"Cur and hypocrite often go together. I have never had the slightest confidence in people who prate about their own virtue, honesty, or merit."

While I was speaking, Monsieur Rouffignard happened to glance at my umbrella, which he at once began to scrutinize closely.

"You are surprised to see me with an umbrella in my hand, in such beautiful weather as this, aren't you?"

"Oh! I am not surprised at that, but---- Will you allow me to touch it?"

"Certainly."

I handed the umbrella to my stout friend, who examined the handle, opened and closed it, and exclaimed:

"Parbleu! I am sure now that I'm not mistaken."

"Do you happen to recognize my umbrella?"

"Your umbrella? You say it's yours?"

"Why, to be sure! I bought it not two hours ago, and that is why I am carrying it now."

"In that case, I should be very glad to know where you bought it."

"You know Dumouton--the literary man?"

"Dumouton! Indeed I know him; he borrows five francs of me every time he sees me. But go on!"

"Well! I met him this morning. He had two umbrellas under his arm, and he urged me so hard to buy one of them that I finally bought this one."

"Ah! the villain! Upon my word, this is too cool! He actually sold you my umbrella, which he borrowed the day before yesterday and was to return that evening, and which I am still waiting for! Oh! this is the one--a trefoil with silver tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. It's my umbrella! Well! Monsieur Rochebrune, what do you say to that performance?"

Poor Dumouton! I was sorry that I had been the means of showing him up; but how could I suspect that he had sold me Rouffignard's umbrella? It was very wrong; but, perhaps, he needed the money to pay his baker. I felt that I must try to arrange the matter.

"You agree with me!" cried the stout man; "you call this a shameful trick, don't you?"

"No, Monsieur Rouffignard. I think that there is some misunderstanding simply, some mistake; that Dumouton is not guilty----"

"Not guilty! and he sold you my umbrella?"

"Allow me. When I met Dumouton this morning, he had two umbrellas under his arm. He offered to sell me one. 'And what about the other?' I asked him.--'The other isn't mine,' he said; 'it was lent to me, and I am going at once to return it.'--He certainly was speaking of yours, then.

I made a bargain with him for his umbrella. But we talked some little time, and, when he left me, he must have made a mistake and given me the wrong one; that's the whole of it."

"Do you think so?"

"I am so sure of it that I will give you your umbrella, and go to Dumouton's to get the other."

"Infinitely obliged, Monsieur Rochebrune. But, as Dumouton proposed to bring mine back, I may find the other one at my house; in that case, I will send it to you at once."

"Do so, pray; au revoir, Monsieur Rouffignard!"

"Your servant, Monsieur Rochebrune!"

The stout man went off with his umbrella; I was quite sure that he would find none to send to me. Unfortunate Dumouton! See whither _pet.i.ts verres_ lead, and idling in cafes, and risky collaborations!

My thoughts recurred to the ticket for the box at the Gymnase. Suppose that should be claimed at the door, like the umbrella! Suppose my ladies should be denied admission, humiliated! That would prove to have been a precious gift of mine! And the name that was written on it! Suppose that that should mislead Mademoiselle Rosette! Faith! that would be amusing.

In case of an emergency, as I had given the damsel my address, and had forgotten to tell her my name, I determined to instruct my concierge as to what he must say if anyone should call and ask for the person whose name was on the ticket.

I waited impatiently for the hour at which the play would begin. I was convinced that they would be admitted on the ticket I had sent. Dumouton had undoubtedly asked for the box under some other name than his own, with the intention of selling it; that was very pleasant for the person whose name was written out in full on the ticket!

I could not afford to appear at the very beginning of the play; I should look like an opera-comique lover. I waited until eight o'clock, before I went to the Gymnase. I had been careful to observe the number of the box, which was the best in the second tier. The play had begun; I walked along the corridor, found the number in question, and satisfied myself by a glance through the gla.s.s door that the box was full. That was satisfactory; she had come. My next move was to take up a position on the opposite side; at a distance, it would be easy for me to keep my eyes on the box without attracting attention.

I entered the opposite balcony, where nothing would intercept my view of the person on whose account I had come.

But to no purpose did I fix my opera gla.s.s on the box in question; to no purpose did I rub it with my handkerchief so that I could see more distinctly: among all the faces that filled the box I had given my pretty grisette, there was not one that resembled or even suggested hers. I looked again and again. It was impossible; I thought that my eyes deceived me. There were four women in the box, and I examined them one after another. It did not take long. In front, there was a rather attractive person of thirty or thereabouts; but she did not in the least resemble Mademoiselle Rosette: as for the other three, they were all between fifty and seventy, and vied with one another in ugliness.

What had they done with my pretty Rosette? where was she? I wanted her, I must have her! Deuce take it! It was not for that quartette of women that I had bought the box of Monsieur Dumouton, who had seized the opportunity to entangle me in the folds of an umbrella! Who were those people I was examining? Madame Ratapond? some of my inamorata's aunts? I had no idea, but I was horribly annoyed. So she had not come! although the ticket was meant for her; although she knew that I would go there solely in the hope of seeing her and speaking to her! So she did not choose to make my acquaintance, but simply to make sport of me!

I left the balcony and returned to the corridor; I asked the box opener if the ladies in such a number had said that they expected anyone.

"No, monsieur; they didn't say anything about it. Anyway, the box is full; there's four of 'em."

"I know that. By the way, please show me their ticket."

The box opener showed me the coupon: it was the one I had sent. I was completely _done!_ I returned, in an execrable humor, to the balcony, but this time nearer the box. From time to time, I glanced at that a.s.semblage of the fair s.e.x, every member of which, with one exception, was exceedingly ugly. But it seemed to me that they had noticed me.

Perhaps they fancied that they had made a conquest of me. In any event, there was but one of them who could reasonably imagine that. Soon I began to think that they whispered and laughed together as they looked at me. Perhaps it was my imagination. But, no matter! I had had enough.

She for whom I had come was not there; why should I remain?

I left the theatre. I was weak enough to pace back and forth on the boulevard, in front of the door, hoping that she might come. But the clock struck ten. I decided to go away. I went into a cafe and read the papers, and about half-past eleven I went home, depressed and shame-faced. Really, that girl was most seductive, and I had fancied that there would be no obstacle to our liaison.

My concierge stopped me.

"A young woman has been here asking for you, monsieur. That is to say, she didn't ask for you, but for that queer name monsieur told me."

My heart expanded; I became as cheerful as I was melancholy a moment before.

"Ah! so the young woman came, did she? A tall, dark girl, with a wide-awake look?"

"Yes, monsieur; that describes her."

"What time did she come?"

"About half-past eight."

"And she asked if Monsieur--the author whose name I gave you--lived here?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"And you answered?"

"I answered _yes_, as you told me to. I told her that you lived on the second floor, but that you had gone out."