Volume 11 — XXII THE LITTLE SUPPER PARTY

I arrived at her apartment. My appearance did not seem to embarrass her; she greeted me with a smile and spoke to me as usual. Could it be that I had suspected her wrongfully? But she did not observe my agitation! The secret excitement which I strove to conceal would not have escaped the eyes of love! They see everything, divine everything! And Caroline asked me no questions, although I was on fire and talked at random; although I was momentarily on the point of exploding and could hardly refrain from outward manifestations of the torments I was undergoing!—No, she did not love me.

I told her that I intended to pass the day with her. I fancied that I could detect embarrassment in her glance; but she speedily recovered herself.

“You always give me pleasure by staying with me,” she said at last, in that soft voice which had fascinated me at our meeting on the boulevard. Ah! such voices are as deceitful as the others!

In vain did I try to compose my features and assume a cheerful air; I could not manage it. I felt as if something were choking me, suffocating me. I had had that feeling so often!—I went to the window, but instantly turned away; I must not run the risk of being recognized in the evening. Oh! what a tedious day it was! I put forward the dinner hour; never, I think, was a dinner so dreary to me! Caroline complained of a headache; but I did not complain. If I could only have made love to her! I tried; but her replies seemed commonplace beyond words to me. A conversation between two people who have ceased to love each other is woefully stupid.

I suggested that we go to the theatre. She declined; her headache was growing worse, and she felt very uncomfortable.

“Perfidious creature!” I said to myself; “I understand! Why not say to me frankly: ‘I no longer love you’? I should be less angry with you if you did that. But, no, falsehood and dissimulation must needs be added to inconstancy; you must always deceive us!”

“Would you like me to stay with you?” I asked, pretending to be anxious about her health.

“No, no, thanks! All I need is rest; I shall have forgotten all about it to-morrow.”

She could not conceal the fright caused by my proposition, which would have upset all her plans. It was in my power to prevent their execution that evening by remaining with her; but what would the result be? I should simply postpone the catastrophe, and I should not have the pleasure of confounding her an hour or two hence! Ah! I had no desire to postpone that moment! I wished that it had already arrived. When we know that we are to undergo a painful trial, the moments that precede it are more cruel than those that follow it.

The clock struck eight; she went to bed, in order to try to sleep. That was the signal for me to retire. I bade her good-night. She came to me to kiss me; she pressed my hand, and her eyes were dry, her heart beat no faster!—I left the house; it was high time, for I was on the point of breaking out!

I was not sorry to have two hours before me previous to meeting Raymond. I had time to calm myself and to decide what course to pursue. I felt at once that the fresh air did me good. I have had that experience hundreds of times; an atmosphere more or less heavy has a great influence on our way of looking at things, especially when we are so unfortunate as to have excitable nerves. A little rain, a little wind, calms or arouses our passions; those which are natural are submissive to nature, and, thank heaven! I know no other passions and do not agree with those persons who declare that all passions are natural.

For my sake she left her aunt, her little Jules, and many others! Why should she not leave me as well? She had ceased to love me: that was not a crime. But she had deceived me: that, I believe, was what distressed me most; for it humiliates one to be deceived, especially when one is old enough one’s self to deceive.

However, such a liaison is bound to end, a little sooner or later. What did it matter? I was no longer in love with her. That, I believe, was why I was so incensed with her. I was vexed because I had allowed her to anticipate me. Love forgives many things that self-esteem refuses to forgive.

If Nicette should deceive me! then, I felt that my grief would be a very different matter. I remembered how disturbed, how agitated, I was when I learned that she had taken a shop; and yet, I was only her friend. I tried to think of Nicette; that was the best remedy for Caroline’s treatment of me.

I walked the whole length of the boulevards. I had had time to reason with myself, and I had fully decided upon my course of action. I realized what an idiot a man must be to torment himself over the treachery of a woman who has thrown others over for him. Indeed, how can one rely on the word of a person who has no other guaranty to offer than previous infidelities.

