Volume 14 / Part 2 — XV TWO GENTLEMEN AFTER DINNER

Several days had passed. Paul had paid frequent visits to the two friends in the evening, and his sombre humor was beginning to disappear. His face no longer wore that forbidding look which intimidated the country people; as he talked with Honorine his voice became less harsh, his eyes softer.

The young widow, on her side, experienced an entirely unfamiliar sensation when the master of the Tower seated himself at her side. That sensation afforded pleasant occupation for her heart; she felt happier than ever before, and did not attempt to conceal her happiness, because she saw no harm in the interest which she felt in a man who had hitherto always been betrayed in his affections.

More than once Agathe had said to her:

“You ought to ask Monsieur Paul to tell us his adventures; then we should finally learn the story of the ravine. We should learn why he went at night to the cross that marks the place where someone was killed.”

But Honorine would reply:

“I do not like to invite confidences; it would seem to indicate curiosity, suspicion even. So long as a person does not tell us his griefs, it means that he does not think us likely to be interested in them. Let us wait. It is a good deal gained that Monsieur Paul should have abandoned for our sakes his uncivilized, solitary habits; he comes to see us, and that is a great compliment on the part of a man who never speaks to anyone. But we can’t expect him to treat us at once like old friends.”

“Why not? his dog made friends with us at once, and since he divines a person’s feeling toward his master, it seems to me that the master might well follow his dog’s example.”

The owners of the Goldfish Villa had issued their invitations for the gorgeous fête which they proposed to give in their new abode. Nothing was talked about in Chelles but the preparations that were in progress at Monsieur and Madame de Belleville’s. Workmen had been brought from Paris; there was to be an illumination and fireworks in the garden. The courtyard and avenue were encumbered with shrubs, and boxes filled with rare flowers; upholsterers had come to renew the hangings, and painters to touch up the stairs and stair-rails. Everything was in commotion, and in the midst of it all Chamoureau, bewildered by the crowds of people coming and going and by the noise that arose on all sides, often took refuge in the depths of his park, saying to himself:

“Those people drive me crazy; they will prevent me from finding what I seek—that discovery which may throw open the doors of the Academy to me. I feel sure that I am on the point of putting my finger on it. I will go and reflect upon it, while I contemplate the trees in my park.”

On the eve of the day appointed for this grand function, which had thrown the whole village of Chelles into commotion, Freluchon arrived at nightfall, and not finding Edmond at home, was on his way to Madame Dalmont’s, where he was certain of finding him, when he collided with somebody at a street corner.

“Hallo! it’s Chamoureau!” cried Freluchon; “delighted to meet you, my dear fellow. But why did you hurl yourself at me in that way? Are you getting short-sighted?”

“No, not at all; but I wasn’t looking to see where I was going; I was absorbed in my ideas.”

“Sapristi! you must have some very profound ideas then, since you became Monsieur de Belleville.”

On that day Chamoureau had, as usual, dined with his new friend the baron, and the two gentlemen had indulged somewhat too freely in the pomard with which one of the cellars of the villa was stored. So that, after dinner, they had felt the need of a short walk in the country.

“Dear Freluchon,” said Chamoureau; “so you received our invitation for to-morrow?”

“To be sure I did; and that is why I came to-night, so as to be on hand to-morrow.”

“You’ll pass the night with us; that’s very nice; we’ll give you a splendid room. Oh! we have plenty of them; we have bought an enchanting place here—so dainty and elegant! It’s a little Parc-aux-Cerfs.”

“Ah! do you have stags—cerfs—here?”

“No; that’s a figure of speech; I allude to a royal pleasure-house.”

“If you did have stags[B] in your house, it wouldn’t surprise me.—I am much obliged to you for your proffered hospitality, but I do not need to incommode you; I have my room here in Edmond’s house.”

“Ah! you stay with Edmond, do you? You would be much better off with us; it’s more elegant there and more comfortable.”

“My dear Chamoureau, I don’t doubt that everything is magnificent in your house, but I am very comfortable at Edmond’s, and I shall sleep there. Moreover, as you may readily imagine, I have accepted your invitation for to-morrow from curiosity. When I learned that you had bought a country house at Chelles——”

“An estate!”

“Well! isn’t a country house an estate?”

“Yes, but when you say a country-house, it seems to mean just a place to sleep, a little box to loaf in over Sunday; whereas an ‘estate’! that instantly denotes something of value, of importance—something vast.”

“Bigre! how we do effervesce since we became Chamoureau de Belleville! But don’t you want me to say a château—a palace? I’ll call it whatever you please!”

“I want—I want above all things that you shouldn’t call me Chamoureau again!”

“Oh! as for that, I can’t promise.”

“If you call me that at our party to-morrow, it will be infinitely disagreeable to me.”

“Why did you invite me then?”

“It wasn’t I who invited you, it was my wife.”

