Volume 11 — XV THE DINNER PARTY

I was still sleeping when Madame Dupont came to arrange my room. I began at once to question her, for I was anxious to know if she had seen Nicette.

“Did anyone call to see me last evening, Madame Dupont?”

“No, monsieur; no one.”

“You saw no one come upstairs to my rooms?”

“You know very well, monsieur, that I wouldn’t have let anybody come up, knowing that you were out.”

It was very strange! how had she succeeded in eluding the concierge’s eyes? She was determined that no one should see her bringing the nosegay; she thought that it might offend me, and her gift acquired the greater value in my eyes on that account. To divert my mind from such thoughts, I recalled the errands my brother-in-law desired me to do. I went out, leaving Madame Dupont to place in a box all the artificial flowers that were strewn about my floor; but I told her not to touch the bouquet, which was on the mantel. It was a fertile source of conjectures for my concierge.

My day was fully occupied by the commissions to be executed in various government offices, whence Déneterre, who was about to build and desired to consummate various enterprises, hoped to obtain information and support. I was not sorry to have something to do; the time passed more rapidly. Do not believe, however, that I was accustomed to spend my days in absolute idleness; no, I was devoted to the fine arts, especially poetry and music; and I turned my attention to them with ardor, when my love-making folly left me the requisite leisure; but I admit that I had neglected them shamefully for some time past.

It was time to think about dinner. I did not forget that I had an appointment for the evening on Boulevard Bondy, near the Château d’Eau. In order to be in the neighborhood, I thought that, instead of dining at the Palais-Royal as usual, it would be an excellent idea to dine on the boulevards, where the small theatres are; then I should be close at hand for the evening. I bent my steps, therefore, toward the Marais.

When I was on Boulevard du Temple, I had only too great a number of restaurants to choose from. I knew them all; I was not en partie fine; so that I had no occasion to think of anything except which was the best, without looking about for the most convenient and most secluded private dining rooms. I decided in favor of the Cadran-Bleu; the prices were high there, but ordinarily one could get a good dinner. I walked in that direction and was just passing the Jardin Turc, when I saw a gentleman in front of me with a lady on his arm. Raymond’s figure was too easily recognizable for me to mistake it. It was certainly he: his gait, his huge calves, his gestures—yes, it was he. As for the lady, her face was hidden under an enormous bonnet; but it seemed to me that I knew her as well. My neighbor was talking with great earnestness, and I noticed that he pressed her arm to his side; he had every appearance of being en bonne fortune. I was curious to know where they were going; and I was determined to obtain a glimpse, if possible, of the charmer’s face, unseen by Raymond; for, as I have said, her figure was not unfamiliar to me. But they crossed the boulevard and entered a restaurant on the corner of Rue d’Angoulême—the Méridien; I remembered that the waiters there were young women, and that it was a very comfortable place; at least, it was so some years before. Why should I not follow my neighbor? Perhaps chance would give me a glimpse of his companion; and Raymond does so much boasting about his mistresses, who, according to him, are always princesses and of rare beauty, that I was not sorry to have an opportunity to see one of those marvels of creation.

I left the Cadran-Bleu at my right, and, resigned to the prospect of dining less satisfactorily, entered the Méridien and asked for a private room. I was taken to it by a waitress. We passed a room where I heard Raymond’s voice, and I told my conductress to give me the adjoining one. The partition between me and the room which Raymond and his flame occupied was so thin that I could hear their voices when they did not speak in undertones. I left my door open, too; and as theirs was not closed, for their table was being laid, I could catch from time to time a portion of what my neighbor said; for he had the unfortunate habit of speaking very loud—a habit contracted in order to attract attention to himself, and retained even in his incognito. Judging from what I heard, he was putting himself out to please his guest, whose tastes he constantly consulted in ordering the dinner. I heard him read the bill of fare to her three times; she had much difficulty in making up her mind; she didn’t like anything; she wasn’t hungry; it made no difference to her; but she asked for a thousand things that were not on the bill. I readily concluded, from her affectations and fussing, that my neighbor had not made a very distinguished conquest; indeed, one would have said that she was making fun of him and that it amused her to annoy him. I was convinced that he would have nothing to show for his dinner.

