I do not know how it happened; but, with the firm intention to avoid her, I had walked toward her; and I found myself in front of her shop, where I stopped, in spite of myself.

She came to meet me with an air of constraint; her eyes were red, as if she had wept much; what could be the cause of her distress? I did not know what to say, and I stood mute in front of her; she too was thoughtful.--And this was the interview in which the confidence and unreserve of love were to reign supreme!--Poor mortals! our plans are drawn on the sand.

"I came last night," I said at last, in a tone which I strove to render cold.

"Last night--yes, I saw you, with--with that lady."

"No, I mean a few minutes later--I came back and knocked."

"I was not here."

"I thought you never went out."

"I went out last night."

"You might have been at home, and have preferred not to let me in."

"Why so, monsieur?"

"Sometimes a person doesn't like to be disturbed when she has company."

"Company!"

"Yes, you understand me perfectly well; will you tell me again that you have no visitors? For the last three weeks, hasn't a gentleman come to see you--almost every evening?"

She was embarra.s.sed, she blushed. The messenger had not deceived me.

"Well, mademoiselle, you don't answer. Is it the truth?"

"Yes, monsieur, it's the truth."

She admitted it! ah! I would have liked to have her deny it, I should have been so happy to believe her!--Further doubt was impossible! there was no more hope for me! I must go. I cast a last glance at her and left the shop abruptly, for I did not choose to let her see the suffering she caused me. She made a movement to detain me, then paused in her doorway, contenting herself with looking after me.

I resolved to think no more of her; she was no better than the rest!--In truth, I was unlucky in love! I had never yet fallen in with a faithful woman; they had all deceived me, betrayed me, played fast and loose with me; but all their perfidies had caused me less pain than I suffered because of Nicette's inconstancy! She saw that I loved her; all women see that at a glance! She did everything to attract me! To think that one so young should be so skilled in feigning love and sensibility and grat.i.tude! I could never again believe in anything or anybody.

But, before forgetting her entirely, I proposed to see the man who had replaced me in her heart, the man who had beguiled her, whom she loved!

What a lucky dog he was! At that moment I would have given all that I possessed to be loved by Nicette.

I had been told that he went to see her every evening; I would see him that very day. There was a cafe almost opposite the shop, where I could wait un.o.bserved, for I did not choose that the ungrateful girl should witness all the torments of my feeble heart.

I pa.s.sed the day as best I could, and at five o'clock I betook myself to Rue Saint-Honore. When I came in sight of her shop, I looked to see if she was in the doorway. She was not there, and I slipped into the cafe unseen by her. I took my seat at a table that touched the window, and ordered a half-bowl of punch, because it would naturally take me some time to drink it. The waiter made me repeat my order; no doubt he took me for an Englishman or a Fleming; but I cared little. I took up a newspaper to keep myself in countenance, and kept my eyes fixed on the flower shop.

The time seems very long when one antic.i.p.ates a pleasure, and still longer when one is suffering and in dread. Would the darkness never come! It was October, and should have been dark at six o'clock. Could it be that it was not yet six? I looked at the clock; it marked only half-past five; it was probably slow. I looked at my watch; twenty-five minutes past five! It was cruel! I tried to drink the punch that was before me, but it was impossible for me to swallow; I had not dined, but I had been suffocating since the morning.

At last the daylight faded. How was I to see what happened inside the shop? how was I to distinguish that man's features? I hoped that she would have a light. Sure enough, she came out with a light and began to carry in her flowers. What sadness, what depression in her whole aspect!

She seated herself in the shop, beside the table, but she did not write!

She sighed and glanced often into the street. She was expecting someone--and it was not I!

It was almost seven o'clock, and no one had appeared. Suppose he should not come? Should I be any happier then? Had she not agreed that morning that I knew the truth? And had her blush, her embarra.s.sment, told me nothing?

A man appeared and entered the shop; he sat down beside her. Great G.o.d!

did not my eyes deceive me? It was Raymond! Raymond with Nicette!

Raymond her lover! No, no; that was impossible!