“Ah! thanks! I recognize you there. Well, my amiable friend, as you were not the one who invited me, I am perfectly justified in telling you that I am going to your fête to-morrow solely from curiosity, to laugh a little; because I am persuaded that there will be some amusing sights there—not counting you—and lastly because I am curious to see how you receive your old friends now that you are rich and noble and have a palace!—There! are you content with me? Ha! ha! you must tell your wife not to invite me another time.”

Chamoureau bit his lips.

“We will receive our old friends very cordially,” he muttered, “when they don’t make fun of us.—Look you, a few days ago, a German baron arrived here, a former friend of my wife; and a man of the highest extraction, and he paid me the most flattering compliments on my marriage.”

“The deuce! he must have a fine German accent, must this baron!”

“Why, no, not very much; he swears in German, that’s all. Well, since he has been here, he dines and breakfasts with us almost every day; he dined with us to-day again, and we drank a certain pomard—ah! such pomard!—he drinks straight, does the baron—and I held my own with him.”

“Ah! I am not surprised that you didn’t see where you were going just now.”

“Nonsense! I never get drunk myself.”

“What are you looking for now?”

“I am looking for Monsieur de Schtapelmerg.”

“Good God! what did you say?”

“I said I was looking for Monsieur de Schtapelmerg; that’s the baron’s name.”

“He has a name that requires study to be pronounced in a becoming manner.—So he was with you, was he?”

“Yes, we came out together after dinner—to take a look at the country. He probably left me, at the call of nature; and I was so absorbed in my search that I didn’t notice that I was alone.”

“Have you lost anything, pray, that you were engaged in such an absorbing search?”

“Oh, no! I am seeking a method of ascertaining the age of trees simply by looking at the trunk.”

“I should never have suspected that that was what you were seeking. You are getting to be beyond me; I am no longer on your level. Was it your wife who commissioned you to ascertain that?”

“As if women ever meddled in science! It’s an idea that came into my head as I contemplated the magnificent lindens in our avenue. You haven’t seen our avenue yet, have you?”

“I have seen nothing, as I have just arrived; but when you have found out the age of a tree, what will you do with it?”

“Oh! you distress me, Freluchon! When one makes a scientific discovery, one endows one’s country with it, and the country rewards one. It may lead to anything!”

At that moment a vinous voice arose in the distance, calling:

“Hallo there! Belleville! damnation! Belleville! What in the deuce has become of our friend? Ho there! you fellows!”

“Hark! it seems to me that I hear the baron’s voice!” said Chamoureau; “he is looking for me.—This way, baron, this way! It’s getting dark, and this village isn’t lighted with gas as yet.”

Croque was tipsy; but as he was accustomed to being in that condition, he was quite firm on his legs, and even essayed to twirl his cane from time to time. However, as he walked toward Chamoureau, he failed to notice rather a deep rut, and he fell at full length in the road.

Thereupon he emitted a string of oaths calculated to appall a carter.

“Bless my soul!” cried Chamoureau, “I believe that Monsieur de Schtapelmerg has made a false step!”

“I am inclined to think that he has fallen altogether,” observed Freluchon.

And the two gentlemen went to assist Croque, who could not succeed in extricating himself from the rut.

“Ah! cré nom, tarteiff! a thousand million colored pipes! What in the devil’s the sense of roads like this! this is a vile hole of a place, this village of yours. When you dig holes, you ought to put lamps by ’em. Isn’t there any mayor here—cré coquin?”

“I hope you’re not hurt, my dear baron?”

“Ouiche! do I ever hurt myself? I’ve fallen farther than that—when I jumped from a first-floor, yes, and a second-floor window!”

“Take hold of me, monsieur; there, that’s right.”

“Hallo! there’s somebody else! is it neighbor Luminot?”

“No, dear baron, it isn’t our neighbor Luminot; it’s one of my friends from Paris, Freluchon, who has come down this evening so as to come to our fête to-morrow.”

“Oh! it seems he was afraid of missing the coach, was friend Tirebouchon!”

“I didn’t say Tirebouchon, baron, but Freluchon.”

“And if I should choose to murder your name, monsieur,” retorted the diminutive youth, “I might call you something extremely vulgar!”

Croque, who was once more on his feet, rubbed his nose and strove to recover his self-possession, muttering:

“Monsieur, I had no intention—I didn’t mean—however, a name’s a name, and after all, if I’ve offended you—ten thousand sauerkrauts! I am all here; I don’t retreat, at cards or at table.”

“Monsieur le baron, I am persuaded that you do not retreat anywhere; but you have not offended me; call me Tirebouchon if it amuses you, and I will join in the laughter.”

“A thousand kirschwassers! if you’re not satisfied——”

“But I tell you, on the contrary, that I am perfectly satisfied. I am not like Chamoureau, who doesn’t want to be called by his own name.”

“Cha—Cha—Chamou—what’s that you say? De Belleville’s name is Chamou?”

“Formerly—before my marriage,” stammered Chamoureau, “I may have had another name, but the moment I dropped it, I ceased to have it!”

“I say, that’s a good one! My sister didn’t tell me that, the hussy!”

“Who’s your sister?” cried Chamoureau.

Croque saw that he had been imprudent. To make his interlocutors forget it, he began to pretend to be in a quarrelsome mood once more.

