The Flower Girl of The Chateau d'Eau Volume I Part 14

"No, I am more than eighteen; and at that age, a girl is much older than a boy and ought to have more common sense."

"Oh! that's all nonsense! on the contrary, there are men of seventeen who are already soldiers, and who have been in the army. Why, there's a little drummer, who was lately stationed at the barracks in Faubourg du Temple, who was not more than eighteen years old, and he had been to Africa, where he pa.s.sed three years, and was in battles with the Arabs."

"Does that tempt you? Are you inclined to go as a drummer?"

"I don't say that; still, if I didn't have my mother, and if there wasn't any hope of my being loved by the person I love, why, then----"

"Come, come! go and do your errand, Georget; you forget that that gentleman paid you in advance!"

"You are right, mamzelle; I stand here talking, and the time pa.s.ses so quickly when I am talking with you! But I mean that you shall be satisfied with me; I won't be sad any more, and I won't loaf any more."

"We shall see!"

"Then will you have a little affection for me?"

"Haven't I already? do you doubt it? Yes, I have affection for you, because I know that you are not a ne'er-do-well, a good-for-nothing, like so many others of your age, and because you are so fond of your mother, whose only support you are. Ah! how lucky you are to have your mother, Georget, and to be able to work for her! If I only knew mine, I would take such pleasure in giving her the fruit of my work, in kissing her and coddling her and taking every care of her! Oh, yes! I would have loved my mother dearly! but I never had one, or rather she is dead; or else--she deserted me!"

"There, now it is you who are sad! don't think about all that any more, mamzelle; they say that children without parents, and without a name, are the ones who always make their fortune."

"Why! that is easily understood, because then the good Lord takes the place of their family, He never loses sight of them, and gives them good inspirations; and with a protector like Him, they can never fail to make their way.--But you must go, Georget!"

"Yes, mamzelle. Ah! I am happy this morning! my heart is full of joy; I have talked with you, and I shall have a good day."

"Good! now you are in good spirits, and that is the way I love to see you, the way I would like you to be always, because--Well, it is changing already! your brow is clouded and you turn pale;--what is the matter, Georget? Don't you feel well?"

The young messenger had, in fact, changed color, and his smiling face, his eyes beaming with happiness, had suddenly a.s.sumed a different expression. A single glance in the distance had sufficed to cause this revolution: Georget had caught sight of Monsieur Jericourt, the handsome man who was in love with the flower girl, walking very slowly in front of the Chateau d'Eau, not like a person who was going elsewhere, but like one who had come there with a purpose.

Violette followed the direction of Georget's eyes, and speedily discovered the cause of his change of countenance; thereupon she shrugged her shoulders impatiently and cried:

"Mon Dieu! is it going to begin again?--You are going to do your errand, I hope, Georget?"

"Yes, mamzelle, yes, I'm going, I'm going right away; for if I didn't, I might do more foolish things. Here comes that perfumed dandy who makes love to you--here he comes again; it seems that he means to come every day now; it's a regular thing!"

"That gentleman is perfectly free to walk on the boulevard; what makes you think it's on my account?"

"What makes me think so? why, it's plain enough; you know as well as I do that it's on your account. Oh! what a pity that the boulevard's free to everybody!--I'm going, mamzelle, I'm going!"

Georget made up his mind to go, at last; he pa.s.sed Jericourt, upon whom he bestowed a savage glance; but that gentleman did not notice him.

On the previous day the young author had been flatly snubbed by the flower girl, and before witnesses too, which made his discomfiture even more unpalatable. While dining at Bonvalet's restaurant, with his friend Saint-Arthur and the piquant little actress who was his friend's mistress, Jericourt had had to submit to the raillery of Beau Alfred, who, to compensate himself for having been thrown down and having broken his suspenders, had not ceased to repeat:

"It was Jericourt's fault! he was making love to the flower girl, and there seemed to be no end to it; but the pretty peddler didn't bite at his gallantries--I fancy that our dear friend will have nothing to show for his seductive propositions. Ha! ha! ha! repulsed with heavy loss by a flower girl! It's incredible, it's most annoying! He doesn't choose to admit it, but I am sure that he's terribly annoyed."

