Above this lady, whose name was Madame Picotee, were two young men who devoted themselves to literature, which did not prevent them from ogling their neighbors, when they were attractive.

In the building at the left, on the first floor, was a dressmaker's establishment; on the second, a painter of miniatures; on the third, a photographer. In all the buildings, the rooms under the eaves were reserved for servants.

The building that looked on the boulevard contained the handsomest apartments, and, consequently, the most important tenants of the house.

On the first floor was a very rich gentleman with two servants: a maid and a valet. On the second, a young couple; the husband was engaged in business, the wife in coquetry; she was pretty and a flirt, he was ugly and a rake; they had a soubrette with a very wide-awake air, and a cook who drank too much.

On the third floor was a young man who had just received his degree as a physician and who lacked nothing but patients; he looked for them and solicited them everywhere; he would have made some, if it had been possible, but only for the pleasure of taking care of them and the glory of curing them.

After Mademoiselle Georgette took up her abode in the entresol at the rear of the courtyard, all eyes were fastened upon her, and the feminine glances were foremost in seeking to scrutinize and pa.s.s judgment on the new-comer; for women are more curious than men--that is a recognized fact.

It was easy to obtain a sight of the latest arrival; it was April; the weather was very fine, the sun deigned to show his face frequently; and Mademoiselle Georgette, who was very glad to admit him to her little entresol, left her windows open almost all day, and, as her custom was, sat at her window working. You know what her costume was: the white jacket fitting close to her figure, and the skirt clinging about her hips.

So that they could look at her and examine her at their ease; and as she was very attractive, very alluring in her simple costume, the women did not fail to discover that it was very unseemly, and that it was most unbecoming to her. They decided that the little shirtmaker did not know how to dress, and that she had no other beauty than her youth.

The lady who painted her cheeks even went so far as to say that the girl's skirt was indecent, because it outlined her figure too plainly.

To be sure, the lady in question no longer had any figure that could possibly be outlined by her garments; but, on the other hand, she was very fond of going to the Circus, where men perform daring feats on horseback, and she had never found any fault with the exceedingly tight nether garments worn by most of the riders.

The men who lived in the house disagreed entirely with the opinion of the ladies. To a man, they voted the girl most attractive and exceedingly well built; and they rivalled one another in pa.s.sing encomiums upon the grace with which she wore her modest costume. The short black petticoat was declared to be enchanting; and from the first to the topmost floor, the male tenants said to one another:

"Have you seen the girl on the entresol, with her little short skirt?"

"Yes, she's very piquant, is that young woman; she has such a well-set-up figure, and such well-rounded hips! She reminds me of the famous Spanish dancer, Camera Petra."

"Yes, yes, there's a resemblance in her skirt. I saw her in the yard, drawing water at the pump."

"Still in her simple neglige?"

"Yes. Ah! messieurs, if you could have seen her pump! She was so graceful, and her skirt followed her motions so perfectly! It was enough to drive a man mad!"

"She has a very pretty leg too, and a tiny foot."

"She's a mighty pretty girl! I must try to make a conquest of her."

"And I."

"And I."

"And I," said the photographer to himself; "I'll do it quicker than any of 'em, as I'll go to her and suggest taking her picture on a card; for all these young girls are delighted to have their picture."

VIII

A GENTLEMAN WHO DID NOT RUIN HIMSELF FOR WOMEN

There was one man in the house who said nothing; to be sure, he was too lofty a personage to gossip with his neighbors! It was the man who occupied the first-floor suite in the building on the boulevard. His name was Monsieur de Mardeille; was he of n.o.ble birth, or was he not?

that is of little consequence to us; but this much is certain: he had about twenty-five thousand francs a year and he never spent the whole of his income.

Monsieur de Mardeille was at this time about fifty years of age, but he looked hardly forty-four. He had been a very comely person, and was still far from ill-looking. He was of commanding stature, well built, and had had the good fortune not to grow stout as he grew older; thus he was still capable of making conquests, his physical advantages being reinforced by those due to the possession of wealth. Always dressed in the height of fashion, but wise enough to avoid those extreme styles which, while they are endurable in a young man, are ridiculous in middle age, Monsieur de Mardeille had a distinguished bearing and the manners of the best society; and lastly, while he was no eagle, he had that social cleverness which often consists only in a good memory, and is infinitely more common than natural cleverness. With all the rest, he was exceedingly presumptuous, and believed himself to be very shrewd.

It is almost superfluous to say that Monsieur de Mardeille took the greatest care of his health, for he was most solicitous to retain his good looks, and, consequently, his youth; which last is a decidedly difficult thing to do, as we grow older every day. But still, so long as a man has a youthful look he tries to persuade himself that he is really young; to be sure, there is always something in our inmost being that reminds us how old we are; but so long as that something does not let itself be seen, we are ent.i.tled to forget it.

Monsieur de Mardeille, then, took the greatest care of his person; he took medicinal baths twice a week; he took all the laxatives that keep the complexion fresh; he indulged in no excess, either at the table or in love. In fact, as he was a man who thought of nothing but himself, he had never allowed himself to undergo the slightest annoyance because of a woman, for egotists never love. Moreover, this gentleman prided himself upon never having spent money on a mistress. We do not call it spending money when we take a lady to dine at a restaurant, or to the play, or to the Bois in a caleche; for, in such cases, as we have our share of the pleasure, and as we gratify our vanity by parading our conquest, the money is spent for our own behoof. So that Monsieur de Mardeille, having thus far succeeded in having _bonnes fortunes_ that cost him nothing, laughed at his friends, most of whom ruined themselves, or at least ran into debt, to satisfy the whims of the fair ones for whom they sighed.

