everybody else is going to Paris, I don't see why I should stay here. Besides, you are to give a dinner this week, aren't you, monsieur?"

"Yes, madame, a large dinner. I shall have some influential people,--government officials and distinguished artists. I count upon Monsieur and Madame de la Thomassinière, and upon friend Dalville too."

Dalville bowed simply, but La Thomassinière replied:

"We will see. I can't promise beforehand, because I may be invited to other dinners by people high up on the ladder, and you must see----"

"So we are all going to Paris," said Madame Destival. "My husband will take Baptiste and Julie with him. Will Monsieur Dalville be kind enough to give me a seat in his cabriolet?"

"Why can't you come in our calèche?" hastily inquired the petite-maîtresse.

"Oh! I am afraid that I should keep you waiting. I have several matters to attend to, and you are in a hurry to see your milliner. Monsieur Dalville will not object, I trust, to give me another half hour."

Auguste realized that it would be discourteous to refuse; moreover, although that arrangement upset his plans, although the fascinating Athalie made an enticing little pout at him, and although Madame Destival had said many unkind things about him, still, Emilie was a good-looking woman none the less, and one forgives a good-looking woman many things, even when one is no longer in love with her.

They left the table. The carriages were ready. Madame de la Thomassinière entered her calèche, with a malevolent glance at Auguste and Madame Destival. The speculator called his two servants, who assisted him to climb in; then he threw himself back on the seat, crying:

"To my house in the Chaussée-d'Antin, and go at full speed; drive _furiously_, do you hear, Lafleur? But look out and not run into anything."

The calèche flew away like an arrow. Madame Destival had hurried her domestics to such purpose that Julie and Baptiste were soon ready to start with their master. But madame still had divers matters to attend to, for which she did not need Julie. Monsieur Destival shook hands cordially with his friend and urged him not to drive his wife too fast, because it was bad for the nerves; then he took his seat in the cabriolet beside Julie, ordering Baptiste to mount behind, which he did, muttering because they made him do all sorts of things.

Bertrand and Tony stood by Dalville's cabriolet, awaiting the latter and Madame Destival. But the little matters which the mistress of the house had to arrange took nearly two hours. Bertrand fretted and fumed at having to stand beside the cabriolet; but his master had ordered him to await him there, and he did not leave his post.

"Perhaps monsieur thinks we've gone," suggested little Tony.

"No, no, he knows we're here."

"But perhaps he don't mean to go back to Paris to-day."

"Then he'll come and tell us so."

"And suppose he don't think of it?"

"We will stay here until somebody comes to relieve us from duty. I've got my orders, that's enough for me."

At last, about noon, Auguste appeared with Madame Destival on his arm. She leaned tenderly upon him and her face expressed nothing save satisfaction and the most amiable unconstraint.

"It's strange!" thought Bertrand, "here's a lady that changes her face three or four times a day. However, I ought to be used to it. I've seen so many women like that. Everyone that comes to see monsieur as angry as you please, rolling her eyes, and talking loud, is as mild and gentle as a lamb when she leaves him; she hasn't the same face, nor the same eyes, nor the same voice."

"Come, Bertrand, get in," said Auguste, who was already in the cabriolet with Madame Destival.--"You will be a little crowded, madame; but my faithful Bertrand isn't built to ride behind."

"Oh! I shall be very comfortable," said Emilie, bestowing a soft glance on Auguste, and on Bertrand an affable smile; for nobody can be so amiable as our fair friends when things are going to suit them! But when you thwart them----

They drove away. When they passed the little path leading to Montfermeil, Auguste put out his head and looked, saying to himself:

"I shall not always have a lady to drive to Paris."