x.x.xVIII

THE DEALER IN SPONGES

As I entered my apartment, Pomponne came to meet me with his expression that denoted news.

"There's someone waiting for you, monsieur, who's been here quite a long while. But I didn't know that monsieur would be away so long; he did not tell me."

"Can it be that Rosette has come while I have been running after her?"

"No, monsieur; it ain't Mamzelle Rosette?"

"Is it Madame Dauberny, then?"

"No, monsieur; it's a person of our s.e.x."

"Oh! how you annoy me, Pomponne! I ought to have gone to see who was there, instead of listening to you."

I went at once into my salon, and found Ballangier sitting in a corner with a book in his hand.

I was agreeably surprised to find that he was neatly dressed. He wore a gray blouse, but it was spotlessly clean; his trousers were well brushed, his shoes polished; he had a clean white collar and a black cravat. It was the costume of a well-behaved mechanic who was a credit to his trade.

He came to meet me, with a timid air, saying:

"I ask your pardon, Charles, for waiting for you; I did wrong, perhaps; but when I came, about two o'clock, your servant said you would soon be back; and so, as I was anxious to see you, I said to myself: 'As long as I'm here, I may as well stay.'"

"You did well, Ballangier, very well; I am very glad to see you, too.

Let me look at you. From your dress, and the expression of self-content that I can read in your face, I am sure that you are behaving better now."

"That is true; at all events, I am trying to. I am working for a manufacturer in Faubourg Saint-Antoine--I had a letter of recommendation to him."

"From whom, pray?"

Ballangier twisted his cap about in his hands as he continued:

"From an excellent man I used to work for long ago, and who never despaired of me. They took me on trial, at first. The master had heard very bad accounts of me, but I worked so well that after a while he got to be less strict with me; then he increased my pay, without my asking, and now he says everywhere that he's satisfied with me."

"Ah! that is splendid, my friend. And you were glad to tell me all this, because you knew that it would give me great pleasure, weren't you?"

"Why, yes, I thought it would."

"Thanks, my friend, for thinking of that. Indeed, you cannot conceive how I rejoice to learn of the change that has taken place in you! But you will keep on, Ballangier; now that you have started on the right path, you won't leave it again, will you? Besides, you must surely be a happier man, now that you are earning your living, and can hold your head erect boldly, without fear of being arrested by a creditor, or a.s.sailed by a wife or mother whose husband or son you have led astray; without reading on the faces of honest folk the contempt that evil livers always inspire! Instead of that, you will be made welcome, made much of, courted by respectable families; a father will no longer dread to see his daughter, or a brother his sister, on your arm. You will be loved, esteemed, highly considered. Yes, highly considered; for there is no trade, no career, in which an honest man may not acquire that consideration which mere wealth, unaccompanied by probity, cannot acquire. Tell me if all this is not preferable to a life of debauchery, which makes you either a brute or a madman most of the time; to the false friendship of those wretches who know nothing but idleness, and sometimes something much worse, who extol all the vices, who try to cast ridicule on merit and hard work, because other men's merit gnaws at their envy-ridden hearts, and, being unable to attain it, they do their utmost to crush it?"

"Oh, yes! you are right, Charles: I am far happier! I reflect now; I feel that I am an entirely different man. I read a good deal; I am fond of reading, and it used to be impossible for me to read five minutes at a time."

"Read, you cannot do better; but select good books; bad writers are worse than false friends, for we have them under our hand every minute; their treacherous counsels lead feeble or excitable minds astray; there is no more dangerous companion for a tete-a-tete than an evil book."

"You must guide me; you must give me a list of authors whose works will be profitable reading for me."

"I will do better than that. Come with me."

I led Ballangier to my book shelves, from which I took Racine, Moliere, Montesquieu, Fenelon, and La Fontaine.

"There, those are for you," I said; "take these books home with you, and read them carefully and with profit. Some will seem to you a little severe and serious; but the others, while they instruct you, will make you laugh. Learn by heart the great, the immortal Moliere. He castigated the vices and absurdities of his time; but as vices unluckily belong to all times, as men are no better to-day than they ever were, as we meet in the world every day _tartufes, precieuses ridicules, avares, and bourgeois gentilshommes_, Moliere, like all authors who depict nature, is and will be of all epochs.

"'Rien n'est beau que le vrai; le vrai seul est aimable.'[A]

That maxim is earnestly denied by those poets who have never succeeded in being natural. They put a conventional jargon in the mouths of all their characters, and call that style! In their works, the peasant talks just like the n.o.ble; the man of the people uses as fine phrases as the advocate; the maid-servant indulges in metaphors like the _grande dame;_ and they call that style! Posterity will do justice to all such stuff.

Bathos sinks and is drowned, while the natural sails smoothly along and always rides out the storm."

"What! are all these fine books for me?"

"Yes; make a bundle of them and take them away."

"Oh! thanks, Charles!"

"When you have read them with profit, I will give you more."

"You are too kind! But I mean to make myself worthy of----. Well, you will see. Meanwhile, I've brought this back to you."

He took from his pocket a small paper-covered package.

"What is there inside?"

"Twenty-nine francs."

"Why do you want to give me that?"

"Because I saw Piaulard and tried to pay him; but he was already paid; a--person had settled with him. You probably know that person, and I would like the twenty-nine francs to be returned."

"Well done, my friend! This act of yours proves the return of worthy sentiments. But you need not worry; the person in question was paid long ago. So, keep the money, and if you need any more to buy anything come to me."

"Oh! I am not short of funds now. I have never been so rich. I don't know how it happens."

"You don't know? Why, it's very easy to understand; you spend vastly less, and earn vastly more; that's the whole secret of living in comfort."

Ballangier tied up his books, we shook hands affectionately, and he went away content, leaving me very happy. What a contrast to our previous interviews!

The next day, I was still resting from my peregrinations of the previous afternoon, and stoically making up my mind to wear mourning for Mademoiselle Rosette, when the pretty brunette suddenly burst into my room, vivacious, sprightly, and gay as always. She came to me and held out her hand.

"Bonjour, monsieur! Are you still angry with me?"

"Angry? Why, it wasn't I who was angry; it was yourself."

"Oh! that's all over; let's not say any more about that; I don't bear any malice, and I don't know how to sulk. I say, did you go and ask for me at Aunt Falourdin's?"

"At Aunt Falourdin's? You put it mildly. If you should say at all seven of your aunts', that would be nearer the truth!"