Chapter VIII: A Bachelor's Morning Reception

"Is Auguste in, Monsieur Bertrand?" inquired a young woman of twenty-four, slender and graceful, with fine brown eyes, very black hair, pale complexion, white, even teeth, and a somewhat fatigued expression; a face, be it said, which was enlivened and made most attractive by a mischievous smile. This young woman was a certain Virginie, of whom mention was made in the cabriolet on the way to Monsieur Destival's; she had just rung the bell at the door of Auguste's apartment, although it was only eight o'clock in the morning.

"Monsieur Dalville has gone out," replied Bertrand, with a very slight nod to Mademoiselle Virginie, which did not deter her from entering the apartment.

"That's impossible, Bertrand; you say that because there's somebody here, I suppose, and those are your orders. We know all about that. But I must see him; I have something very important to say to him. Really, my little Bertrand, I'm not joking."

"I give you my word, mademoiselle, that Monsieur Dalville has gone out; or, rather, that he hasn't come in. He went to a grand ball last night, and it seems to have lasted a long while."

"Great heaven! what actions! Why, it's shocking. That young man is destroying himself. Bertrand, you don't keep a sharp enough lookout over him; it isn't right. You ought to preach at him."

"In the first place, mademoiselle, Monsieur Dalville's the master; in the second place, when I try to talk reason with him, he refuses to listen to me, or sends me to the devil."

"That's very wrong! Ah! if I were only his mother or sister, you'd see how good I'd make him! I'm going to wait for him, Bertrand, for he must come in soon. Still at a ball at eight in the morning! Oh! I don't take any stock in that yarn."

Mademoiselle Virginie, who was perfectly familiar with the apartment, opened a door leading to a small salon in which she installed herself, placing her hat on one chair, her shawl on another, and throwing herself on a couch. Bertrand quietly followed her, and as if accustomed to such performances from her, continued to eat the bread and cheese which he had in his hand when she rang the bell.

"I certainly do not care for Monsieur Auguste any more," said Virginie, after a moment; "I must be a confounded fool to care for a man who has thirty-six mistresses; hasn't he, Bertrand?"

"Oh! mademoiselle, I can't say----"

"Yes, yes, he has thirty-six! I don't say all at once; he would have to be a northern Hercules. And yet--if it could be--It isn't worth while; one man's no better than another. I know them so well! Don't you think I'm right, Bertrand?"

"Oh! as for that, there have been men who--the great Turenne, for instance."

"Bah! what an ass the man is with his great Turenne! Does he take me for a sentry-box? I don't know ancient history, Bertrand; I don't care about anything except my own time, and I tell you Auguste's a rake. In the first place, he played me a shameful trick three weeks ago. Think of it! he made an appointment with me, and we were to pass the day together and go to Feydeau in the evening; and monsieur left me to cool my heels and went off into the country, to his Monsieur Destival, business agent. He's another fox, that fellow! He'd better attend to what goes on in his own house, eh, Bertrand?"

"In his own house, mademoiselle? Do you mean----"

"Yes, you understand well enough! That is, unless he likes it. Bless my soul! there are husbands whom that sort of thing just suits! Did you spend the night at that place?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"Mon Dieu! how rural! Did you stay there several days? Come, Bertrand, speak out--you have time enough to eat; you know that I haven't set foot inside this door for an age, and Monsieur Auguste hasn't so much as had the decency to come to inquire for my health. And yet I've been very ill; I nearly died! I am ever so much changed, am I not, Bertrand?"

"Why, no, mademoiselle, I don't see that----"

"Oh, yes! the whites of my eyes are yellow yet. To be sure this dress isn't becoming. It's too high, it cramps me.--Well, Bertrand, what did you do in the country?"

"I taught Monsieur Destival the manual, mademoiselle."

"Oho! is he going to enlist in the voltigeurs? How about his wife--does she do the manual too? She ought to learn to drum so that she can march in front of her husband when he goes out to fire his gun."

"I don't know what madame was doing, mademoiselle."

"Of course not; it was your business to keep the husband busy, while Monsieur Auguste dallied with madame in the thick shrubbery! I can see that man firing at crows while his wife hunts strawberries! Ha! ha!"

