"I sent her out on a message," was Louise's reply.
And she made enquiries about his health, about one thing or another; then, with an air of indifference, she asked him whether he had chanced to come across Frederick:
"No; I didn't see him!"
It was on his account alone that she had come up from the country.
Some one was walking at that moment in the lobby.
"Oh! excuse me — — "
And she disappeared.
Catherine had not found Frederick. He had been several days away, and his intimate friend, M. Deslauriers, was now living in the provinces.
Louise once more presented herself, shaking all over, without being able to utter a word. She leaned against the furniture.
"What's the matter with you? Tell me — what's the matter with you?" exclaimed her father.
She indicated by a wave of her hand that it was nothing, and with a great effort of will she regained her composure.
The keeper of the restaurant at the opposite side of the street brought them soup. But Père Roque had passed through too exciting an ordeal to be able to control his emotions. "He is not likely to die;" and at dessert he had a sort of fainting fit. A doctor was at once sent for, and he prescribed a potion. Then, when M. Roque was in bed, he asked to be as well wrapped up as possible in order to bring on perspiration. He gasped; he moaned.
"Thanks, my good Catherine! Kiss your poor father, my chicken! Ah! those revolutions!"
And, when his daughter scolded him for having made himself ill by tormenting his mind on her account, he replied:
"Yes! you are right! But I couldn't help it! I am too sensitive!"
CHAPTER XV.
"How Happy Could I Be With Either."
Madame Dambreuse, in her boudoir, between her niece and Miss John, was listening to M. Roque as he described the severe military duties he had been forced to perform.
She was biting her lips, and appeared to be in pain.
"Oh! 'tis nothing! it will pass away!"
And, with a gracious air:
"We are going to have an acquaintance of yours at dinner with us, — Monsieur Moreau."
Louise gave a start.
"Oh! we'll only have a few intimate friends there — amongst others, Alfred de Cisy."
And she spoke in terms of high praise about his manners, his personal appearance, and especially his moral character.
Madame Dambreuse was nearer to a correct estimate of the state of affairs than she imagined; the Vicomte was contemplating marriage. He said so to Martinon, adding that Mademoiselle Cécile was certain to like him, and that her parents would accept him.
To warrant him in going so far as to confide to another his intentions on the point, he ought to have satisfactory information with regard to her dowry. Now Martinon had a suspicion that Cécile was M. Dambreuse's natural daughter; and it is probable that it would have been a very strong step on his part to ask for her hand at any risk. Such audacity, of course, was not unaccompanied by danger; and for this reason Martinon had, up to the present, acted in a way that could not compromise him. Besides, he did not see how he could well get rid of the aunt. Cisy's confidence induced him to make up his mind; and he had formally made his proposal to the banker, who, seeing no obstacle to it, had just informed Madame Dambreuse about the matter.
Cisy presently made his appearance. She arose and said:
"You have forgotten us. Cécile, shake hands!"
At the same moment Frederick entered the room.
"Ha! at last we have found you again!" exclaimed Père Roque. "I called with Cécile on you three times this week!"
Frederick had carefully avoided them. He pleaded by way of excuse that he spent all his days beside a wounded comrade.
For a long time, however, a heap of misfortunes had happened to him, and he tried to invent stories to explain his conduct. Luckily the guests arrived in the midst of his explanation. First of all M. Paul de Grémonville, the diplomatist whom he met at the ball; then Fumichon, that manufacturer whose conservative zeal had scandalised him one evening. After them came the old Duchesse de Montreuil Nantua.
But two loud voices in the anteroom reached his ears. They were that of M. de Nonancourt, an old beau with the air of a mummy preserved in cold cream, and that of Madame de Larsillois, the wife of a prefect of Louis Philippe. She was terribly frightened, for she had just heard an organ playing a polka which was a signal amongst the insurgents. Many of the wealthy class of citizens had similar apprehensions; they thought that men in the catacombs were going to blow up the Faubourg Saint-Germain. Some noises escaped from cellars, and things that excited suspicion were passed up to windows.