Every time that I heard the woman’s voice it recalled confused memories. Yes, I was sure that I knew her, but I could not tell who she was; I had known so many that I might be pardoned for confusing them in my memory; and then, I caught only a few detached words. No matter! I was determined to see her, and I would find a way!

It seemed that Raymond decided at last to order the dinner himself, for I heard nothing more from him. The lady hummed a comic-opera air; that voice was certainly familiar to me.

I heard the bell, and the waitress appeared. Raymond gave her the card and ordered dinner at once, and the girl went downstairs. The lady expressed a wish for some fromage fouetté, which my neighbor had not ordered, and he ran after the girl to add it to his order. As he passed my room, the door of which I had been careful to leave ajar, he glanced in and saw me.

“What do I see? my dear friend Dorsan!”

“Himself, Monsieur Raymond. What on earth are you doing here?”

He entered the room with an air of mystery, walking on tiptoe, and pointed, with a smile, to the adjoining room.

“I am in there,” he said, trying to speak in an undertone; “next door.”

“Oho!”

“With—someone.”

“Ah! I understand! an amourette, a partie fine!”

“Exactly.”

“You’re a terrible fellow. They accuse me of being fickle, a deceiver, but I am sure that you’re a hundred times worse than I.”

“I won’t deny that I’m rather given to changing!”

“And the lady?”

“Oh! charming, delicious! a regular swell, with her carriage and livery! We are here incog.”

“So I imagine.”

“She has granted me to-day a favor she has refused a thousand other men.”

“What a lucky dog you are! You arouse my curiosity; might I not see her?”

“Oh! impossible, my dear fellow, impossible! she’s a woman who is most particular about her reputation. If she knew that I had talked about her to one of my friends, she would be deadly angry with me and would never forgive me.”

“Very good, I’ll say no more about it; I see that it would be no kindness to you. I congratulate you, none the less, on such a brilliant conquest.”

“It’s worth what it costs, that’s true. You know that in the matter of women I am rather particular; I don’t take up with the first comer; I insist on good form and style.”

I thought that Monsieur Raymond was trying to be sarcastic.

“Above all things, I like to subdue those who are cruel,” he continued; “with them there are at least some merit and firmness—you understand. But I wager that my charmer is getting impatient; adieu, neighbor! love and pleasure call me.”

“Don’t keep them waiting.”

Raymond left my room, his bosom swelling with delight at being seen en bonne fortune, and returned to his own, closing the door behind him. All that he had said increased my curiosity; I was convinced that he had been telling me fables, as usual. I gave no credit to his tales of great ladies; and I could see him cudgelling his brains for lies while he was talking to me; indeed, he seemed to go more into detail than his custom was, the better to pull the wool over my eyes.—You were not sly enough to catch me, my dear Raymond! it was because you had happened to see me with a flower girl that you put on so many airs and hurled epigrams at me; but I had a shrewd idea that your great swell was not worth my humble Nicette.

My window looked on the boulevard, and, while I waited for my soup, I opened the sash to enjoy the prospect. I was not en partie fine, consequently had no desire for a subdued light. I observed that my neighbor’s blinds were not lowered, and my conclusion was strengthened that Raymond’s affairs had not progressed very far.

As I watched the passers-by, I saw a young man whom I knew stop in front of our restaurant. It was the same Gerville who lived in our house, and with whom Mademoiselle Agathe passed the memorable night when I offered hospitality to Nicette. What was he doing there? He stopped and looked this way and that, as if he were expecting or seeking someone.

The window in my neighbors’ Good! perhaps the lady would come there for a breath of air and I could see her face. But what was the matter? I heard an exclamation, and the window was suddenly closed; something extraordinary must have happened. In truth, I seemed to be becoming almost as inquisitive as Raymond.