I decided, therefore, to amuse myself at Mademoiselle Caroline’s expense. That is the most satisfactory vengeance one can wreak on a woman who deceives one. Every vengeance which savors of hatred, jealousy, or anger denotes a lingering remnant of love; it is not real vengeance.

At ten o’clock I was at the Café Anglais. I ordered a glass of punch, pending Raymond’s arrival. I did not propose to muddle my wits, but I desired to attain that degree of excitement which makes one less sensible of the folly of other people. My neighbor appeared, in the careful négligé of a lady killer. One would have thought, from his radiant expression, that he was the hero of the evening’s festivities.

“We shall have great sport,” he said, taking a seat by my side, and resting his elbow on the next table, regardless of the fact that he put it in the dish of rice and milk of an old habitué.

“What the devil, monsieur! be careful what you’re doing!” said the old gentleman, putting down his newspaper. Raymond apologized profusely, and removed his thoroughly drenched elbow from the bowl with such vivacity that he rolled it onto the white trousers of a dandy who was reading the Journal des Modes.

The dandy made a great outcry, the old habitué scolded Raymond roundly, and I saw that his apologies would soon bring matters to a climax. As I did not propose that any fresh scrape should interfere with our going to Monsieur de Grandmaison’s, I made haste to intervene, striving to pacify the two gentlemen and to restore peace. I succeeded at last, and, dreading some new mishap, I dragged Raymond out of the café.

“The evening seems to open inauspiciously,” I said, as I led him toward Rue Caumartin.

“Pshaw! far from it! this incident promises sport. It wasn’t my fault that that old politician stuck his rice right under my arm; he ought to have eaten it, instead of reading his newspaper; and then it wouldn’t have happened.—But it’s half-past ten; let’s make haste; I’ll bet they’re waiting for us.”

“For you, you mean.”

“Oh! I wrote Grandmaison a line to tell him I should bring one of my friends; so he expects you.”

We arrived at Rue Caumartin and entered a pretentious mansion; it was directly opposite Caroline’s rooms. We ascended a superb staircase; we passed through several antechambers, lighted by globes suspended from the ceiling, where half a dozen lackeys were yawning. Everything denoted opulence and ostentation. I had not all that to offer her. I had thought that I was doing a great deal for her: I had straitened myself and run into debt; and what had I to show for it?—Ah! I was not likely to forget my experience as a protector!

My heart beat fast as I drew near the little salon where the company awaited us; but I soon recovered my self-possession. We entered the room, where I saw four men, but the host was not among them.

“Ah! good-evening, my friends!” said Raymond, running from one to another of the guests to shake hands. “Allow me to present a friend of mine, a good fellow, who has a fancy to enjoy himself with us to-night.—But where’s Grandmaison?”

“In the boudoir; he’s taming his pet before supper.”

“Ah! to be sure! to be sure! they are making their final arrangements, perfecting their agreement. Have you seen her, messieurs?”

“Not yet. They say she’s charming!”

“Fascinating; and almost a novice!”

“The deuce! that’s a marvel!”

“So Grandmaison wishes us to be less indecent than usual.”

“Good! We’ll proceed by degrees, so as not to frighten her. But still, this little one must be trained, and, really, Grandmaison is not the man to do it!”

“Poor man! the utmost he can do will be to say a word or two to her—after supper.”

“He’s not a blunt talker, like Joconde.”

“No; but his wine is delicious.”

“And he has an excellent cook.”

“Upon my word, I have the greatest esteem for him!”

“For the cook?”

“No; for Grandmaison, you sorry joker!—Come, messieurs; no remarks with a double meaning; that’s forbidden to-day. Besides, I am for morals before everything!”

During this pleasant conversation, I amused myself by examining the four gentlemen. One, who was short, stout, and red-headed, contented himself with laughing at every sally of the others, but did not venture to add any of his own. He who talked most was a little man of some fifty years, who tried to outdo the younger men by assuming the airs of a rake and uttering all the obscenities that came into his head. A thin, pallid young man, whose hollow, lifeless eyes betrayed his abuse of life, was stretched out in an easy-chair, and swayed to and fro as he addressed an occasional senseless rhapsody to the jocose Raymond, who was in his element. A tall, bulky individual, with large oxlike eyes and a nose that would have put a colocynth to shame, completed the circle, which, in my opinion, lacked only Monsieur le Baron de Witcheritche.

