"Yes. I advise you to think of something else, baron."

Frederique threw her red handkerchief on the table, then ran again to the mirror, took a little comb from the pocket of her gown, and in an instant entirely rearranged her coiffure. She selected a beautiful white rose, put it in her hair, made curls much longer than before, and gave herself the aspect of one of those charming English faces of Lawrence, which have been freely reproduced in engravings, and which one cannot look at without the reflection that one would be very fortunate to possess the model.

A most extraordinary woman, this Madame Dauberny! How far I had been from imagining her as she then was! What a captivating succession of moods! First, a very madcap, laughing uproariously; then, of a sudden, serious, almost melancholy, stern even; free in her actions, reserved in her speech; one moment a.s.suming the tone and manners of a man; then abruptly recurring to the graces and dainty ways of a woman! I was still uncertain what opinion to form of her; but the one thing of which I could entertain no doubt was her perfect frankness; I was perfectly certain that she never had any hesitation about saying exactly what she thought.

"Mirlidon, don, don, mirlidaine!" hummed the baron, between his teeth.

Frederique resumed her place at the table, looked me squarely in the eye, and said:

"Well, comrade, what do you think of this arrangement of the hair? But, first of all, my dear fellow, be a.s.sured that there isn't the slightest coquetry in all this! It amuses me to vary my headdress, to give myself a serious, saucy, romantic, harum-scarum look, turn and turn about. I would have liked to be an actress, so that I might have changed my role constantly. Sometimes I am as much of a child as when I was twelve years old; but, I repeat, I don't do all this to make myself attractive; it is only to amuse myself."

"Suppose you were coquettish, where would be the harm? You are ent.i.tled to be."

"I know it, and that's just why I am not. Still, perhaps I am, unconsciously. They say one doesn't know one's self. Why don't you tell me how I look?"

"Because I am at a loss what to say. You were more alluring a moment ago. Now, your aspect inclines one more to reverie, which, I think, is more dangerous."

"And you, baron--what do you think of my new coiffure?"

By dint of humming _Mirlidon, don, don, mirlidaine_, Herr von Brunzbrack had fallen asleep; his only reply was a mumbled repet.i.tion of the refrain.

"He is in some imaginary country," said Frederique, turning again to me.

"Let's let him sleep. For a German, he's a very poor drinker; I mean, he drinks too much. But you are different; you don't show it. It's great fun to get merry, but it's stupid to get tipsy and go to sleep. For my part, I can drink all the champagne I choose, and it only makes me talkative, expansive, don't you know, my friend, don't you know? Ah! I have a strange fancy; if I don't yield to it, I shall stifle!"

"What is it, in heaven's name? Pray yield to it at once!"

"Well, I have a fancy to _tutoyer_[F] you; are you willing?"

I cannot describe the effect produced upon me by that: "Are you willing?"--A sort of shiver pa.s.sed through my body. I was moved to the very depths of my being. For a man cannot, unmoved, hear a young and attractive woman address him thus familiarly. It was of no use for me to say to myself that with Frederique that meant nothing, that it was simply one effect of her originality; I was perturbed, and I did not know what to reply.

She saved me the trouble by going on:

"It's agreed; we will _tutoyer_ each other. I will be your confidant, and you shall be mine. Like the intimate friends we are, we will have no secrets from each other. Give me your hand. Your name is Charles, I believe? Well, I will call you Charles; it's less ceremonious than Rochebrune. Come, shake hands. Aren't you willing to address me as _thou_?"

"Oh, yes, indeed! I am delighted! I will gladly address you--address thee--_thou_."

"One would say that it came rather hard! For my part, I feel as if you were my brother, and I had _thou'd_ thee all my life."

"Ah! you feel as if I were your brother, do you?"

I was not at all pleased to have her look upon me as her brother. Ah!

what conceited fools men are! I fancied that I had turned Frederique's head! Her last words dispelled my illusion. I was silent for a moment, but I soon recovered myself and shook her hand, saying:

"It's agreed, my dear friend: confidences and questions to the fore!

Tell me why your brow darkened just now when we were talking of Monsieur Sordeville? Are you afraid that he doesn't make his wife happy?"

