Volume 14 / Part 2 — XX THE NURSE.—THE QUARREL

“First of all, ladies and gentlemen, you must know that this nurse does not belong to this part of the country; she used to live with her husband at Morfontaine, a charming village near Ermenonville.”

“Morfontaine!” cried Thélénie, turning pale.

“Yes, my dear love, she lived at Morfontaine; her husband was a laboring man—I forgot to ask her in what trade; but they weren’t rich, so that the woman, having become a mother, conceived the idea of going to Paris to get a nursling. Her husband approved of the idea, so Jacqueline Treillard—that is the woman’s name—arrived in Paris one fine morning.”

“The woman’s name is Jacqueline, you say?”

“Yes, my dear love, Jacqueline Treillard; but you will see how dramatic and romantic the story grows.”

Thélénie’s brow grew dark, when she acquired the certainty that it was her own story that was to be told; but she strove to conceal her emotion and swallowed a glass of champagne frappé, saying:

“Well, monsieur, go on; your story has a romantic beginning.”

“It bears much resemblance to a romance.—Well, there was Jacqueline in Paris; she had no sooner left the stage than she met a woman, who said to her: ‘You are looking for a child to nurse; I have just what you want—the child of a baroness, who will pay you handsomely.’ Jacqueline was delighted and accepted the proposal; the woman took her to a house where she found a lady—a very beautiful lady, it seems,—and a cradle with a new-born child in it. They agreed on a price—thirty francs a month. This Baronne de Mortagne—I forgot to tell you that this lady called herself the Baronne de Mortagne. Does anyone here know a baroness of that name?”

Everyone answered negatively, and Freluchon said:

“That baroness probably was a joke, after the manner of certain barons, whom we frequently meet in society.—Go on, Silvestre de Belleville.”

“The Baronne de Mortagne paid the nurse for five months in advance, also the cost of her journey, and ordered her to go straight back to Morfontaine with little Emile—I forgot to tell you that the child’s name was Emile. She told Jacqueline not to bring him to Paris, adding that she would go to see him when she had time. The nurse, however, took pains to ask the lady for her address; as she didn’t know Paris at all, she had no idea where she had been taken. They gave her a written address, packed her into the stage, and sent her back to Morfontaine with her foster-child, delighted with her day’s work!

“But two months passed and three months, and Jacqueline did not hear a word from little Emile’s mother. She said to herself, that when the five months had passed, the lady would undoubtedly come to see her son and bring her more money. But no! the five months passed, and no one came. Meanwhile the poor nurse had become a widow and had lost her own child. As she needed money, she decided to go to Paris. She got somebody to read to her the address the baroness had given her—I forgot to tell you that Jacqueline didn’t know how to read; that is an unimportant detail. What was written on the paper was: ‘La Baronne de Mortagne, at her hôtel on Rue de Grenelle, Faubourg Saint-Germain.’—On her arrival in Paris, Jacqueline inquired the way to Rue de Grenelle. I forgot to tell you that she didn’t know Paris.”

“Yes! yes! you did tell us; go on, Silvestre.”

“Well! arrived in Paris, and on Rue de Grenelle, the nurse couldn’t find the house from which she had taken her nursling. She inquired, she asked on both sides of the street for Madame la Baronne de Mortagne; no one knew that lady—it was a false address!”

“And a false baroness; we guessed that at the very beginning of your story.”

“Finding that all her inquiries were useless, Jacqueline returned to Morfontaine with the child; she was entitled to turn him over to the magistrate and not keep him any longer, but, poor as she was, the good woman would not abandon her foster-child.”

“Ah! that was very well done!”

“There was a nurse with more heart than a mother!”

“But how does it happen,” asked Thélénie in a hesitating tone, “that this nurse who lived at Morfontaine is now at Chelles?”

“Because she has a sister who lives here, the widow Tourniquoi. This sister, being in comfortable circumstances, learned that Jacqueline was almost destitute since her husband’s death, so she proposed to her to come here to live with her. Jacqueline asked nothing better; she came with the little boy, who unfortunately has grown up to be a very tough subject!”

“He probably takes after his mother,” said Freluchon.