At last a door at the end of the room opened and Monsieur de Grandmaison appeared, dragging his leg after him. But he was alone.

“Where is she? where is she?” cried all the guests, with one voice.

“One moment! one moment, pray! you’ll see her in a moment. She is giving a little attention to her toilet. When I told her that she was to sup with some friends of mine, she didn’t want to appear in négligé; and then, too, I am not sorry to let her see all the presents I have for her. I left her with a lady’s-maid. A little patience and some punch—that will help us to wait for our supper.”

Raymond presented me to Monsieur de Grandmaison, who exhausted himself in commonplace felicitations upon my kindness in honoring his little party. I answered in fear and trembling, lest he should recognize me; but my apprehension soon vanished; I saw that Monsieur de Grandmaison needed his opera glass to distinguish objects.

An enormous bowl of punch was brought, and the gentlemen did it so much honor that I was very doubtful what their condition would be at supper. The tall man with the stupid face, whom the others called milord, did nothing but fill his glass and empty it; while the little red-headed fellow, whom I heard them call Zamorin, stuffed himself with macaroons, cake, and biscuits, to assist him to wait for the supper.

The old rake and the languid young man questioned Grandmaison concerning his new mistress’s features; and the host went into her charms in detail, promising to inform them more fully on the morrow.

“What shall we call her?” inquired Raymond.

“Her name is Madame Saint-Léon. A pretty name, isn’t it, messieurs?”

“Yes, very pretty. I think a great deal of the name myself.”

“Has she any children?”

“Idiot! didn’t I tell you that she was almost a novice?”

“True; but almost doesn’t mean that——”

“Nonsense! hold your tongue, Raymond; you insult innocence!” said Monsieur Rocambolle, the old rake. “I am sure that Grandmaison found this woman at Les Vertus.”

Enchanted by his jest, Monsieur Rocambolle turned, with a laugh, to the young man; who laughed with him, showing two or three discolored teeth, his only remaining ones.

Amid the general clatter, as I did not wish to seem bored in the agreeable company of these gentry, I said at random whatever came into my head; and sometimes, without any effort to that end, I had the pleasure of making the merry fellows laugh.

“Didn’t I tell you that he was a wag, a delightful fellow?” cried Raymond.

I was a delightful fellow! I swear that I had taken no pains to be delightful, but I fancy that my companions were not exacting.

Supper was announced, and Grandmaison looked at his watch.

“Three-quarters of an hour,” he said; “she must be ready; I will fetch her. Go into the supper room, and I will bring her to you there.”

He left the room, and Raymond, who was familiar with the locality, led us into a round, elegantly decorated room, in the centre of which was a table laden with everything calculated to flatter the sight, the smell, and the taste.

A handsome clock on a low white marble mantel marked within a few minutes of midnight.

“The devil!” exclaimed Monsieur Rocambolle; “almost twelve o’clock! We shall have mighty little time to enjoy ourselves.”

“Or to eat,” said Zamorin.

“Wait, wait, messieurs,” said Raymond, who always insisted upon finding a way to provide for everything; “I’ll set it back an hour.”

“Well said! well said!” cried all the others. “That devil of a Raymond is never at a loss! he’s as inventive as a girl.”

Overjoyed to display the resources of his imagination, Raymond ran to the clock, raised with startling rapidity the globe that covered it, moved back the hands, and set the regulator so far toward slow that, from the way in which he went about it, I concluded it would not be midnight for two hours. Our attention was diverted by Monsieur de Grandmaison’s voice, which announced the arrival of her whom all the guests awaited, but how much less impatiently than myself!

All eyes were turned toward the door by which she was to enter; I alone stood aside, in such a position that she would not see me at once. We heard the rustling of her gown, but at that moment there was a loud report in the room; Raymond had broken the mainspring of the clock; and to cover up his stupidity, he hurried away from the fireplace and ran to meet the beauty who was to be presented to us.