Mademoiselle Virginie laughed so heartily that it was several minutes before she could speak again. Meanwhile Bertrand paced the salon floor, continuing his breakfast.

"Oh dear! it hurts to laugh like that.--Tell me, Bertrand, when did you come back?"

"The next day, mademoiselle."

"And Auguste hasn't been there again since?"

"No, mademoiselle; he's often wanted to go, but he hasn't had time."

"Oh! of course not; he has so much to do! And he hasn't been to see me once in the last fortnight! He leaves me sick, almost dying! And I am not well yet. Oh, no! I am still suffering terribly.--What's that you're eating, Bertrand?"

"Just plain Roquefort cheese, mademoiselle."

"It's queer to watch another person eat; it makes me want to eat too; you see, I always have to do what I see others do. You may as well give me some breakfast, my little Bertrand, because, you see, if I should whine and cry till to-morrow, it's all nonsense, and my calf wouldn't be any bigger for that; would it, Bertrand?"

"Mademoiselle, if you----"

"He's a good fellow, this Bertrand; I love him a lot, I do; yes, I'm very fond of him, although he's a bit of a traitor, like his master."

"Oh! as for that, mademoiselle, when you talk about being honest, I flatter myself----"

"All right, Bertrand; I only said that for fun. But I'm not going to breakfast on honesty. What are you going to give me?"

"If mademoiselle would like coffee, I'll go down and have some sent up."

"Coffee! oh! that makes a hole in my stomach, it's no good. Haven't you got anything to eat here?"

"We have the remains of a pie, a bit of fowl, and some Lyon sausage."

"Ah! I like those better than coffee; bring 'em all, my little Bertrand; just to pass the time till Auguste comes back."

Bertrand moved a small tea-table to the couch, and lost no time in laying it for Mademoiselle Virginie's breakfast, who assisted him by going to the sideboard herself for whatever she needed, saying:

"I am sorry to put you to so much trouble, Bertrand."

"You are joking, mademoiselle."

"Where's little Tony?"

"He's with monsieur; he has to have somebody on account of the cabriolet."

"That boy's a sly little rascal; he'll never tell me anything, whereas you, Bertrand, you do at least talk; to be sure, I know that you don't tell me everything. After all, you're right; there are some things I ought not to know, they'd make me too unhappy. Meanwhile, I'll have my breakfast."

Mademoiselle Virginie took her place before the breakfast, and, while repeating from time to time that she was still sick, speedily caused the cold fowl to disappear, and made a vigorous assault on the pie and the sausage, washing them down with claret, in which she did not deem it necessary to put water.

But, while she was eating, Virginie glanced at a clock in front of her and cried:

"The rascal! Why doesn't he come home? You must admit, Bertrand, that people don't stay at a ball till nine o'clock in the morning. I know myself that bourgeois balls always end by five; my aunt used to give one sometimes. Poor aunt! I shall have to make up with her now!--I say, this pie isn't half bad.--You see, Bertrand, my aunt's a woman of your sort."

"I understand--a tall woman, five feet six inches, like me, eh?"

"No, no! what a donkey you are with your six inches! Still, it would be rather nice[C] if my aunt had six of 'em. When I say of your sort, I mean a fine woman, a respectable woman. Oh! she preaches to me, I tell you, she does! She used to say such touching things to me that I wept like a Magdalen while I was listening; but once outside--prrr!--I forgot all about it.--A body could eat a two pound loaf with this devilish sausage!--That wretched Auguste! Ah! he shall pay me for this. In the first place, I don't propose to go till he comes back, if I have to stay here till to-morrow. It don't make any difference to me, I'm my own mistress."

[C] The joke consists in the fact that the same word--_pouce_--means "inch" and "thumb."

At that moment the bell rang softly.

"Ah! there he is!" cried Virginie; "don't tell him I'm here, Bertrand, do you hear? I want to surprise him. Shut the door of the salon."

"Very well, mademoiselle; but I have an idea that it isn't monsieur; I didn't recognize his ring."