I walked away from the window; a warm discussion was in progress in the next room. Faith! they could do what they chose! I proposed to dine, for I was hungry. At that very moment the waitress appeared with my soup. But what a racket! Raymond suddenly rushed out of his room and into mine, pale, haggard, trembling, and in his haste jostled the servant and caused her to spill my soup on the floor.

“Oh! mon Dieu! what a mess, monsieur!” exclaimed the girl, picking up her tureen. “You have made me burn myself awfully—all that hot soup on my foot! I know that I shall have big blisters there!”

“It’s all right, my girl; I’ll pay for your soup.”

“And what about my apron, which is ruined, and my leg?”

“I’ll pay you for everything!” Raymond replied, with no idea what he was saying; and he pushed the girl out of the room and carefully closed the door.

“Well, well! what in the devil’s the matter with you, Monsieur Raymond? you look as if you’d had a fright!”

“Ah! my dear friend, I have good reason to!—something has happened—a circumstance—I am in a terrible plight. Wait till I look out of the window; but first be good enough to draw the curtain so that he can’t see me.”

“Are you going mad, neighbor?”

Raymond did not answer me; he went to the window and looked out, taking care to conceal himself behind the curtain, and putting his head out with the utmost precaution. I saw that he became paler than ever.

“He’s there,” he said at last.

“Who, pray?”

“Gerville.”

“Oh, yes! so he is. But what difference does that make to you?”

“It makes a great difference to me. Don’t you know that he is horribly jealous and quite capable of going to terrible lengths?”

“What of it?”

“Understand that he’s here on my account. I am sure that he is watching for me; and he has some reason to, for I am with his mistress.”

“What! can it possibly be Mademoiselle Agathe whom you chose to transform into a lady with a carriage and livery of her own?”

“What would you have, my dear fellow? I did it in order to disguise her better, to spare her reputation.”

“Oh! so far as that goes, you may take my word that she has nothing to fear. Ha! ha! ha! Monsieur Raymond, what you must have are cruel creatures, women of a certain style!”

“You may jest about it later, my friend, but save me now, I implore you; my only hope is in you to extricate me from the frightful position I am in.”

“For heaven’s sake, explain yourself!”

“Gerville will come into this house, I am perfectly sure. Somebody must have told him that I am here. Be obliging enough to take my place for a moment, and give me yours in this room; I will leave my door open, he will see that I am alone, and his suspicions will vanish.”

“But why don’t you lock yourself in with your inamorata? he won’t break down your door.”

“He is quite capable of it! or else he would wait for me on the boulevard; and if I should go out with Agathe, you can judge for yourself what a scandalous scene there would be. Furthermore, we live in the same house, you know; and if he has discovered anything, how shall I ever dare to go home? He’s just the man to lie in wait for me on the stairs at night.”

“Then why in the devil did you meddle with his mistress?”

“What can you expect? a moment of folly. It was that morning I waited with her on our landing that it took me.”

“Ah, yes! the morning you both played the spy on me.”

“Oh! great God! he has come in!” cried Raymond, who had glanced out on the boulevard; “save me, my friend—in pity’s name! Go—I’ll join you later.”

Giving me no time to reply, Raymond jammed my hat over my ears, dragged and pushed me out of my private room, and locked himself in. I made no resistance, and without any idea as yet as to what I proposed to do for my neighbor, whose most distinctive quality courage certainly was not, I entered the room where Agathe was. She uttered a cry of surprise when she saw me.

“Mon Dieu! it’s Eugène! Is it you? is it really you?”

“Why, to be sure it’s I, sacrificing myself to save poor Raymond, who’s in such a fright that it will make him ill.”

“Ha! ha! ha! I can’t get over it!”

“Hush! he’s in there; he can hear you laugh, and I fancy that he would take it ill of you just at this moment.”