She appeared at last, escorted by Monsieur de Grandmaison and by Raymond, who had taken possession of her other hand and was already pouring forth all the pretty things he was capable of saying. I saw her, and my heart beat more violently, my chest swelled. That was the last time that her presence ever produced any effect on me.

She was magnificently dressed: an emerald necklace gleamed on her breast, a very handsome comb and long earrings added to the splendor of her costume. She entered the room with downcast eyes, assuming a modest air almost exactly like that which deceived me the first time I saw her. That woman was able to do whatever she chose with her face.

“Now,” thought I, “let us see how she will endure a sight of me.”

She raised her eyes to the company at last; instantly a concert of praise and compliments burst forth. She was in truth very fair to look upon, and the gentlemen vied with one another in their efforts to find words enthusiastic enough to depict their ecstasy and enchantment. How happy she was at that moment! there was a flush on her brow, but it was a flush of pleasure, of pride, not of modesty.

“But where’s my friend?” cried Raymond, looking about for me. He spied me in the corner from which I was observing the scene, ran to me, seized my hand, and dragged me toward Caroline.

“Come on,” he said; “come, I say, and see the Three Graces! She’s Hebe, she’s Venus, she’s Psyche, she’s——”

Raymond was interrupted by a cry from Caroline. She glanced at me as I began to pay my respects to her, congratulating Monsieur de Grandmaison. She turned pale, stammered, tried to recover herself; but the shock was too sharp; she tottered, and fell upon her latest adorer. He, being then occupied in responding to his friends’ congratulations, received the young woman’s weight as he was about to take a pinch of snuff, to help him to make some witty response. The poor man was not strong enough to resist that unexpected blow; his left leg was always out of line, and Caroline’s weight causing the right one to bend, Monsieur de Grandmaison fell heavily, trying to grasp what was nearest him, which happened to be Monsieur Rocambolle’s thigh. He clung to that, which he supposed to be an integral part of the person, but his hand grasped nothing but the cotton wool with which the old libertine stuffed his breeches in order to improve his shape. The broadcloth split and tore, and Monsieur Rocambolle’s fictitious thigh remained in Monsieur de Grandmaison’s hand.

While Monsieur Rocambolle angrily reclaimed his cotton posterior, while the toothless youth threw himself upon a couch, laughing like a maniac, while Zamorin looked to see if the supper were growing cold, and while milord gazed from one to another of the company with eyes that seemed to be starting from his head, Raymond, wishing to repair the damage unassisted, rushed to the table in search of something to give the fainting woman. As he put out his hand for a carafe, he overturned a decanter of madeira, also a candelabrum, the candles in which fell upon a fromage glacé and went out. The decanter fell on Monsieur de Grandmaison’s face, who swore that his nose was broken; while Zamorin, seeing the havoc Raymond was making on the supper table, called loudly for help. The servants hastened to the spot, but their presence served only to increase the confusion. Caroline was still unconscious, or pretended to be in order to conceal her embarrassment; Monsieur de Grandmaison continued to curse, Monsieur Rocambolle to shout, Zamorin to lament, and the young man to laugh; the Englishman tried to put a bottle or two of champagne in a safe place; and Raymond, in attempting to assist the young woman, to raise Grandmaison, and to restore order, overturned furniture, smashed bottles and plates, sent a chicken in one man’s face, a pie into another’s lap, and ended by falling upon a small table laden with liqueurs and brandied fruits.

What further business had I at Monsieur de Grandmaison’s? My revenge was complete; the confusion was at its height; the scene of pleasure was transformed into a scene of uproar and distress; singing had given place to outcries, bonsmots to lamentations, drunkenness to wrath, merriment to gloom; in a word, Caroline had seen and recognized me, and the effect had surpassed my anticipations. I was satisfied; and leaving them all to extricate themselves from their plight as best they could, I left Monsieur de Grandmaison’s house, thoroughly cured of the sentiment the young flowermaker had inspired in me.