“I learned all these details by talking with Jacqueline, when I went there to complain of the boy. The poor woman still loves him, she begged me with tears in her eyes to forgive him, and she said:

“‘Oh! if you knew how lovely his mother was, monsieur! I never saw her but once, and that was eight years ago, but if I should see her I should know her in a minute, her beauty made such an impression on me!’”

Thélénie could not control a nervous tremor; but she struggled to overcome it, saying:

“It seems to me that we have had quite enough of this nurse.”

“I beg pardon,” said Freluchon; “I propose that, before we leave the subject, we take up a collection for this excellent woman, who, although poor, would not abandon the child that was placed in her care.”

“Yes! yes! a collection for the nurse!”

“An excellent idea!”

“Do you agree with me, Baron Schtapelmerg?”

“Count me in; count me generous! Here’s the nurse’s health!”

“It isn’t a question of drinking only; everybody’s feeling in his pocket, you see.”

“Ah! that’s so. Pardieu! I’ll give ten sous.”

“That isn’t much for a baron! but perhaps it’s enough for you. I will collect the offerings in this preserve dish.”

“Faith! the money can go to its address at once,” said Chamoureau; “for, as I wanted little Emile to make a public apology to my wife, I told Jacqueline to bring him to us while we were at dinner.”

Thélénie glared at her husband with a savage gleam in her eyes.

“What, monsieur? what did you say? this nurse——”

“Is coming here, my dear love, with the little vagabond, to apologize to you. It’s a little surprise I arranged for you. Then we will give the good woman the money we have collected for her. I can see her joy now; it will make a charming picture!”

“Why, monsieur, you have no common sense! What need have we of that peasant woman’s presence, to bore us with her chatter?”

At that moment a servant came forward and said:

“There’s a country woman outside with a little boy; she wishes to pay her respects to madame.”

Thélénie rose abruptly.

“This is very strange!” she said; “I am terribly dizzy; I do not feel at all well. Receive this woman, monsieur, and send her away. Come with me, Héloïse. Pray don’t be alarmed, my friends, it will not be anything serious.”

And Thélénie took her friend’s arm and left the tent with a rapidity most surprising in a person who feels indisposed.

But the guests did not notice this circumstance; they were awaiting with interest the nurse and the little boy, who soon presented themselves, the former with repeated curtsies, the latter staring at the whole company with an impertinent expression.

“That little fellow has very fine eyes!” said Freluchon; “they are almost as large as Madame de Belleville’s. Don’t you think so, Baron von Schtapelmerg?”

The baron, who was beginning to be a little tipsy, replied:

“My sister has the finest eyes in Paris!”

“Your sister! who’s your sister?”

Croque saw that he had made a false step.

“Yes, I’ve got a sister,” he rejoined, “who has a pair of eyes like portes cochères.”

And he poured out a glass of water and swallowed it at a draught, muttering:

“I’ve had enough wine for to-day; I must look out for myself.”

Meanwhile Chamoureau, thinking that the moment had come to put in a little speech, took the preserve dish which contained the proceeds of the collection, and said to the peasant:

“My good woman, it is with renewed pleasure—no; I noticed long ago—wait; no, never mind that.—You will not see Madame de Belleville, for, notwithstanding her earnest desire to know you, a sudden indisposition, which I attribute to—what on earth can have made my wife ill? perhaps it was the melon; and yet it was delicious; but there is much difference in digestions—What were we saying?—Ah! there’s the little rascal who dared to throw stones at my wife. He looks promising. I say, my buck—my lost child!—he’s the lost child, isn’t he?”

“Alas! yes, monsieur.”

“Well, little gallows-bird [petit pendu]—lost child [petit perdu], I mean,—though, after all, if he keeps on, I shouldn’t be surprised if he got hanged some day!”

“Oh, monsieur! on my word——”

“Do not be alarmed, Widow Jacqueline Treillard, that is simply a supposition.—Well, you little rascal, will you ever throw stones at my wife again?”

“You’re the one I’ll throw ‘em at, to teach you to say I’m going to be hung!” retorted the boy, glaring angrily at Chamoureau, who was completely disconcerted, for he did not expect that retort.

Freluchon, observing the widow’s distress, rose hastily, took the preserve dish from Chamoureau’s hands, and poured the contents into Jacqueline’s apron.