“Really! what do I care for that? Ha! ha! ha! Do you think that I’m in love with Raymond, I should like to know? Oh! he is much too stupid, really! and he tries to play the Lovelace! I couldn’t stand it any longer! When I opened the window and saw Gerville on the boulevard, I gave a shriek and stepped back into the room as quick as I could; for I don’t want Gerville to see me with Raymond. Not that he’s jealous, but he might not like it. Do you know what I did? It came into my head to tell my old idiot that Gerville is fiendishly jealous, and that he had been suspicious of him ever since he learned that we spent two hours together on the landing, and that I was certain that he was on the boulevard for the sole purpose of watching us. The more I said, the more frightened my adorer became, for he has even more affection for his own person than for mine. And when I added that Gerville was quite capable of stabbing him,—ha! ha! the poor man took his hat, and is running still, I fancy. Ha! ha! ha! but it’s very kind of him to send me such an agreeable companion. Meanwhile, I would like to know what has become of Gerville; I think that he was just waiting for one of his friends.”

“Hush! somebody is coming upstairs. Raymond is opening his door; let’s listen. Gerville is speaking.”

We put our ears close to the door, which we very softly opened an inch or two, and overheard the following conversation:

“Ah! it’s neighbor Raymond.”

“Himself, at your service. How are you?”

“Very well. How’s this? are you dining alone in a private room?”

“Yes; I have something on my mind, some important business, and I was glad not to be disturbed.”

“In that case, I’ll leave you. I am waiting for somebody who agreed to meet me on the boulevard here; but he’s late, and I am going to dine. Good-day, neighbor; and a good appetite!”

“Your servant!”

Gerville closed the door of Raymond’s room and went into another, passing ours as he did so.

“Well, mademoiselle,” I said to Agathe, “choose; to which of these gentlemen will you give the preference?”

“Oh! I have a delicious idea!”

“Some crazy scheme, I’ll be bound, for you think of no other kind.”

“This will be unique. Help me, my dear Eugène, I beg you.”

Without another word to me, Agathe began to stride up and down the room; she pushed the chairs about, threw some of them down, and, amid the uproar, cried out from time to time:

“Don’t be angry with me, my friend! I assure you that you are mistaken. I give you my word that I haven’t seen Raymond; that I don’t care for him! Ask Dorsan; he invited me to dinner, because he was expecting a lady.”

I began to understand Agathe’s plan; she proposed to make Raymond think that Gerville was with us. To second her, I also made noise enough for two, and attempted now and then to imitate Gerville’s voice. We stopped at last, tired out by our comedy; Agathe made me a sign which I understood; I left the room, the door of which she locked behind me, and stole on tiptoe into Raymond’s, where I found him shivering and half dead with terror in front of a beefsteak with potatoes. I locked the door before approaching him, and put a finger to my lips; we had the aspect of two conspirators. Raymond spoke so low at this time that I could hardly hear him.

“He’s in there,” I said, pointing to the next room.

“Oh! I know it only too well; I heard him. But how did it happen?”

“We thought he had gone downstairs, and we opened our door; but he was on the watch; he saw Agathe and came in. Then there was a terrible scene, for he suspected that she came here with you; I’m not the one of whom he is jealous.”

“Parbleu! I know only too well that it’s I. I saw plainly enough just now that he didn’t believe what I told him. He had doubts; perhaps he saw us coming along the boulevard.”

“That is quite possible; you are so infernally imprudent! When you arrange such a party as this, you should take a cab, and enter the restaurant by the rear door.”

“That’s so; you are right; we ought to have come in from behind! but I promise you that I’ll go out that way.”

“He thought at first that I was in your confidence, that I was here solely to help you. In fact, I am exposing myself to some risk in your behalf.”

“Ah! my dear Dorsan! never while I live shall I forget what I owe to you!”

“However, things are beginning to calm down. Agathe has succeeded in making him listen to reason; she told him that she came here for no other purpose than to watch him; she’s playing the jealous lover now.”

“Oh! that’s delicious! charming! these women always find a way out of everything!”

“I should prefer to let them dine alone; but he won’t listen to it. I left the room on the pretext of ordering dinner.”

