"Will you stop, or go somewhere else and fight, you clowns?" cried Jericourt. "Just look at what you have done! All of the girl's flowers are on the ground!"

"Ah! it's that good-for-nothing Patatras again!" said Violette; "he is always doing something of the kind; he must always be making trouble somewhere! It's outrageous; I am going to complain to the inspector."

"Oh, I beg pardon, excuse me, Mamzelle Violette," said Chicotin, rising, "you must know that I didn't fall against your stall on purpose. It's Chopard's fault; why did he chase me when I tried to get out of the way behind your customers?"

"Why did you come and trip me up when I wasn't saying anything to you?"

"I'll do it again when I choose, you long _bobeche_!"

"Oh, yes! just come and try! I'll show you!"

"Sapristi! are you going to begin again, you scoundrels, instead of picking up these bouquets which you knocked down?"

"But your friend has fallen too, monsieur, and he doesn't get up!--Help him! Perhaps he's hurt himself!"

At these words from Violette, Jericourt condescended at last to pay some attention to his companion; with the a.s.sistance of Chicotin, he succeeded, not without difficulty, in placing him on his feet; for Alfred was almost suffocated; two rosebuds had been forced into each nostril, and had entered far enough to close them hermetically; and as he had in addition a bunch of gilly-flowers over his mouth, he could not breathe at all, and was beginning to turn purple. Once upon his feet, he opened his mouth as if he proposed to swallow everything in his neighborhood, and shook his head to try to rid himself of the two rosebuds, whose th.o.r.n.y stems tickled the lower part of his face unpleasantly. But he could not succeed; Jericourt had to pull one of the stems and Chicotin the other, to uncork his nose. This operation was not performed without a number of shrieks from Monsieur de Saint-Arthur, but his nose at last recovered its air current, and everybody's mind was at ease.

When the young dandy recovered all his faculties, the thing that troubled him most was that he had broken one of his suspenders, and that his trousers on that side were not held in place.

"All sorts of misfortunes at once," cried Alfred; "I have broken my left suspender. But who was it, then, who came down on me like a bomb and pushed me onto that counter?"

"Excuse me, master, my excellency, I did it by accident, and not on purpose, for I was fooling with Chopard."

"What, you scoundrel, was it you?--Ah! I recognize you; I have employed you more than once."

"Oh! I remember very well! You are one of those generous and distinguished gentlemen that a man doesn't forget. I have often opened your carriage door, master, and you are always with such pretty ladies, ladies from the theatre, and so well dressed, that everybody looks at you. Shall I wait at Monsieur Bonvalet's, master, to see if you want to send me to find out how far they've got in the play?"

"All right, all right, we'll see. After all, as he didn't do it on purpose--And my bouquet, what became of that in the scrimmage?"

"Here it is, monsieur," said Violette; "luckily nothing happened to it."

"It's my broken suspender that worries me most; my trousers are all creased on that side! I'd give thirty francs for a pair of suspenders."

"Would you like mine, master?"

"No, thanks! That would look nice!"

"I'll go and buy you a pair at the druggist's on Rue du Temple."

"What does the idiot say?" muttered Jericourt; "suspenders at a druggist's! do you propose to buy them made of marshmallow paste?"

"At all events I can't stop here any longer," cried Alfred; "Zizi will make a horrible row; she will be in an infernal humor; and if she sees that my trousers are creased, it will be much worse! And she will see it, for she always looks at them first when I join her; she is so particular about dress; she said to me once: 'A man who doesn't have morocco straps to his boots shall never step foot inside my door!'--Well, Jericourt, are you coming?"

Tall Jericourt decided at last to go away with his friend; for the flower girl, busily engaged in picking up her flowers, did not seem disposed to laugh, and he saw that he must needs abandon the idea of being listened to for that day at least. So he walked away, arm-in-arm with Alfred de Saint-Arthur, who, as he walked, did his utmost to hold his trousers up. When he saw the two young men take their leave, Chicotin Patatras nodded his head to Georget, who was not very far away, and who answered with a smile. And Violette, as she tried to replace her flowers in order upon her counter, did not fail to notice that pantomime.

V

A CONCIERGE'S LODGE

In a house of respectable appearance on Rue d'Angouleme, about half-past eleven one evening, the street bell was pulled so violently that it caused Monsieur Baudoin, the concierge, to leap from his chair, upon which he was beginning to doze, while his wife Hildegarde took advantage of his nodding to open a small cupboard and take therefrom a bottle, the neck of which she proceeded to introduce into her mouth, and took several swallows of a fluid which she seemed to enjoy greatly.