“There, my good woman,” he said, “it was my idea to take up this collection for your benefit; so it is my place to hand you the proceeds, especially as Monsieur de Belleville keeps you waiting too long. Now, go away with your foster-child; for he might say things which would put him out of favor in this house.”

The peasant opened her eyes at sight of the money in her apron; she tried to express her thanks, but Chamoureau motioned to the servants to take her away, and in a moment Jacqueline and the boy disappeared.

As Madame de Belleville did not return, they soon left the table, to take coffee in the salons.

“I am greatly distressed,” said Chamoureau, “that my wife should have been taken ill, for she has lost the pleasure of seeing the nurse, and hearing the little boy.”

“Especially,” said Freluchon, “as she seemed very anxious to see them, and as the little boy said things that were very pleasant to hear.”

At last Thélénie reappeared in the salons. She had changed her dress, which fact satisfactorily accounted for her long absence. Admiring exclamations greeted her striking beauty and her new costume.

“Evidently,” cried Monsieur Luminot, “Madame de Belleville intends to turn all our heads!”

This compliment was warmly applauded; there was a concert of praise which became almost frenzied; it was easy to see that they had all dined sumptuously.

Thélénie, while smiling affably in response to the compliments with which she was bombarded, found a way to approach Croque and whisper to him:

“You must not go away to-night until I have spoken to you; don’t forget; it is very important!”

Ere long a rocket gave the signal for the fireworks, which were displayed in front of the house. Chamoureau had insisted on having his own monogram and his wife’s on a transparency. But the pyrotechnist, having misunderstood his instructions, had supplied an E instead of a C; so that the transparency presented the combination E B T.

It was applauded none the less heartily. Thélénie alone shrugged her shoulders, as she said to her husband:

“Let’s hope, monsieur, this will be your last surprise!”

Many people came for the ball only; among them was Edmond, who entered the gorgeous salons of the villa about eleven o’clock.

Chamoureau ran to meet him and grasped his hand.

“My dear Monsieur Edmond Didier,” he said, “how delighted I am to have you as my guest.”

“My congratulations, Chamoureau—I beg pardon! Monsieur de Belleville; your house is magnificent!”

“Isn’t it? It is truly regal. My wife will be very glad to see you; shall I present you to her?”

“Oh! it’s not worth while. I have the honor of her acquaintance, you know.”

“Yes, to be sure! I had quite forgotten that you used to—know her! But excuse me; they are going to dance, and my wife has given me a list of seventeen people that I must dance with.”

“Go; don’t stand on ceremony.”

Thélénie caught sight of Edmond, and a gleam of satisfaction lighted up her face, which had been very dark ever since she had learned that Jacqueline Treillard was at Chelles. She went forward at once to meet the young man, thanked him for coming to her party and gave him a most cordial welcome. Then she pointed to the card tables, saying:

“If you don’t wish to dance, there is a way of passing the time; do whatever you choose.”

Edmond sought out Freluchon and asked in a low tone:

“How has the affair gone off?”

“My dear fellow, first of all I must do justice to the dinner; it was magnificent, nothing was lacking. Chamoureau was adorably idiotic and told us about a scientific discovery that was enough to make one burst with laughter. But after that there was a very peculiar story of a nurse. I have strange suspicions; I’ll tell you about it later. Look you, if you take my advice, you won’t stay here. Let’s go right away, I’ll go with you.”

“Why so, pray?”

“I have an idea that Thélénie is concocting some villainy against you; I have surprised a number of hints and treacherous smiles. That woman has never forgiven you for leaving her first!”

“Nonsense! you are mad! Thélénie has a lot of money, and she thinks of nothing but making a show with it; she doesn’t give me a thought. What should I look like—to come here and run right away again? I mean to play cards. Gad! if I could only win!”

“Then you won’t go away?”

“No, certainly not.”

“In that case, do at least be on your guard.”

“Really, Freluchon, I have never seen you as you are to-night.”

“Distrust especially that villainous looking fellow who is watching the dancing, there at the left; he’s a German baron, who is no more a German than he is a baron, and whom I suspect of being——”

“Well, what?”

“Thélénie’s brother!”

“What an idea! I never heard of her having a brother.”

“An additional reason that! it was probably because he was not a subject that she deemed good enough to put on exhibition.”