“It’s all ordered, my dear friend; and I shall take good care to pay for it. I don’t mean to put you to any expense, when you are sacrificing yourself to help me.”

“As you please; I’ll give the word to the waitress, and we will dine.”

“Go, my noble-hearted friend; tell her to be sure not to mention me.”

“Never fear.”

“I have but one fear now.”

“What’s that?”

“Just now, with the idea of giving Agathe a surprise, I amused myself, while her back was turned, by slipping my picture into her reticule.”

“Your picture?”

“Yes; I mean one of my silhouettes, you know, which I had pasted on a pink card, with a border of little cupids. If Agathe should happen to drop that when she takes out her handkerchief; or, not knowing what it is, should take it into her head to look at it——”

“Peste! that would make a pretty row! Gerville would surely say then that I was in collusion with you to deceive him.”

“Try, my friend, try to prevent Agathe from blowing her nose!”

“I can’t promise that, but I’ll motion to her to blow it in her napkin; that cannot compromise you.”

“That’s the very thing.”

“Adieu! a longer absence might arouse suspicion.”

Once more I left Raymond, who locked himself into his room. I returned to Agathe. The waitress arrived with the dinner; she seemed surprised at the change of cavalier, but two or three words in her ear and a five-franc piece in her hand speedily retained her in our interest. She promised to tell the stout gentleman that there were three in our party, and thereupon she left us, overjoyed to be able to amuse herself at the expense of the man who had upset a tureen of soup on her feet.

“Now, let us dine,” said I, taking my seat at the table beside Agathe; “no one can deny that we have earned it. I hardly expected to dine with you, I admit.”

“Nor I! but impromptu pleasures are always the best.”

“A month ago we had already become reasonable and sedate in our tête-à-têtes.”

“I tell you, we did well to part; we are much better pleased to see each other.”

“Oh! I know that you are passionately fond of variety.”

“No, my friend, not so much of variety as of forbidden fruit; and when I think that Gerville is at our right, Raymond at our left, and that I have succeeded in avoiding the necessity of eating in his company the dinner he ordered—ha! ha! ha!”

“Don’t laugh so loud!”

“Oh, yes! that will reassure him, don’t you see? he will think that Gerville’s in good humor.—Ha! ha! ha! it will bring back his appetite.”

Agathe was in the wildest spirits; she was compelled to hold her napkin over her mouth to stifle her outbursts of merriment; the pleasure of deceiving two men at once gave to her face an unfamiliar expression; she had never been so pretty in my eyes, I confess. She teased me, pinched me, caressed me, threw her arms about me. Ah! Mademoiselle Agathe, you were a perfidious creature, but most seductive! Moreover, for several days, I had been making love with my eyes alone, and I felt that it was incumbent on me to make our mystification of Raymond complete.—Ah! my poor neighbor! if you but knew what ardor Agathe showed in mystifying you!

But we heard someone coming upstairs; it was our waitress. That young woman had an abundance of tact and penetration; she turned the knob at least thrice before she opened our door. She brought the first course. I tasted the wine; it was Volnay, first quality. Gad! my neighbor was a connoisseur!

“Oh! you’ll have a fine dinner,” laughed the girl; “the gentleman didn’t forget anything: champagne, dessert, and the coup de milieu!”

“Aha! so we’re to have the coup de milieu!” said Agathe; “we musn’t forget that, my friend, do you hear?”

“Never fear.—By the way, my girl, did our neighbor question you?”

“Yes; I told him that madame was dining with two gentlemen; he seems a little easier in his mind.”

“That is good.”

We did full justice to Raymond’s dinner; it was dainty and toothsome. In a quiet moment, I asked Agathe to tell me how it happened that she had come there to dine in a private room with my neighbor, whom she did not like at all.