Baudoin the concierge was a tall, thin man, with a pale face and light hair, who had pa.s.sed his fiftieth year, but was still very straight, and as active as a young man. To his occupation of concierge, he added that of clerk in a stage office, which kept him only until six o'clock. He was an honest man, to whom one could fearlessly entrust his house and his treasure; he did promptly whatever he was ordered to do, unless he did not fully understand; but in that case it was not safe to reproach him, for Baudoin lost his temper very readily, having an immeasurable self-esteem and claiming that he never made a mistake. When he did lose his temper, Baudoin swore like a trooper, and turned as red as a turkey-c.o.c.k.

Hildegarde, the concierge's wife, was two or three years older than her husband; she had once been pretty and sentimental; she was not very well preserved, and her inclination to sentiment having with age become diverted to brandy, Madame Baudoin had neglected herself considerably; there was a deplorable carelessness in her dress, which resulted in nothing ever being in place. Baudoin, who was always neat and decently dressed, often reproached his wife for her heedlessness in that respect, and as he had also discovered her unlucky fondness for liquor, he sometimes added to his reproaches lessons of an impressive sort, which made Hildegarde bellow loudly, and promise never to give way again to her miserable failing; but she never failed to forget that promise, whenever she thought that her husband would know nothing about it.

Moreover, Madame Baudoin was a genuine type of concierge: talkative, inquisitive, gossiping, scandal-loving, incautious, not evil-minded at bottom, but capable of setting the whole quarter at odds with remarks made without ill-intent. Her husband often scolded her for it; but "what's bred in the bone will come out in the flesh!"

At the jingling of the bell, and the somersault performed by her husband, Hildegarde, bewildered, and realizing that she had not time to replace the bottle of brandy in the cupboard, hastily put it on the floor between her feet, and then sat down, thus having her dear bottle in the place where the open air tradeswomen put their foot-warmers.

"Didn't someone ring?" said Baudoin, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes, my dear, yes, someone certainly did!" replied his wife, without moving from her chair.

"Well, then, draw the cord, Hildegarde; you're right near it."

"You can draw it much easier yourself, my dear; you have only to put out your arm and lean forward a bit."

"Look here, why won't you pull the cord, when you're right beside it?

What sort of way is that to behave?"

"Why--why, you see I pulled it just now when the tenant of the first floor came in, so it's your turn."

"Ah! so this is a new idea you've got into your head! Madame is afraid that she will pull the cord oftener than I, who have just come in, all tired and out of breath after running about Paris all day! What a lazy hussy!"

"Mon Dieu! is it possible for a man to be as ugly as this to his wife!

to be so unwilling to do anything for her! Ah! Monsieur Baudoin, how you have changed!"

While this little dialogue was taking place between the couple employed to take care of the house, the person who had rung remained at the door, which is rarely pleasing when one returns home at night. A second peal at the bell, much more violent than the first, announced that he was losing patience.

Baudoin decided to pull the cord, but as he did so he said to his wife:

"Ah! _bigre!_ you shall pay for this, Hildegarde! by all that's good! I promise you that."

Hildegarde made no reply, but continued to sit over her bottle. Someone came in and closed the street door; and soon a man appeared at the concierge's lodge, and said curtly:

"Give me my light."

"Oh! yes, Monsieur Malberg; this minute, Monsieur Malberg.--Hildegarde, just take Monsieur Malberg's candlestick from the cupboard by you, light it at our lamp, or rather light it with a match, for the chimney of our lamp is cracked and it might break in your hand.--You are just from the theatre, I suppose, Monsieur Malberg? They say that they are giving a fine play there just now; I don't know which theatre, but no matter, it seems that it's fine, all the same! You have been to see it, of course?"

"I have been where I chose to go, and it is none of your business,"

replied the tenant, in a tone which did not invite further conversation.

"Well! what about my light? Are you going to give it to me to-night? or do you intend to keep me waiting here as long as you did in the street?"

"What, Hildegarde, haven't you lighted Monsieur Malberg's light yet?

Look here, what are you about? G.o.d forgive me, Monsieur Malberg, but I believe that my wife is getting deaf or idiotic; something's the matter with her to-night; it isn't possible--yes, she may have been tippling.