Everyone in the meantime made an effort to calm Madame de Larsillois. Order was re-established. There was no longer anything to fear.
"Cavaignac has saved us!"
As if the horrors of the insurrection had not been sufficiently numerous, they exaggerated them. There had been twenty-three thousand convicts on the side of the Socialists — no less!
They had no doubt whatever that food had been poisoned, that Gardes Mobiles had been sawn between two planks, and that there had been inscriptions on flags inciting the people to pillage and incendiarism.
"Aye, and something more!" added the ex-prefect.
"Oh, dear!" said Madame Dambreuse, whose modesty was shocked, while she indicated the three young girls with a glance.
M. Dambreuse came forth from his study accompanied by Martinon. She turned her head round and responded to a bow from Pellerin, who was advancing towards her. The artist gazed in a restless fashion towards the walls. The banker took him aside, and conveyed to him that it was desirable for the present to conceal his revolutionary picture.
"No doubt," said Pellerin, the rebuff which he received at the Club of Intellect having modified his opinions.
M. Dambreuse let it slip out very politely that he would give him orders for other works.
"But excuse me. Ah! my dear friend, what a pleasure!"
Arnoux and Madame Arnoux stood before Frederick.
He had a sort of vertigo. Rosanette had been irritating him all the afternoon with her display of admiration for soldiers, and the old passion was re-awakened.
The steward came to announce that dinner was on the table. With a look she directed the Vicomte to take Cécile's arm, while she said in a low tone to Martinon, "You wretch!" And then they passed into the dining-room.
Under the green leaves of a pineapple, in the middle of the table-cloth, a dorado stood, with its snout reaching towards a quarter of roebuck and its tail just grazing a bushy dish of crayfish. Figs, huge cherries, pears, and grapes (the first fruits of Parisian cultivation) rose like pyramids in baskets of old Saxe. Here and there a bunch of flowers mingled with the shining silver plate. The white silk blinds, drawn down in front of the windows, filled the apartment with a mellow light. It was cooled by two fountains, in which there were pieces of ice; and tall men-servants, in short breeches, waited on them. All these luxuries seemed more precious after the emotion of the past few days. They felt a fresh delight at possessing things which they had been afraid of losing; and Nonancourt expressed the general sentiment when he said:
"Ah! let us hope that these Republican gentlemen will allow us to dine!"
"In spite of their fraternity!" Père Roque added, with an attempt at wit.
These two personages were placed respectively at the right and at the left of Madame Dambreuse, her husband being exactly opposite her, between Madame Larsillois, at whose side was the diplomatist and the old Duchesse, whom Fumichon elbowed. Then came the painter, the dealer in faïence, and Mademoiselle Louise; and, thanks to Martinon, who had carried her chair to enable her to take a seat near Louise, Frederick found himself beside Madame Arnoux.
She wore a black barège gown, a gold hoop on her wrist, and, as on the first day that he dined at her house, something red in her hair, a branch of fuchsia twisted round her chignon. He could not hel
p saying:
"'Tis a long time since we saw each other."
"Ah!" she returned coldly.
He went on, in a mild tone, which mitigated the impertinence of his question:
"Have you thought of me now and then?"
"Why should I think of you?"
Frederick was hurt by these words.
"You are right, perhaps, after all."
But very soon, regretting what he had said, he swore that he had not lived a single day without being ravaged by the remembrance of her.
"I don't believe a single word of it, Monsieur."
"However, you know that I love you!"
Madame Arnoux made no reply.
"You know that I love you!"
She still kept silent.
"Well, then, go be hanged!" said Frederick to himself.
And, as he raised his eyes, he perceived Mademoiselle Roque at the other side of Madame Arnoux.
She thought it gave her a coquettish look to dress entirely in green, a colour which contrasted horribly with her red hair. The buckle of her belt was large and her collar cramped her neck. This lack of elegance had, no doubt, contributed to the coldness which Frederick at first displayed towards her. She watched him from where she sat, some distance away from him, with curious glances; and Arnoux, close to her side, in vain lavished his gallantries — he could not get her to utter three words, so that, finally abandoning all hope of making himself agreeable to her, he listened to the conversation. She now began rolling about a slice of Luxembourg pineapple in her pea-soup.