Having closed the door of the salon, Bertrand opened the one leading to the hall; whereupon, instead of Auguste, he saw the pretty neighbor of the third floor to whom he had restored the poodle.

The pretty neighbor was a blonde, with blue eyes and a pink complexion; her voice was low and sweet, her manners and her bearing savored of affectation; but she was pretty, and her natural charms won forgiveness for those which she tried to impart to herself.

"Isn't my little Lozor in your rooms, Monsieur Bertrand?" asked the young blonde in an undertone, with a furtive glance about the apartment.

"I have not had the honor to see him, madame," replied Bertrand, still holding the door only partly open; which fact did not prevent the neighbor from stepping farther into the room.

"That is strange; he went out this morning; my maid is at market, and I hoped to find him here."

"If the deserter appears, madame, I shall have the pleasure of bringing him back to you at once."

"Poor Lozor! I am really anxious about him."

And the neighbor, advancing step by step, found herself in the centre of the reception room, while Bertrand still held the door ajar, hoping thus to induce her to go away.

"Monsieur Dalville went out last night in full dress, didn't he, Monsieur Bertrand?"

"Yes, madame."

"I happened to be at my window and I saw him. I would have liked to say a word to him, to ask him for a book that he promised to let me have to-day. But he went away so fast! If it wasn't so early, I would ask him to be kind enough to give it to me now. But that would disturb him perhaps?"

The neighbor seemed to await a reply, but Bertrand kept silent and contented himself with swinging the door back and forth.

"Is Monsieur Dalville still in bed?" inquired the pretty blonde at last, bestowing upon the ex-corporal a glance as tender as her voice was sweet. He was about to reply when the door of the small salon was abruptly thrown open, and disclosed Virginie, who came forward with an air of deliberation, saying:

"Well! is it coming off to-day, Bertrand? Are we playing hide-and-seek?"

When Virginie appeared, Bertrand closed the hall door and sat down, muttering between his teeth:

"Fight it out; it's none of my business."

At sight of Mademoiselle Virginie, the neighbor turned a little pinker than she was, and her eyes lost their usual soft expression. Virginie, for her part, scrutinized the neighbor from top to toe, contracting her dark eyebrows, and allowing a scornful smile to play about her lips. Bertrand alone seemed unmoved; and while the two ladies eyed each other from head to foot, he calmly swallowed a glass of wine, to wash down his Roquefort.

"You didn't tell me, Monsieur Bertrand, that Monsieur Dalville had company," said the neighbor at last, in a voice which she strove to make as soft as usual, but in which one could detect a note of something resembling anger. "If I had known, I certainly would not have ventured to disturb him."

"Does madame want to see Auguste, Bertrand?" inquired Virginie carelessly, smiling with a sly expression.

The familiar manner in which the pretty brunette referred to her neighbor seemed to confound Madame Saint-Edmond, who did what she could to conceal her agitation, saying:

"Yes, madame, I wish to see Monsieur Dalville."

"If it is anything that someone else can say to Auguste, I will undertake to do so, madame."

"You are too kind, madame, but I wish to speak to Monsieur Dalville in person."

"Ah! I understand. Auguste is already acquainted with madame, I presume?"

"Yes, madame, I have the honor of Monsieur Dalville's acquaintance."

"As Auguste tells me all his business, I might be able to answer madame, if she cared to explain the purpose of her call."

"Am I to understand that madame is now commissioned to receive the persons who may call on Monsieur Dalville?"

"That may be, madame."

"Monsieur Bertrand, you ought to have told me--to have spared me--But I absolutely insist on speaking to Monsieur Dalville. Let him know that I have just a word to say to him. Then I will leave him at peace with madame."

"If I had had a chance to answer sooner, madame, I'd have told you before this that my lieutenant hasn't come home from the ball yet; that's why madame was waiting in the small salon."

"Very well! I am going to wait for him too," said the neighbor, whose voice was no longer of the most honeyed kind; and as she passed Bertrand on her way to the salon, she whispered to him:

"I don't know who this woman is, but she's very bad style!"

Virginie stayed behind in the reception room a moment, to say to Bertrand:

"Who's that little jackdaw? Don't lie to me, my little Bertrand, or I'll make a row."