Frederique resumed her grave--yes, sombre air; she lowered her eyes and was silent for some time before she replied:

"You have made an unfortunate choice for your first question. I can't answer it, my dear Charles; there are some things that one must keep concealed in the depths of one's soul, that one cannot reveal--even to a friend--especially when---- I did wrong to give way to thoughts that---- No, it's impossible! it cannot be! I say again: I ought not to have had those thoughts that banished my cheerfulness for a moment. It is altogether useless to mention that subject again."

"I see only one thing clearly, Frederique; and that is that you have a secret that you won't trust to me. You may do as you please!"

"Now it's my turn to ask questions, monsieur. I have been told--by someone I have talked with about you since that wedding; for I have made some inquiries since then, otherwise you must not think, my dear friend, that I would have asked you to sup with me; a lady in whom I have perfect confidence, and whom you loved dearly once on a time--that ought not to surprise you, you have loved so many! Have you kept notes of your loves?"

"Go on, I beg! What did this lady say to you?"

"She said much that was flattering to you; that's a fine thing on the part of a mistress one has left; but she expected it, she had served her time. Moreover, it seems that you were very considerate in your treatment of her, and that you remained good friends."

"Her name?"

"It's not worth while to tell you. This lady, then, spoke to me about you; I led her on, for I was glad to be posted. You had pleased me at the first glance; I had divined at once that we should be good friends some day--good friends, do you understand? that's much better than lover and mistress: it lasts longer."

"But, you see, I have continued to be that lady's friend, although she was once my mistress."

"That's an exceptional case. Why do you say _you_?"

"I beg your pardon; I am not used to the other yet. You were saying?"

"I keep digressing, don't I? I prattle along, and say everything that comes into my head. Ah! but it's so nice to be able to lay bare one's thoughts! Don't be impatient; there's no hurry. You are comfortable, aren't you? No woman is expecting you, eh? Let my words flow on at the bidding of my imagination, which sometimes whisks me away from one subject to another. You must be indulgent to your friends!"

As she said this, she pa.s.sed an arm about my waist and leaned against my shoulder; her head was close to my face; and when, as she talked, she raised her eyes and fixed them on mine, our glances mingled. We were so close together that I felt her breath on my cheek. "Ah!" I thought; "this woman must be very cold, very indifferent, to treat me as if I really were her father or her brother!"--But we were heated by the champagne, and it seemed to affect us differently. Frederique saw in me only a friend, to whom she could show herself as she really was; whereas I saw in her a lovely woman. Certainly it did not occur to me to make love to her; but the more freely she abandoned herself to her natural unreserve, the more seductive she seemed to me; and I felt that she was putting my friendship to a severe test by almost taking my breast for a pillow.

"To return to this lady--your former friend--she told me that you were engaged to be married some time ago, and that your engagement was suddenly broken off for some reason unknown to her. She asked you the reason, and you refused to tell her; and she has an impression that that was the beginning of your rupture with her."

"That is possible."

"But some things that a man doesn't tell to his mistress, he may confide to an intimate friend. What was it that broke off your marriage? Tell me."

Frederique's last words suddenly dispelled my gayety; a painful memory drove all before it. I sighed, and held my peace.

"Well! you don't answer?" cried Frederique, after a long silence.

"The fact is--I am terribly sorry, my charming friend, but you have made an unfortunate choice for your first question, and I cannot tell you what you wish to know."

"Ha! ha! ha! that's a good joke!"

"What are you laughing at?"

"Why, don't you see? here are two intimate friends who have sworn to have no secrets from each other, and neither of us can--or chooses to--answer the first question the other asks! It's almost always so, my friend, with the plans we make. Let us never bind ourselves to anything--that's the safest way; and then, no matter what happens----"

"Mirlidon, don, don--don, don!"

"Ah! mon Dieu! How that frightened me! I thought that the baron was awake; and, frankly, I am quite willing that he should sleep."

"He is dreaming that he's singing, that's all."

"Look you, my little Charles, there's one thing I will tell you. You think my behavior very strange, no doubt--perhaps very blameworthy?"

"Why, I pray to know?"