And Mademoiselle Zizi, the young actress who was so alluring in salacious roles, and who perhaps had her own reasons for taking the thing to heart, outdid the little man in jocose remarks, and exclaimed with a most significant glance at Jericourt:

"Ah! that was well done! it was well done! How pleased I am! I shouldn't be any happier if I were offered an engagement at the Palais-Royal! What a nice little story to tell at the theatre! How they will laugh!--Ah! so our author friends affect flower girls, do they? that is very fine!

Instead of sticking to actresses, who at least are in their line, and whom it would certainly induce to put more fire and talent into their parts--Ha! ha! to make love to a flower girl, and to have nothing to show for it! how humiliating!--Poor Jericourt! he looks as glum as an owl."

The young author, affecting the utmost tranquillity, simply replied to these attacks:

"If that young flower girl should appear on the stage, I'll wager that she would eclipse many people who think now that they have a hold on the public!"

"Is that meant for me?" cried Mademoiselle Zizi, throwing a lobster claw in Jericourt's face.

"Why, no! of course not!" hastily interposed Saint-Arthur, as the author did not respond. "For you! upon my word! how can you imagine such a thing, when Jericourt is wild over your talent? For he has told me so a hundred times; he says that you will replace Dejazet.--Haven't you said that to me often, Jericourt?"

But the angry author continued to maintain an obstinate silence, which increased the irritation of the little actress.

"In any event," she cried, "no one will be able to judge of my talent in any of monsieur's plays; for some time past he has given me nothing but unimportant parts."

"I give you more than my brother authors do, for they don't give you any parts at all."

"What does that prove? That all authors belong to a coterie; that they allow themselves to be inveigled by the prayers of this one and the enticements of that one, or by the advice of the manager, who has his reasons for looking after still another one. O the stage! O you authors!

it's shocking, the injustice we have to put up with; and then they throw a flower girl in our faces! and tell us that she has only to appear to leave us behind! In that case, we're only stop-gaps, eh?--Oh! it's an outrage! it's abominable! O G.o.d! my nerves! I am suffocating! I am dying!"

And Mademoiselle Zizi threw herself back on the divan, stretching out her legs and arms, gnas.h.i.+ng her teeth, and wriggling like one possessed; whereupon Beau Saint-Arthur quickly seized a carafe, exclaiming in a tone of deep distress:

"The deuce! now she's going to have a nervous attack; that's very pleasant. The devil take you, Jericourt, you're the cause of it all; you spoke so roughly to her! Look, see how rigid she is!"

"That will pa.s.s away!" replied Jericourt very calmly, helping himself to some truffled calves' brains.

_"Canaille!"_ muttered Mademoiselle Zizi, still rigid.

And Alfred, as he approached his charmer with a gla.s.s of cold water, was repulsed by her so sharply that a part of the contents of the gla.s.s splashed in his face, while the young woman muttered, taking pains to grind her teeth together:

"I want my blue phial with the opal stopper; I must have it."

"Where is it, dear love? Shall I feel in your pocket?"

"Don't come near me. My phial is at my rooms, on my dressing table in the boudoir."

"Very good--I'll send a waiter."

"No, monsieur, I insist on your going yourself; the waiter would make some mistake."

"But you haven't two blue phials, and----"

"I insist on your going yourself, or else I won't try to live."

These last words were accompanied by such violent gnas.h.i.+ng of the teeth, that the affectionate Alfred, fearing that his mistress would dislocate her jaw, hastened to take his hat, saying to Jericourt:

"I must humor her; you see what a paroxysm she is having, and her blue phial contains some salt, I don't know what--some mixture that brings her round at once. So that she often sends me to get it, for she never remembers to take it with her. I will run to her house; luckily it isn't far--Rue Ba.s.se. But for all that it isn't amusing.--Don't leave her, Jericourt, above all things; do what you can for her."

"Never fear."

The dandified Saint-Arthur, leaving Bonvalet's, almost ran to Rue Ba.s.se-du-Temple, and on reaching his mistress's abode, was received by her maid, who also was dining, and who had hurriedly locked the dining-room door, taking the precaution to remove the key; she ushered the young lion into the salon, saying:

"Come in here, monsieur, and wait; I'll go and fetch madame's phial."