"She's a lady who lives in the house."

"Aha! lives in the house, does she? That's very convenient! She looks like a regular slut! Has Auguste known her long?"

"Why, no; about six weeks."

"Does he love her?"

"How do you expect me to know that? Do you suppose I ask my lieutenant: 'Do you love So-and-So, or Such-a-One?'"

"All right! you're a villain. I can only say that Auguste shows poor taste! She's a homely creature, that woman; she has red rims about her eyes, just like a rabbit's, and she has an ugly mouth, hasn't she, Bertrand?"

"Why, I don't think so."

"As if you knew anything about it! I tell you that she's a horror, with her princess's airs! Ah! if she expects to impose on me, she's very much mistaken. The sinner, to insist on speaking to Auguste in private! Just to tease her, I'm going to eat some more pie, even if I die of indigestion."

Virginie returned to the salon, resumed her seat on the couch and attacked the breakfast once more. The neighbor seated herself on a chair at the other end of the room, and while making a pretence of looking out into the street, watched Virginie's every movement from the corner of her eye. Bertrand meanwhile remained in the outer room, leaving the ladies to adjust matters as they chose. As she ate, Virginie hummed snatches of comic opera airs; Madame Saint-Edmond did not make a sound. This situation lasted for some time. At last Virginie, beginning to lose patience, called Bertrand and said to him:

"Your pie isn't at all nice; the last time I breakfasted with Auguste, we had a much better one."

Bertrand simply removed the scanty remains of the pie, saying to himself:

"I'd have sworn that she found it good!"

"Bertrand," said Virginie, after a moment, "will you give me a little water and some sugar, please? It will do me a lot of good."

"She must need it," said the neighbor to herself, with a sarcastic smile.

"By the way, my little Bertrand, you have some orange flower water, haven't you? It will allay nervous excitement."

Virginie laughed when she said this, and was evidently making fun of Madame Saint-Edmond; but that lady seemed to pay no heed to what she said.

"Upon my word, I am very sorry that I disturbed you, Bertrand," resumed Virginie, preparing some sweetened water for herself; "I might just as well have gone to get it myself, for I know where everything is. I am perfectly at home here. But you are so good-natured!"

"I do my duty, mademoiselle," said Bertrand, with a military salute.

"I know, Monsieur Bertrand, how attached you are to Auguste," said Virginie, assuming a sentimental tone. "And so, whenever I mention you to him, I am very glad to speak in terms of praise. That's no more than justice, that's sure. Auguste, who has every confidence in me, will follow my advice, I trust, and you'll find, Monsieur Bertrand, that I am not capable--of--of never doing----"

Virginie always became entangled when she tried to talk sense or to be sentimental. Bertrand confounded himself in reverences, awaiting the end of a speech which he did not comprehend; but luckily for Virginie, the bell rang.

"There's Auguste!" she cried, while Bertrand went to the door.

Thereupon there was a great commotion in the salon. Virginie rose, all ready to rush to the door, glaring at the blonde lady with an expression of defiance. The latter, too, had risen; but she did not look at Virginie, and did her utmost to maintain a calm and indifferent attitude.

But their hopes were blasted once more. It was not Dalville who had rung, but Tony, his diminutive groom, who came to inform Bertrand that after the ball, which was at Madame de la Thomassinière's, the resplendent Athalie had carried away a part of the company to breakfast at her country estate. Auguste was among the number; his hostess had refused to allow him even a moment to return home and change his clothes. But, as Auguste had emptied his purse at cards during the evening, he sent his little jockey, with the cabriolet, to obtain some money, which he was to deliver to his master at Madame de la Thomassinière's estate.

As Virginie had held the salon door ajar, both ladies heard what the little groom said to Bertrand.

"You see, mesdames, it is useless for you to wait any longer," said Bertrand, returning to the salon; "monsieur's off to the country; he has sent for something and that means that he isn't likely to return very soon."

"Yes, he has sent for money," said Virginie, with a sigh. "God! how the man does throw it away! It's frightful! If he only gave me a quarter of what he----"

Virginie checked herself; she realized that she had made a mistake. Madame Saint-Edmond cast a contemptuous glance at her and left the room, saying to Bertrand:

"All that I ask you, monsieur, is to be kind enough to let me know when Monsieur Dalville returns."