“What kind of wine have you been drinking, to have such gloomy ideas?”

“Oh! I haven’t drunk too much; I have been very careful. It isn’t possible that that woman invited us for our good looks; let’s go away.”

“Freluchon, if I am really in any danger here, go away if you choose; I am going to stay.”

“Enough! let’s say no more about it. I am going to dance a polka.”

The ball-room and card-rooms were soon full of animation. The servants went constantly to and fro with salvers laden with punch, hot or cold. They also passed madeira, champagne and claret; it seemed that the master, or rather the mistress of the house had no other object than to make the guests tipsy.

Thanks to this species of refreshment, the hilarity soon became uproarious, the dances assumed a decidedly Spanish character, and the ladies plunged into them with an abandon that was at times decidedly eccentric.

Monsieur Droguet, who insisted on taking part in all the dances, even those that he did not know, had already been thrown to the floor three times; which did not deter him from beginning again as soon as he was on his feet.

Madame Droguet waltzed with the aplomb of a tower; she did not fall, but woe to those who collided with her! She and Monsieur Luminot, her partner, bumped into and overthrew everyone who came in their path. The ex-dealer in wines had not allowed a salver of punch or champagne to pass him by without saying a word to it. The result was that he was purple; his eyes were starting from his head, and he seemed inclined to defy the whole world.

Edmond, after playing a few rubbers of whist, had taken his place at a lansquenet table, where he was not lucky. Croque did not lose sight of him, and when he left the lansquenet table, he accosted him, saying:

“I don’t care for that game; you lose your money at it without a chance to defend yourself, without having even the pleasure of playing. I prefer écarté, that’s a game full of fine points. Does monsieur play it?”

“To be sure.”

“Would you like to play a few games? here’s an unoccupied table.”

“I should be glad to; let us see if I shall be more fortunate at this game than the others.”

“You probably will, monsieur, for I lose at it all the time, which does not prevent my being very fond of it; but we always become attached to ingrates!”

Edmond seated himself at a card-table opposite Croque, who continued:

“I like to play rather high.”

“So do I.”

“Then we have the same tastes. Twenty francs—does that frighten you? these little gold pieces are so convenient!”

“Twenty francs it is.”

The game began, and although the soi-disant baron declared that he always lost at it, he won the first game and the next and all the rest, and the yellow boys flowed in his direction.

Edmond had lost more than a hundred francs; but he tried to recoup by increasing his stake, which suited his opponent perfectly.

“Monsieur,” he replied to every such suggestion, “I am a bold player! I never refuse a man his revenge, and I cover whatever stake is proposed.”

Thélénie passed through the card-room several times to see what was going on; finally she came again, but with several ladies. She had Madame Droguet on her arm; Mesdames Remplumé and Jarnouillard, with others, came behind. They all seated themselves near the table at which Croque and Edmond were playing écarté.

“I am not sorry to rest a little,” said the corpulent Droguet, sinking on a couch; “we danced that whole waltz without stopping, didn’t we, Beau Luminot?”

Beau Luminot, puffing noisily, had taken his stand behind the ladies. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead as he replied:

“I’m as wet as a dish-rag; but we waltzed like Flora and Zephyr.”

“Your husband is on edge, Madame de Belleville; he hasn’t missed a dance yet.”

“He is simply doing his duty; a host should set the example; he has got to exhaust his list.”

“He may well be exhausted himself first. Are you ladies going to play cards?”

“Perhaps, neighbor, perhaps; we want to vary our pleasures.”

“I’ll bet two sous, if anybody will cover them.”

“Oh! Monsieur Luminot! do you dare to mention two sous? Don’t you see that these gentlemen are playing for gold?”

“Gold! real gold?”

“As real as can be!” replied Croque; “and if you want to bet a few napoleons on my opponent, I’ll take all bets.”

“I! I think not! I’ll bet two sous and no more!”

“Well, mesdames, have you enjoyed yourselves?” inquired Thélénie.

“Oh! your party is simply enchanting, Madame de Belleville; it is magnificent!”

“Admirable!”

“What a charming company you have brought together!”

“I tried to have the best people in the neighborhood.”

“And you have succeeded.”

“I did think for a moment of inviting those two ladies who bought Monsieur Courtivaux’s house, but——”

“Fie! fie! my dear love! What were you thinking of? why those women are not received anywhere!”

