"Ah! that will be hard, my boy. When a man who has lost his wife begins to sing, there's no reason why he should stop--I say, Chamoureau, we know that tune, too!"

But Chamoureau did not hear; he was shouting at the top of his voice:

"Verse encore!

Verse encore!"

The two young men were compelled to listen to the whole of the selection, to which Monsieur Chamoureau added some impossible roulades.

When he finally ceased, Freluchon said to him:

"Do you know, Chamoureau, you have a most surprising voice for a widower!"

"Oh! I sang much better when my wife was alive. We often sang duets together; there was one she was especially fond of."

"Great heaven!" muttered Edmond, "does he propose now to sing duets all by himself?" And to change the subject, he said: "Monsieur Chamoureau, have you been to any of the b.a.l.l.s during this Carnival?"

"To b.a.l.l.s! I!" exclaimed the widower, resuming his grief-stricken expression. "Oh! my dear friend, you forget my sad plight, my misfortune! Is it possible for me to think of amusing myself when my heart is still full of my grief? when my eyes are always looking for Eleonore--for I do look for her all the time, and there are moments when I forget that I have lost her; then, when I hear a woman cry, or speak rather loud--Eleonore always spoke loud--I turn round, thinking that it's she; and then I realize that it was only a delusion and I have to go back to the ghastly reality!--Ah! then, you see, I fall into such utter prostration--the suffering is terrible! You do not suspect how I suffer!"

Chamoureau took out his handkerchief and put it to his eyes.

"Yes, yes," said Edmond, "I see that you are quite inconsolable."

"Yes, monsieur, inconsolable is just the word; you could not express it better!--O Eleonore! you may flatter yourself that you were dearly loved--may she not, Freluchon?"

"Parbleu! of whom do you ask the question?"

"Ah! I do you justice, my dear friend; you regret her almost as keenly as I do! But we will weep for her together--that affords some relief."

"I say, Chamoureau, how lovely your wife was at a ball! How well she danced!"

"Why, my dear fellow, she was Terpsich.o.r.e in person! she was so light----"

"Yes, your wife was extremely light."[D]

"And so graceful! She didn't dance like other people; she had her own peculiar way of dancing; many women tried to imitate her and failed."

"That is so; she had a way of doing the _avant deux_. I don't know what the steps were, but it was fascinating."

"I know, I remember perfectly; look, Freluchon, I'll show you."

And Monsieur Chamoureau rose, a.s.sumed the third position, hummed a dance tune and began to take steps and go through evolutions, saying:

"Wasn't it like this, eh? How's this for her little swagger, her free-and-easy way?"

"Yes, yes, that's it."

"And the _poule_--I'll just show you. Come and be my vis-a-vis, Freluchon--I can do it better. Forward, give the right hand. Tra la la la--tra la la la--la la la. Cross over! balancez! salute your partners!--Monsieur Edmond, come, be the lady--in the pastourelle figure.--Tra la la--tra la la."

But Edmond was unable to comply; he was laughing too heartily at Chamoureau's dancing.

The latter stopped at last, after a pirouette which he came very near ending on his nose, and, seeing that Edmond was roaring with laughter, he said:

"What on earth makes you laugh like that? Do you think I dance badly?"

"No, no! on the contrary, you leap like a chamois! But it occurred to me as I watched you going through your steps, that you might imitate your wife much better by going to the Opera ball with us."

"Oh! upon my word!--you surely don't mean it, Monsieur Edmond! I, go to the Opera ball--with the burden of grief that I have on my heart!"

"Why, that is an additional reason: it will dissipate your grief."

"Oh! never! on the contrary, nothing can dissipate it, and----"

Freluchon planted himself in front of Chamoureau and said, a.s.suming a very solemn expression:

"Look you, my dear fellow, do you expect to fool us much longer with your inconsolable grief?"

The widower stood thunderstruck and stammered:

"What's that! fool you! What does this mean? For what reason do you ask me that, Freluchon?"

"For the reason that, when a man really has a great sorrow in his heart, he doesn't laugh and sing and dance as you have just been doing; nor does he know where one should go to eat snipe _a la provencale_."

"All that was in memory of Eleonore, and----"

"You regret your wife, I don't doubt that, and she was well worth the trouble. But I tell you again that you ask nothing better now than to be consoled, and above all to make new conquests."

"Little devil of a Freluchon! What an astonishing creature!--Do you really think that I might make conquests?"

"I will go so far as to promise you some to-night, if you come to the Opera with us."

"To the Opera ball with you, my boys! Far be it from me to say that it would be distasteful to me, because, after all, one might as well listen to reason; a man always ends by being consoled, a little sooner or later; but the world is what I dread! What will the world say if I am seen at the masquerade, so short a time after--my calamity? The world is so unkind!"

"Parbleu! if you're afraid to be seen at the ball, there's one very simple means of avoiding it--disguise yourself."

"True, that is an idea. But men don't wear masks, I believe."

"No, but with a fancy costume, a wig, a little rouge and a false nose, I'll undertake to make you unrecognizable."

"Oh! if you'll answer for that, it's all right, I'll run the risk and go with you. By the way, do you disguise yourselves?"

"Oh, no! it isn't worth while; we are not afraid to be recognized!"

"And where shall I find a costume?"

"I know a costumer where you will find a lot to choose from."

"You see, Freluchon, from the moment that I make up my mind to disguise myself, I insist upon being well costumed; I want something that will favor me, something--er--original."

"Let us go softly, Chamoureau, softly! Just now, you were afraid of being recognized, and now you want to attract attention!"