After the Boulards came the brothers Bridoux. They did not a.s.sume to fill much s.p.a.ce. They were blowing their noses when they came in, they continued to hold their noses when they bowed; and when they decided to release their hold, exhibited faces of that inane, expressionless type which we see everywhere, and with which we are not tempted to enter into conversation.

One of the Bridoux concealed himself behind the balloon of one of the Boulards. The other exclaimed:

"Why, I don't see Mirotaine; where in the world is our dear Mirotaine?"

Dear Mirotaine had gone to put his decanter of brandy in a safe place.

Meanwhile, Madame Putiphar took Dodichet aside and said to him:

"Well, monsieur, how's our business coming on? How does monsieur le comte like our Juliette? he hasn't said a single pleasant word to her.

What does it mean? don't she take his fancy? We must know what to expect, you see."

"Don't you be alarmed, Madame de la Toilette; my friend is delighted with your young lady; he finds her full of intellect and altogether to his taste."

"How can he judge her intellect? he hasn't opened his mouth to her!"

"No; but he has heard her talk, which amounts to the same thing. Indeed, she pa.s.sed him a dish several times and said: 'Will you have some of this, monsieur?'--And the way she said those simple words enabled him to detect her merit."

"Well, when will your count make his proposal?"

"To-morrow, probably; you can understand that he isn't likely to do it to-night, before all these people."

"Then I can tell Monsieur Mirotaine that, and begin to look after the wedding presents?"

"You must look after them at the earliest possible moment, and see that they are worthy of a sultan."

The Putiphar woman walked away, delighted, and was on the point of repeating this conversation to Aldegonde, when Monsieur Dubotte and his wife were announced.

Madame eleonore Dubotte was a short, plump woman of twenty-five, fair-haired and white-skinned, with a round, fresh face, and exceedingly tender blue eyes, which were fixed upon her husband almost all the time.

You will remember that he complained of being loved too well by his wife.

Dubotte went to pay his respects to Aldegonde, having with much difficulty induced his wife to release his arm. Then he shook hands with Mirotaine, who had reappeared without his decanter, and who seemed much flattered because Dubotte had at last accepted an invitation to his house.

But, at sight of Dubotte, Dodichet had made a most amusing grimace.

"The deuce!" he murmured; "here's a contretemps I didn't expect. But, d.a.m.n the odds! Phbus has a very nice little wife; I must pay my court to her. Let's get over the recognition."

He went straight up to Dubotte, who was already making eyes at Aldegonde, and cried:

"Halloo! Dubotte, my dear old friend! By Jove! what a pleasant surprise!

How are you, Dubotte? is this your good wife you have brought with you?

Pray present me to her, my dear friend, so that I may congratulate her on her husband."

Philemon Dubotte uttered an exclamation of surprise when he recognized Dodichet, who had already seized his hand and was shaking it violently.

"By what chance are you here?" he asked.--"How did you ever come to know this scamp of a Dodichet, my dear Mirotaine?"

"What's that? Scamp? I advise you to talk, my fair-haired Phbus! If your wife wasn't here, I could tell some fine tales about you!"

Monsieur Mirotaine glanced from one to the other of the two friends with a disturbed expression, and seemed to be waiting for Dubotte to explain himself more definitely concerning the so-called commission merchant in sugar, whose free and easy manners were not at all agreeable to him. But Philemon suddenly spied between two hoopskirts the gentleman who had been introduced as a wealthy Italian count. He rushed up to him, crying:

"Well, well! I seem to be in a land of old acquaintances! Here's Monsieur Seringat the druggist, too, whom I had the pleasure of seeing at Pontoise a year ago.--Good-evening, Monsieur Seringat! how is your charming wife?"

When he heard himself called by his real name, Seringat turned pale, then purple; he put his hand to his head with a despairing gesture, and said in a faltering voice:

"No, that isn't true. I am Miflores; I don't want to be anything but Miflores! Let me alone; I don't know you!"

With that, he pushed aside the two balloons that encompa.s.sed him, as well as all the people who happened to be in his path, hurried from the salon, seized the first hat he saw in the reception-room, and disappeared, leaving the whole party speechless with surprise, except Dodichet, who dropped into a chair and laughed heartily at the effect of that recognition.

Monsieur Mirotaine was the first who recovered the use of his tongue.

"What does this mean?" he cried. "What! this man who was introduced to me as a wealthy Italian count, who was looking for a young lady without a dowry to marry, is a druggist from Pontoise, and married already? Why, then, I have been made a fool of! There has been an attempt to cheat me!--Answer, monsieur the commission merchant in sugar, and you, Madame Putiphar, who undertake to arrange marriages! What have you to say?"

The wardrobe dealer was sorely confused; she pointed to Dodichet, muttering:

"Why, it was monsieur who told me that he had a friend--who was very rich--who wanted a wife.--Come, monsieur, didn't you tell me that?"

"Yes, I did," Dodichet replied; "I told you so because I thought so.

That rascal of a Miflores deceived me too, and I am in despair.--But, after all, Monsieur Mirotaine, I don't see that there's any occasion for you to fly into such a rage. This mistake has afforded you an opportunity to give your friends a dinner party; you certainly can't be sorry for that. And as for myself, it has given me the pleasure of making your acquaintance, which I hope to cultivate. I will bring you some specimens of sugar and mola.s.ses, first quality. Meanwhile, I must run after this Miflores, who has deceived me shamefully. He will have my life, or I his; but I prefer to have his.--Mesdames, I lay my homage at your feet!"

And Dodichet disappeared almost as abruptly as Seringat.

"Do you suppose that he will really fight with that pretended count?"

Monsieur Mirotaine asked Dubotte.

"He, fight with the other one! It's easy to see that you don't know Dodichet! He's a _blagueur_ of the first order, and all this is only a practical joke that he undertook to play on you."

Monsieur Mirotaine fell into a chair, utterly overwhelmed.

"A dinner of eleven covers!" he murmured. "Oh! my fine claret!"

"And your pretended count has carried off my hat!" shouted Monsieur Brid'oison, prowling around the dining-room.

"Cheer up, my dear," said his wife; "the one he has left behind is much newer than yours!"

IX

HOW IT BEGAN

Madame Dermont occupied a pretty little apartment on Rue de Paradis-Poissonniere; she had only one servant, but that was enough for a woman who lived alone, received little company, and was happier in her own home than at the most fashionable social a.s.semblages. She had about eight thousand francs a year; that would have been very little for one who desired to follow all the fashions and to live a life of luxury and dissipation; it was quite sufficient for one who, like her, did not seek to cut a figure in the world, and who loved to think.

Nathalie was in her salon, seated at her piano and looking at the music.

But her fingers were motionless on the keys; it is probable, therefore, that the young woman was thinking of something different from what was before her. It was two hours after her visit to her young friend Juliette.

She was roused from her reverie by the bell. The sound made her start; and yet, she no longer expected anyone--at least, she no longer expected the person of whom she was thinking.