“I did it to have a better chance to make fun of him,” she replied. “Ever since the day we waited on your landing to see your little flower girl, Raymond has been pleased to make love to me. He pesters me with his declarations and his billets-doux, which I receive just to show them to the girls in the shop; and they make a lot of sport for us, for his style’s as ridiculous as his person. He had asked me twenty times for an assignation, when I happened to meet him to-day near Porte Saint-Denis. I was just going home; I had been to Gerville’s, but didn’t find him. Raymond urged me, begged me, to dine with him at a restaurant. I refused at first; but the temptation to make a fool of him, to laugh at his expense, in short, to have some sport, led me to change my mind. Besides, you know what a heedless creature I am. I didn’t expect to meet Gerville, for whom I care very little, however. So I accepted, and allowed myself to be conducted to a private room by poor Raymond, who believed that his triumph was assured, whereas I never had the slightest intention of granting him any favors.”

“Here’s to his health!”

“With all my heart.”

“Is this the coup de milieu?”

“One moment! how fast you go! we haven’t got to it yet. This vol-au-vent is delicious, and so is this filet sauté, with madeira and truffles.”

“And this salmi of partridges, also with truffles. Ah! poor Raymond! do you see his game? he ordered truffles in everything!”

The waitress arrived with the rum and the next course.

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Agathe; “truffles with champagne sauce! why, he’ll kill us with ’em! What is our neighbor eating?”

“Chicken, with rice, madame.”

“Good! that’s very nourishing; give him some prunes for dessert; they’re an emollient.”

The girl left us. We enjoyed the truffles, the chicken, and the crabs, whose claws Agathe wanted to send to Raymond. We did not forget the coup de milieu; my companion thought a great deal of that, and so did I. With his dinner de bonne fortune, that philandering Raymond had put the devil into us; he evidently thought truffles a necessity in his parties fines! But, by sending me to take his place with Agathe, he had allotted me a terrific task!

“Avenge yourself,” she kept saying to me, “avenge yourself, Eugène; you know that Raymond is responsible for our having seen your little vestal leave your rooms; you know, too, that he used to make remarks to the people in the house when I came to see you; you know that by his inquisitiveness and chattering he has made trouble between you and several women. Avenge yourself; still avenge yourself!”

What terrible creatures women are when it is a question of vengeance! Agathe still urged me, and yet my spleen was rapidly vanishing. Luckily, the girl brought the dessert. Champagne, fromage à la vanille, biscuits à la rose, gelée au marasquin, and Madame Amphoux’s liqueur des Iles. I was lost! Raymond was determined to have my life!

“I would like to know what he’s doing now,” said Agathe; “just go and speak to him.”

I left the room, and she held the door ajar to listen; I coughed gently at Raymond’s door, which he instantly opened.

“Well! how far have you got?” he asked.

“Oh! everything is going along nicely, very nicely! we are eating dessert.”

“And Gerville?”

“Oh! he’s forgotten everything!”

“I was afraid that he would make a scene with Agathe. I thought I heard groans and sighs.”

“They were of repentance and love; and then, she still pretends to be jealous; but I see plainly enough that she is thinking only of you.”

“Oh! she adores me, my friend; I can’t doubt that.”

“Your dinner is delicious; you do things very well, Monsieur Raymond.”

“Yes, yes; I ordered it for a purpose! I expected to partake of it with her!”

“She knows that you ordered it, and she is just as much obliged to you. I can see in her eyes that she doesn’t eat a truffle without thinking of you.”

“Dear Agathe! But I hear laughter, it seems to me.”

“Yes, that is she. She laughs with her lips, to deceive him; but the fromage fouetté awaits me; adieu, my friend!”

“What! haven’t you drunk the champagne yet!”

“Not yet.”

“But you look rather heated.”

“It’s the coup de milieu that gives me that appearance.”

“Tell me, had I better go away before or after you?”

“Why, before—that would be the wiser way.”

“I’ll take a stroll in the garden of the Café Turc, in front of the pavilion that bears a crescent.”

“I can see it from here.”

“If by any chance Gerville should leave you, or if he should take Agathe away, join me there.”

“Agreed.”

“I will wait for you, then. Au revoir, my dear neighbor! I beg you to excuse me for giving you so much trouble. What you are doing for me to-day is an act of genuine friendship. I have but one further request to make; keep an eye on my silhouette! motion to Agathe not to touch her handbag. Do this for me, my friend.”