Louis Blanc, according to Fumichon, owned a large house in the Rue Saint-Dominique, which he refused to let to the workmen.
"For my part, I think it rather a funny thing," said Nonancourt, "to see Ledru-Rollin hunting over the Crown lands."
"He owes twenty thousand francs to a goldsmith!" Cisy interposed, "and 'tis maintained — — "
Madame Darnbreuse stopped him.
"Ah! how nasty it is to be getting hot about politics! and for such a young man, too! fie, fie! Pay attention rather to your fair neighbour!"
After this, those who were of a grave turn of mind attacked the newspapers. Arnoux took it on himself to defend them. Frederick mixed himself up in the discussion, describing them as commercial establishments just like any other house of business. Those who wrote for them were, as a rule, imbeciles or humbugs; he gave his listeners to understand that he was acquainted with journalists, and combated with sarcasms his friend's generous sentiments.
Madame Arnoux did not notice that this was said through a feeling of spite against her.
Meanwhile, the Vicomte was torturing his brain in the effort to make a conquest of Mademoiselle Cécile. He commenced by finding fault with the shape of the decanters and the graving of the knives, in order to show his artistic tastes. Then he talked about his stable, his tailor and his shirtmaker. Finally, he took up the subject of religion, and seized the opportunity of conveying to her that he fulfilled all his duties.
Martinon set to work in a better fashion. With his eyes fixed on her continually, he praised, in a monotonous fashion, her birdlike profile, her dull fair hair, and her hands, which were unusually short. The plain-looking young girl was delighted at this shower of flatteries.
It was impossible to hear anything, as all present were talking at the tops of their voices. M. Roque wanted "an iron hand" to govern France. Nonancourt even regretted that the political scaffold was abolished. They ought to have all these scoundrels put to death together.
"Now that I think of it, are we speaking of Dussardier?" said M. Dambreuse, turning towards Frederick.
The worthy shopman was now a hero, like Sallesse, the brothers Jeanson, the wife of Pequillet, etc.
Frederick, without waiting to be asked, related his friend's history; it threw around him a kind of halo.
Then they came quite naturally to refer to different traits of courage.
According to the diplomatist, it was not hard to face death, witness the case of men who fight duels.
"We might take the Vicomte's testimony on that point," said Martinon.
The Vicomte's face got very flushed.
The guests stared at him, and Louise, more astonished than the rest, murmured:
"What is it, pray?"
"He sank before Frederick," returned Arnoux, in a very low tone.
"Do you know anything, Mademoiselle?" said Nonancourt presently, and he repeated her answer to Madame Dambreuse, who, bending forward a little, began to fix her gaze on Frederick.
Martinon did not wait for Cécile's questions. He informed her that this affair had reference to a woman of improper character. The young girl drew back slightly in her chair, as if to escape from contact with such a libertine.
The conversation was renewed. The great wines of Bordeaux were sent round, and the guests became animated. Pellerin had a dislike to the Revolution, because he attributed to it the complete loss of the Spanish Museum.
This is what grieved him most as a painter.
As he made the latter remark, M. Roque asked:
"Are you not yourself the painter of a very notable picture?"
"Perhaps! What is it?"
"It represents a lady in a costume — faith! — a little light, with a purse, and a peacock behind."
Frederick, in his turn, reddened. Pellerin pretended that he had not heard the words.
"Nevertheless, it is certainly by you! For your name is written at the bottom of it, and there is a line on it stating that it is Monsieur Moreau's property."
One day, when Père Roque and his daughter were waiting at his residence to see him, they saw the Maréchale's portrait. The old gentleman had even taken it for "a Gothic painting."
"No," said Pellerin rudely, "'tis a woman's portrait."
Martinon added:
"And a living woman's, too, and no mistake! Isn't that so, Cisy?"