"I shall not fail, madame," replied the corporal, escorting the neighbor to the door. In the reception room she said to him:

"I don't know who this hussy is that I found installed in Monsieur Dalville's apartment; but she acts like a fishwoman, and her manner is so insolent that I wouldn't have her for my cook."

When the neighbor had gone, Virginie concluded to resume her hat and shawl.

"Well," she muttered, "I may as well go, as that good-for-nothing isn't coming home. It's a nuisance, though, for I really needed to see him. I wanted to ask him--That idiot of a landlord is always in my rooms! Oh! how he tires me! He's furious because he tried to make love to me and I wouldn't listen to him. Think of it--a little seducer of fifty-five! What do you suppose he did, Bertrand, in the hot weather? He came to see me in the morning in his dressing gown; but one day, when the wind blew, I saw that my gentleman was dressed underneath like--like a Scotchman!--'Come, come,' said I to myself, 'this is too free and easy! If he comes here that way for the purpose of seducing me, just a minute!'--He wouldn't go away, so I called the concierge and had the landlord put out of my room. Since then, he's as ugly as sin. Well, I'll come back very soon.--Ah! I know where I'll go. Yes, that fat Englishman, who was willing to set me up in business, on condition that--Good! I'll go and tell him that I've found a linen-draper's shop. After all, I am tired of living this way; I mean to have a shop. I wouldn't look so bad behind a counter, would I, Bertrand?--I say, the neighbor was pretty well stirred up, wasn't she? She went before I did; in fact, she'd have had to carry me to make me go first, because when I take a thing into my head, I don't--Adieu, my little Bertrand."

Mademoiselle Virginie slipped through the door and downstairs, humming.

"Gad!" said Bertrand to himself as he looked after her, "if my lieutenant had come home, I don't quite know how things would have turned out. This one's a regular demon, and the other, with her die-away voice, was beginning to make eyes like pistol shots, too! Never mind, I got out of it pretty well; at all events nobody fainted this time, and that's what I am always afraid of. Thunder and guns! I'd rather have ten raw recruits to lick into shape than one fainting woman to bring to. In fact, there are some of 'em that are quite obstinate about it."

"Whenever you're ready, Monsieur Bertrand," said little Tony, following the ex-corporal into the salon.

"Ah! to be sure, my boy; I forgot all about it. He must have money, always money! Well, come with me, and we'll go to the strong-box. Sacrebleu! it makes me feel bad to keep taking out and never putting back. When I tell monsieur so, he says: 'Go to my notary.'--That's all right; I know that the notary always gives me money; but by giving and giving--However, the lieutenant's the master, and I must obey.--How much does he want, Tony?"

"Fifty louis, Monsieur Bertrand."

"Fifty louis! he had that much in his purse yesterday when he started for that ball! What in the devil do they do at these swell parties, to get rid of so much money in one evening? It seems that he's no luckier at these Thomassinets--Thomassinières'--than he is anywhere else!"

"Oh! it was very fine, Monsieur Bertrand!"

"Ah! so you saw it, did you?"

"Yes, I went up to the servants' quarters. They gave me ices and punch and cakes."

"Oho! I can understand that you liked that! But do you know that with the twelve hundred francs that monsieur lost at cards, we could have had some famous cakes here?--Here, my boy, here's the yellow boys; look out not to lose them."

"Oh! don't be afraid, Monsieur Bertrand, the cabriolet's waiting for me at the door."

"And don't drive Bébelle too fast, d'ye hear?"

The little groom had already gone. Bertrand was still standing in front of the strong-box, which was open. He counted the remaining contents, and frowned; he seemed terrified by the rapidity with which Dalville was spending his money. He closed the desk at last, with a shake of the head, saying: "It's his; he has the right to dispose of it." And to dispel his melancholy thoughts, Bertrand went down to the cellar and brought up a bottle of old burgundy, because, being entrusted with the duty of watching the wine, he wished to be sure that it did not run away.