“But I thought——”

“La Dalmont and Demoiselle Agathe; does anybody know who they are?”

The names of Madame Dalmont and Agathe reached Edmond’s ears, and he listened, continuing his game.

“On the contrary,” cried Madame Remplumé, “we know much too well who they are!”

“Yes, you are right; we know some fine things about those flaunting hussies.”

“Of whom are you speaking, madame?” said Edmond, turning abruptly toward Madame Droguet.

“Of whom am I speaking, monsieur!” rejoined the giantess, slightly taken aback by this sudden question. “Why, in the first place, it seems to me that I am not accountable to you.”

“Madame was speaking of the persons with whom you pass your evenings,” observed Thélénie with a sneering smile.

“And madame, in speaking of those ladies, presumed to make use of expressions which I cannot and will not endure.”

“I have the vole and the king,” said Croque, marking three points.

“What does that mean, monsieur?” demanded the ex-vivandière, rolling her eyes furiously. “You don’t wish me to say what everyone in this neighborhood thinks about those ladies; why should I hesitate, I pray to know?”

“What do people in the neighborhood say of those ladies?”

“I mark the king.”

“They say, monsieur, that they are—not of much account; and no one will receive them!”

“Those who say that, madame, do so either from evil-mindedness or from stupidity; and none but the most despicable people can possibly make such remarks!”

“Despicable! Monsieur, it seems to me that you insult me!”

“It is you, madame, who insult two persons who deserve all your respect.”

“I have won!”

“My respect! Ha! ha! that is too much! Luminot, do you hear what monsieur says?”

“What is it? what’s the matter? what are you talking about?”

“The two women who live in the Courtivaux house.”

“Ah! hussies! wantons!”

Edmond sprang to his feet and grasped Luminot’s arm, crying:

“Monsieur, admit that you have lied, that your words are false; take them back at once, or I won’t answer for my wrath!”

The Droguets, Remplumés and Jarnouillards shrieked in unison:

“He has told the truth; he won’t say anything different; he has simply expressed our opinion.”

“Take it back, monsieur, take it back instantly!”

“No, I won’t take it back,” said the former wine merchant, whose brain was excited by all he had drunk, and who was inflamed by the harpies who surrounded him. “On the contrary, I repeat it: those two women are——”

A violent blow on the cheek prevented him from finishing his sentence.

Bewildered a moment by the blow he had received, Luminot stared vacantly about; but when he saw Edmond still glaring at him with a threatening expression, the stout man prepared to rush at him.

All the ladies present, instead of trying to hold him back, were rather inclined to lend him their assistance; but at that moment Freluchon appeared on the scene, attracted by the noise; he forced his way through the crowd to Luminot’s side, and just as he extended his arm to strike Edmond, the diminutive fellow’s muscular arms took him by the waist, lifted him like a feather and tossed him upon whoever happened to be behind him. The wine merchant fell upon Monsieur Droguet, whom he flattened out beneath him.

Thereupon lamentable cries arose.

“Oh! mon Dieu! they have crushed my husband!” shrieked Madame Droguet.

“This is the scene which I expected,” said Freluchon, “and which Madame Chamoureau had carefully arranged! Now, Edmond, I trust that you will consent to go away with me.—Chamoureau, my boy, your little fête was delightful; and your wife, Madame Chamoureau, whose name is no more De Belleville than mine is Abd-el-Kader, arranged some very charming surprises for us.”

“Monsieur,” said Edmond, walking up to Luminot, who had struggled to his feet, but was very sore about the loins, “men of breeding do not settle their quarrels like street porters. I am ready to give you satisfaction. I live in this village, as you are well aware; to-morrow I shall expect your seconds.—Let us be off, Freluchon.”

“Off we go, my dear fellow.—I present my respects to Monsieur and Madame Chamoureau.—Ah! and the German baron who doesn’t know German; I was forgetting him. Good-night, my dear Schtapelmerg! a thousand sauerkrauts in my name to your acquaintances.”

“Don’t you mean to chastise such insolence?” murmured Thélénie, touching Croque’s arm. But he replied simply:

“Not such an ass! He lifted that enormous man as if he was a feather! Peste! he’s too strong!”