"Oh! I know nothing about it."
"I thought you were acquainted with her. But, since it causes you pain, I must beg a thousand pardons!"
Cisy lowered his eyes, proving by his embarrassment that he must have played a pitiable part in connection with this portrait. As for Frederick, the model could only be his mistress. It was one of those convictions which are immediately formed, and the faces of the assembly revealed it with the utmost clearness.
"How he lied to me!" said Madame Arnoux to herself.
"It is for her, then, that he left me," thought Louise.
Frederick had an idea that these two stories might compromise him; and when they were in the garden, Mademoiselle Cécile's wooer burst out laughing in his face.
"Oh, not at all! 'twill do you good! Go ahead!"
What did he mean? Besides, what was the cause of this good nature, so contrary to his usual conduct? Without giving any explanation, he proceeded towards the lower end, where the ladies were seated. The men were standing round them, and, in their midst, Pellerin was giving vent to his ideas. The form of government most favourable for the arts was an enlightened monarchy. He was disgusted with modern times, "if it were only on account of the National Guard" — he regretted the Middle Ages and the days of Louis XIV. M. Roque congratulated him on his opinions, confessing that they overcame all his prejudices against artists. But almost without a moment's delay he went off when the voice of Fumichon attracted his attention.
Arnoux tried to prove that there were two Socialisms — a good and a bad. The manufacturer saw no difference whatever between them, his head becoming dizzy with rage at the utterance of the word "property."
"'Tis a law written on the face of Nature! Children cling to their toys. All peoples, all animals are of my opinion. The lion even, if he were able to speak, would declare himself a proprietor! Thus I myself, messieurs, began with a capital of fifteen thousand francs. Would you be surprised to hear that for thirty years I used to get up at four o'clock every morning? I've had as much pain as five hundred devils in making my fortune! And people will come and tell me
I'm not the master, that my money is not my money; in short, that property is theft!"
"But Proudhon — — "
"Let me alone with your Proudhon! if he were here I think I'd strangle him!"
He would have strangled him. After the intoxicating drink he had swallowed Fumichon did not know what he was talking about any longer, and his apoplectic face was on the point of bursting like a bombshell.
"Good morrow, Arnoux," said Hussonnet, who was walking briskly over the grass.
He brought M. Dambreuse the first leaf of a pamphlet, bearing the title of "The Hydra," the Bohemian defending the interests of a reactionary club, and in that capacity he was introduced by the banker to his guests.
Hussonnet amused them by relating how the dealers in tallow hired three hundred and ninety-two street boys to bawl out every evening "Lamps,"[H] and then turning into ridicule the principles of '89, the emancipation of the negroes, and the orators of the Left; and he even went so far as to do "Prudhomme on a Barricade," perhaps under the influence of a kind of jealousy of these rich people who had enjoyed a good dinner. The caricature did not please them overmuch. Their faces grew long.
This, however, was not a time for joking, so Nonancourt observed, as he recalled the death of Monseigneur Affre and that of General de Bréa. These events were being constantly alluded to, and arguments were constructed out of them. M. Roque described the archbishop's end as "everything that one could call sublime." Fumichon gave the palm to the military personage, and instead of simply expressing regret for these two murders, they held disputes with a view to determining which ought to excite the greatest indignation. A second comparison was next instituted, namely, between Lamoricière and Cavaignac, M. Dambreuse glorifying Cavaignac, and Nonancourt, Lamoricière.
Not one of the persons present, with the exception of Arnoux, had ever seen either of them engaged in the exercise of his profession. None the less, everyone formulated an irrevocable judgment with reference to their operations.
Frederick, however, declined to give an opinion on the matter, confessing that he had not served as a soldier. The diplomatist and M. Dambreuse gave him an approving nod of the head. In fact, to have fought against the insurrection was to have defended the Republic. The result, although favourable, consolidated it; and now they had got rid of the vanquished, they wanted to be conquerors.
Complete Works of Gustave Flaubert Page 187