“Never mind about that!” he said; “I’m an old soldier, I am, triple sauerkraut! I’m a bully boy who has shown his mettle, I am—in all sorts of ways, do you hear, Monsieur—Cornichon?”

“Ha! ha! very good! very pretty! we are pleased to make puns on my name, are we? Go on! The pomard makes you clever—spirituel.”

“What! the pomard makes me spirituous—spiritueux! What business is it of yours? If I have been drinking pomard, it didn’t belong to you; you haven’t got the like of it in your cellars, you miserable Chonchon—Torchon!”

“Oh! Monsieur de—excuse me if I don’t finish your name; I’m afraid you’re a bit quarrelsome in your cups. Come, let’s not get excited; I helped you out of your wheel-rut, and to reward me, you propose a duel. There! there! let’s be good friends.”

But the more mildness Freluchon displayed, the uglier Croque became, because he thought that the other was afraid of him. He advanced upon the young man, twirling his cane and talking in a tone that seemed to proceed from the depths of his chest.

“I tell you, you’re a shrimp. Yes, I have been drinking pomard—what business is it of yours, ten thousand smoked hams! I have a right to drink at Belleville’s, and you haven’t. I’ll drink as much as I please, and I’ll smash your jaw!”

“Oh! baron, baron, this is disgusting talk! surely you are anxious to return to your rut.”

“What’s that about a rut? I’ll chuck you into it!”

But, as Croque raised his cane over Freluchon’s head, the latter dealt him such a well-directed blow with his fist, that the self-styled baron fell back into the hole from which they had lifted him and lay there for some moments before he recovered his breath.

“Mon Dieu! you have killed him!” cried Chamoureau.

“If I did kill him, it would be no great loss to mankind, for this baron of yours, who swears by sauerkraut and kirschwasser, gives me rather a poor idea of the company I shall meet to-morrow at your house.”

“Why, he’s a very comme il faut man; he’s rather hot-headed, that’s all.”

“Oh! I have an idea that this baron is brummagem; and furthermore——”

“Mon Dieu! what am I going to do?”

“Don’t be alarmed, Chamoureau, such fellows are hard to kill. Look, what did I say? he’s moving a paw already.”

“Let’s help him to get up.”

“Oh, no! not I. I don’t help ingrates twice over!”

Croque raised his head, opened one eye, looked all about him, and stammered:

“Credié! what a crack! It was magnificent! I’ve been hit before, but never anything like that; it sobered me off in an instant!”

“Well, baron, if you say so, I’ll begin again.”

“Thanks! oh! no, I thank you! I’ve had enough; I’ve had my reckoning.—De Belleville, give me your hand, old fellow.”

When he was on his feet once more, Croque walked toward Freluchon and offered him his hand, saying:

“Young man, you’re a fine fellow; you have my esteem; let’s be friends.”

“Ah! you’re satisfied now, are you, monsieur le baron? You don’t want to fight any more?”

“I am perfectly satisfied. Shake! I am very glad to have made your acquaintance.”

“And I was certain that it would end like this. Bonsoir, messieurs; I am going to hunt up Edmond.”

“Until to-morrow, Freluchon; we rely on you. Try to bring Monsieur Edmond; my wife has invited him too.”

“Parbleu! I don’t doubt it; but I don’t know what he means to do. Until to-morrow.”

“No ill-will, Monsieur—Merluchon?”

“Oh! not the slightest, baron.”

Croque and Chamoureau walked away arm-in-arm, leaning on each other. Freluchon soon arrived at Madame Dalmont’s. Edmond was at the piano with Agathe, but Honorine was thoughtful and melancholy, for her new friend, Paul, had not come to see them.

Freluchon enlivened the company by describing what had taken place between himself and the Baron von Schtapelmerg.

“Is that the gentleman whom you thought so ugly?” Agathe asked her friend.

“Yes, and I haven’t changed my opinion.”

“Frankly,” said Freluchon, “I have rather a poor opinion of that man, who talks about nothing but sauerkraut and kirschwasser; I never heard a genuine baron swear as he does. And then he let fall some words which—impressed me. I propose to study this baron.—Are you going to Madame de Belleville’s ball to-morrow, Edmond?”

“I have no desire to.”

“You make a mistake; I have an idea that it will be very interesting.”

“Go there for a moment,” said Honorine; “otherwise they will say that we kept you from going.”

“What do I care?”

“Go,” said Agathe, “if for nothing more than to satisfy yourself whether those people do say unkind things about us.”

“That reason persuades me, dear Agathe, although I do not believe that anyone dares to speak ill of you. No matter; I will go to Madame de Belleville’s ball.”

“And I,” said Freluchon, “shall go first to the dinner, yes, and to the breakfast—to everything, and try to sit next the Baron von What’s-his-name at table. I will ply him with drink, and then I fancy that I shall hear some curious things.”

The two young men left the ladies, and as they passed Poucette, Freluchon, who attempted to ascertain whether the young peasant wore a hoop-skirt, received a kick on the shins from her clogs.