“I have done it already.”

“No matter; do it again, for my peace of mind.”

“I will try; au revoir!”

I returned to Agathe, who laughed till the tears came. I had not as yet thought of mentioning the silhouette to her; that was the bouquet for dessert. My neighbor’s profile was pasted on a pink card, and we saw two lines written at the bottom. Poetry of Raymond’s composition: that should be a curiosity.

Ingenious, in very truth! worthy of Berthellemot! But as we noticed that one of the little Loves was standing on his nose, we concluded that it should read “I smell,” instead of “I feel.” Agathe proposed at first to stick my neighbor’s likeness on the mirror in our dining room; but she changed her mind. She put it carefully away, intending to have copies made of it, which she proposed to enclose in amorous circulars composed from Raymond’s billets-doux, and to send them to all the milliner’s apprentices of her acquaintance, taking care to write at the bottom the address of the original of the portrait.

The champagne finished what the stimulating dinner had begun; we were in the mood to say and do all sorts of foolish things. Agathe stuffed herself with sweetmeats and jelly; I drew the corks; the wine foamed and sparkled, and soon passed from our glasses to our lips; we no longer knew what we were saying, but we knew very well what we were doing! Agathe threw aside all restraint; and if Raymond was listening, surely he must have thought that we were fighting.

But the champagne, which effervesces when it is first poured out, will not effervesce again unless it is well shaken, and in due time refuses to effervesce at all. In like manner, readers, the volcanoes which have displayed the greatest activity become extinct! In like manner, readers of the gentler sex, those seductive fires which your lovely eyes emit, and to which you owe so many conquests, will die away. Everything has its day, alas! in nature; everything falls to ruin and decay; everything dies. It is the universal law; for that we are born, and each step in life is a step toward the grave; there is no possibility there of arranging compromises.

I cannot say how the champagne led me to this quotation; however, I am sure that you will not take it ill of me; these lines are never misplaced, and I would like, indeed, to have been the author of them.

We had become virtuous then, in action at all events. I looked at my watch; almost eight o’clock! The deuce! and my rendezvous. The champagne had not entirely deprived me of memory, but I confess that Agathe was responsible for the loss of a large part of my zeal.

Raymond must have been on the watch at the Café Turc for a long while; as for Gerville, we had seen him leave the house more than an hour before; so that there was nothing to detain us. My companion donned her bonnet and shawl and tried to assume a demure and modest air, which she was unable to master, even by lowering her eyes. I did what I could to maintain a grave demeanor and a steady gait; that infernal champagne always did go to my head! However, we could safely show ourselves on the boulevard; we were only a little giddy.

We left the Méridien, where Raymond had paid for everything. The hostess and waitresses saluted us with smiling faces.

“Is there anything amusing in our looks?” I asked Agathe.

“No; but do you suppose that those people don’t divine that we’ve been making a fool of Raymond? Perhaps they think he’s my husband.”

“Oh! that would be rather too much!”

“Bah! such things have been seen.”

“Here we are at the Café Turc; shall we go in?”

“What for?”

“To relieve Raymond, who’s doing sentry duty there.”

“Let him stay there; I’ve no desire to be bored any more with his love; I have had enough of it. Everything has turned out as I wanted; but as such adventures never happen twice, I assure you that he will never inveigle me into a private dining room again.”

“Poor Raymond! This partie fine will have been very profitable to him, won’t it? But here’s the Château d’Eau; someone is waiting for me here, and I must leave you.”

“What! already?”

“Our play is ended, my dear girl; we can be of no further assistance to each other; let us not postpone our separation until ennui succeeds pleasure, and the fumes of the champagne have entirely vanished; we shall retain a pleasant memory of this meeting, at all events.”

“Adieu, then, my dear Eugène! may we enjoy ourselves as much when we next meet!”

Agathe went her way, and I started to make the circuit of the Château d’Eau.