I rushed out of the cafe to make sure of the truth. Someone ran after me and stopped me. It was the waiter; I had forgotten to pay. I did not understand very well what he said, but I put three francs in his hand and he left me. The darkness allowed me to remain in the street unseen by Nicette, while I could see her plainly. It was in very truth Raymond whom I had seen, whom I saw. He was talking to her very earnestly, and she listened with attention. I read in her eyes the interest she took in what he was saying; she seemed more distressed than ever, she wept. He took her hand and squeezed it tenderly! She did not withdraw it! That lovely hand abandoned to Raymond! Ah! it was all over, I could no longer doubt my misfortune. I felt that I must fly while I still had strength to do so, and must never see her again! If only I could at the same time banish her image from my thoughts! But the idea that she loved Raymond crushed me, haunted me incessantly! So it was for Raymond's benefit that I had preserved intact that flower which it would have been so sweet to me to pluck! I respected her innocence, and this was my reward!

If some respectable young man, of obscure station like herself, had won her heart while seeking her hand, I might perhaps have consoled myself; at all events, I should have been proud of having kept her pure and worthy of his vows. But that such a fellow as Raymond should triumph over Nicette! By what spell could he have fascinated her? He was neither young nor handsome; he was a stupid, vain, chattering bore! If there was anything lovable about him, I had never discovered it! And that was the man she preferred to me! Oh! these women!

I was no longer surprised at the embarra.s.sment I had observed in Raymond's manner when we last met. The traitor! so that was why he avoided me. The fellow was my evil genius, in very truth! He knew that I knew Nicette; he knew, perhaps, that I loved her. If I had listened to nothing but my rage, I should have gone to him and insulted him. But how can one obtain satisfaction from a dastard? and would his death make Nicette what I formerly believed her to be? I would despise one and forget the other; that was the only course for me to pursue.

Once more I sought in repose oblivion of my suffering. What a different night from the last! Last night, forming delightful plans based upon love and constancy; to-night, cursing that sentiment and the woman who had inspired it! If the weariness caused by such tempests of emotion made me doze for a moment, my first thought, on reopening my eyes, was of all my blasted hopes.

When I was dressed, I could not resist the longing to talk with Raymond.

I promised myself to retain my self-control, to hold myself in check, and to conceal the state of my heart. I hastened across the landing and knocked and rang at his door. The concierge knew that he was at home; he was not in the habit of rising early; still he did not open the door. I rang again, and that time the bellrope remained in my hand. I heard sounds at last; I recognized his heavy tread, and soon his nasal tones greeted my ears.

"Who is it making such a row at my door before seven o'clock? It's outrageous to wake a man up like this!"

"It's I, neighbor; it's I, Dorsan; I want to talk with you."

For some seconds he did not reply, and when he did I knew by his voice that he was not gratified by my call.

"What! is it you, my dear neighbor?"

"Yes, it's I."

"What brings you here so early?"

"You shall learn; but first let me in; I don't like to talk through a door."

"I beg your pardon--you see, I'm in my nightshirt."

"Bah! what difference does it make to me, whether you're in your nightshirt, or naked, or fully dressed? I have no desire to examine your person. Open the door! then you can go back to bed; that won't interfere with my talking to you."

"You see, I pa.s.sed most of the night writing birthday rhymes; and I am still sleepy."

"Oh! morbleu! Monsieur Raymond, open the door, or I'll break it down!"

The tone in which I uttered the last words indicated a purpose to carry out my threat. He did not wait for me to repeat it, but opened the door, and, running back through his little reception room, jumped into bed, where he wrapped himself up in the bedclothes, leaving nothing exposed but his nose and his great eyes, which he turned from side to side with an air of uneasiness, not venturing to look at me. I followed; the first thing I saw on entering his bedroom was a dozen or more bunches of orange blossoms, like those Nicette used to leave at my door; they were symmetrically arranged on my neighbor's dressing table. That sight tore my heart, but I had promised myself to be philosophical, so I sat down beside Raymond's bed and tried to speak very calmly.

"How are you this morning, Monsieur Raymond?"

He gazed at me in amazement.

"Was it to inquire about my health that you broke my bellrope and threatened to break down my door?"

"Oh! you must know that that was a joke! I had a question I wanted to ask you.--You have some very pretty bouquets there; it seems that you too are fond of orange blossoms?"

"Yes, yes; I like their odor very much; it's good for the nerves, and I am very nervous, you know."