"That is to say, I was standing behind Mademoiselle Adolphine to wait upon her, and I pa.s.sed her whatever she wanted."

"I saw that you were eating all the time."

"Tasting, perhaps, but if you call that eating! And then, I was standing up. What one eats standing never counts."

"Well, my dear Monsieur Batonnin, I don't undertake to reprove you for it; on the contrary, you deserve to be congratulated.--Honor to great talents of all varieties! A good stomach is a blessing of Providence.

The wealthiest of men, if his liver doesn't work right, is, to my mind, less to be envied than the poor man who can readily digest his bacon-rind and similar delicacies."

Auguste Monleard joined his male guests at supper, to do the honors of his table; he began by pouring down several gla.s.ses of champagne; then, like one who is determined to divert his thoughts at any cost, he drank gla.s.s after gla.s.s of different kinds of wine, in rapid succession. This manoeuvre succeeded; in a quarter of an hour his brow had cleared, his eyes sparkled; he talked with all his guests, and challenged them to drink with him; in fact, he was almost gay, and he laughed--a laugh that was a little nervous, a little forced, perhaps, but which produced a most excellent effect toward the end of the supper. When the gentlemen finally left the table, at which they had made quite an extended sojourn, they did not fail to call for a _cotillon_, the dance which has become almost the obligatory conclusion of a ball; and Auguste Monleard proposed to lead it.

The suggestion was received with delight by the dancing contingent.

Adolphine, greatly surprised by the animation now exhibited by her brother-in-law, mentioned it to her sister.

"Your husband seems to be in high spirits now," she said; "and I am very glad to see him so."

"Why! did you think that he wasn't in good spirits before?" rejoined f.a.n.n.y. "You are wrong, my dear girl! Auguste always enjoys himself--only, he doesn't look as if he did; that's his way."

The cotillon came to an end, and the tired dancers began at last to think of retiring. Batonnin, having supped satisfactorily twice over, left the house with Anatole de Raincy, humming:

"'La belle nuit! la belle fete!'"

"I know that! it ith from a comic opera," said the tall young man.

"True; but you must agree that it's apropos: _la belle fete!_"

"Yeth, but I'm afraid--according to what Vauflers thaid----"

"What did he say?"

"That Augutht Monleard had lotht enormouth thumth on the Bourth of late, and that he mutht be in a very bad way."

"Ah! the devil! that's why I found him so distraught, then. At supper, he drank a lot to forget himself, I noticed that."

"After all, he may pull up again--luck may turn. Ah! I thee a cab.

Monthieur, I with you good-night, or rather good-day, for here'th the light."

"Your servant, monsieur."

Batonnin returned to his lodgings alone and on foot, saying to himself:

"Well, whether Monleard is ruined or not, I had two suppers, all the same!"

Our friends and acquaintances almost always welcome our misfortunes in such wise.

x.x.xIV

AUNT DUPONCEAU

Cherami, in accordance with his usual custom, spent very freely the money Gustave had given him; he still possessed a few francs out of the five hundred, however; and his appearance was very decent, too, for he had presented himself with a new hat, and he still had his new switch.

One cold but beautiful morning, about ten o'clock, as he strolled in the direction of the Madeleine, to give himself an appet.i.te, the ci-devant Beau Arthur saw coming toward him a woman of enormous size, holding by each hand a small boy, one of whom wore a hat surrounded by feathers, which gave him the look of a trained monkey. The children, as well as their mother, were so enveloped and swaddled in winter garments that they had not the free use of their limbs. These three living bundles rolled along the street, lurching against one another; but when they came face to face with our stroller, they halted, and the stout woman exclaimed:

"I cannot be mistaken; it is certainly Monsieur Cherami, out walking so early!"

Cherami had already recognized Madame Capucine and her sons, and, being by no means overjoyed at the meeting, would gladly have turned back to avoid it, but it was too late; so he courageously made the best of it, and replied, with a courteous salutation:

"Myself, fair lady; and I congratulate myself on the good-fortune which I owe to chance; for you are far from home. Do you happen to be going to Romainville?"

"No, monsieur, no; we are not going to Romainville; this isn't the way there, either," replied Madame Capucine, eying her interlocutor from head to foot; and the great change which had taken place in the apparel of her debtor was naturally reflected in her manner of speaking to him.

As the change was altogether to his advantage, she smiled graciously, and continued:

"Aunt Duponceau don't live at Romainville any more; she has sold the house she used to own there."

"Indeed? why did she do that?"

"Oh! because--because that neighborhood has such a reputation. You know the ballad: That _lovely wood, to lovers----"_

"_Presents a thousand charms!_--Yes, I know it by heart. But there's no wood left, except a little bit which has been bought by a novelist of whom I am very fond, and all surrounded by walls--not the novelist, but his woods; so I don't see what could have frightened your Aunt Duponceau so."

"Mon Dieu! you know how ill-natured people can be! There was always somebody to say: 'Ah! so you live at Romainville; that's the place for grisettes, gin-shops, and low dance-halls! one always meets a lot of drunken people there.'"

"I should say that you find them everywhere."

"It isn't the fashionable drive nowadays."

"The most fashionable resort isn't always the most amusing."

"You don't see the latest styles there."

"Oh, well! if you go into the country to see the styles, you would do better never to go anywhere but the Opera."

"But the strongest reason, and the one that finally decided my aunt, is that there isn't any railroad to Romainville."

"Surely that must be a great deprivation to a person who, when she is once settled in her country-house, never goes to Paris at all."

"And so my aunt bought a house in the opposite direction--at Pa.s.sy."

"Pa.s.sy and Romainville are not exactly side by side, that is true; and they are not much alike, either."

"Oh! they're entirely different!--Aristoloche, do keep still!--Pa.s.sy's a fashionable, convenient place to live in; you can't go out of the house unless you're dressed up."

"That must be very pleasant when one's in the country."

"The houses all have polished floors from top to bottom. The one my aunt bought--don't jump about so, Narcisse!--the one my aunt bought is smaller than her house at Romainville; but it cost a lot more. There's no fruit in the garden, but it's ever so much smaller."

"What does grow in the garden--ducks?"