"What the devil!" he would say, looking at himself in a mirror; "do as I do, messieurs! No woman ever resisted me, and yet I never gave them diamonds or cashmere shawls--still less, money, egad! And I have always taken good care not to pay their milliner's bills; whenever it has happened that a lady who had been kind to me has taken it into her head to send one of her purveyors to me with a little note begging me to help her out of a sc.r.a.pe by paying his bill, I have always begun by turning the man out of doors; and then I have ceased visiting my fair one, to whom I have written: 'I found it impossible to accommodate you, and I dare not see you again.'--Then my mistress was certain to come running after me, overwhelming me with tokens of affection, and crying: 'Can it be that you thought that I loved you from selfish motives? Why, it is you, you alone, whom I love! Oh! come back, come back!'--I have generally let them pull my ear for a while, and then gone back, amid transports of love on their part. For you may be perfectly sure, messieurs, that a woman will never love a man more because he is very gallant and very generous with her. She will take more pains about deceiving him, that's all; for she will hate to lose his gifts and his bounty; but what pleasure is there in possessing a woman who clings to you only from motives of self-interest?"

"But," some of his friends would reply, "have you never felt the pleasure of giving? Are you insensible to the delight one feels in gratifying a woman's desires, in humoring her fancies, her caprices, and in the sweet smile with which she thanks you when you take her a present, whether it be some pretty trifle, or a magnificent jewel?"

"Pardieu! I can readily believe that she smiles at you then; you wouldn't have her make a face at you, would you? But that gracious smile, which transports and intoxicates you, is not bestowed on you, but on the jewel or the shawl that you bring her. And perhaps you think that she loves you the more for it? Why, not at all; she will deceive you the next minute, making fun of you with the friend of her heart, to whom she will laughingly show the present you have just given her. No, messieurs, I do not know, nor have I any desire to know, what you choose to call the pleasure of giving. For that pleasure would deprive me of all confidence in my mistress; and if I am deceived, I can, at all events, say that it has cost me nothing.--And then," De Mardeille would add, "I must say that I have always chosen my conquests in good society, and that, consequently, my mistresses did not need to have me treat them generously."

"That proves nothing. Whatever a woman's rank, she is always flattered to receive a handsome present."

"Perhaps so; but, on the other hand, I am much more flattered when she loves me without any presents."

Now you know the gentleman who lived directly opposite Georgette, and whose windows, being on the first floor, enabled him to look directly into the apartments in the entresol opposite; which entresol was occupied by the pretty shirtmaker, who, as we have already had the privilege of informing you, often left her windows open to enjoy the balmy spring air, and perhaps also to allow her neighbors to see her.

When a woman is pretty, she does not hide herself, unless she is under the sway of a jealous tyrant. And even then she finds a way to let some portion of her person be seen, which may kindle a desire to see the rest.

Monsieur de Mardeille condescended occasionally to sit at a window in his dining-room, which looked on the courtyard; and there, in a stylish neglige, enveloped in a handsome dressing-gown, of velvet or dimity according to the season, his head covered with a dainty cap, the ta.s.sel of which fell gracefully over his right ear, and from beneath which escaped some stray brown locks, which were sternly forbidden to turn gray, my gentleman would bestow a glance or two on those of his neighbors who were worth the trouble of looking at. But thus far he had discovered n.o.body in the house who deserved to be scrutinized for more than an instant.

When Georgette moved in, Monsieur de Mardeille's valet lost no time in informing his master that he had a new neighbor opposite, and added:

"I thought she seemed to be very good-looking."

"Ah! she seemed to you to be good-looking?" replied the old dandy, with a smile. "What sort of woman is this new tenant?"

"She's an unmarried woman, so it seems, monsieur, and she makes men's shirts."

"A shirtmaker! What! do you presume to praise a shirtmaker to me, Frontin?"

Monsieur de Mardeille had insisted that his valet should consent to be called Frontin, although his real name was Eustache; for the name Frontin, which used to be employed in all comic operas, reminded our elegant seducer of a mult.i.tude of interesting and diverting love intrigues, wherein Frontin's master was always triumphant; and it was probably with a view to reproducing in actual life those scenes of the stage that Monsieur de Mardeille had dubbed his servant Frontin. If he had dared, he would have called him Figaro; but he himself was beginning to be a little mature to play Almaviva.

Frontin, a great clown who deemed himself very shrewd, smiled as he answered:

"Faith! monsieur, I thought that a pretty girl was a pretty girl, even if she was a shirtmaker!"

"There may be some little truth in what you say, Frontin; but so far as I am concerned, you must understand that I look at women with other eyes than yours; that is to say, to appear pretty to me, a young woman, even a grisette,--for I do not absolutely debar grisettes,--must have something more than the commonplace beauties which charm you other men on the instant. She must have a--I don't know what--a certain peculiar fascination which we connoisseurs readily recognize, and to which the common herd of martyrs pay no heed. Tell me, Frontin, what you noticed especially alluring in this girl? I shall see at once whether you're an expert."

"What I noticed, monsieur?"

"Yes. And, first of all, where did you see her?"

"I saw her pa.s.s this morning, monsieur, crossing the courtyard; I was in the concierge's lodge, and he said to me: 'See, there's the new tenant of the little entresol! That's Mamzelle Georgette; she's a shirtmaker, and she sews like a fairy, so they say.'--Naturally, I looked at her. I should say that she's about twenty, very well built, with very pleasant, attractive eyes; eyes of the sort that--that----"

"Enough, Frontin, I understand. What else?"