Chapter 9
"Good-evening, my dear Gaston," said Marguerite to my companion.
"I am very glad to see you. Why didn't you come to see me in my
box at the Varietes?"
"I was afraid it would be indiscreet."
"Friends," and Marguerite lingered over the word, as if to
intimate to those who were present that in spite of the familiar
way in which she greeted him, Gaston was not and never had been
anything more than a friend, "friends are always welcome."
"Then, will you permit me to introduce M. Armand Duval?"
"I had already authorized Prudence to do so."
"As far as that goes, madame," I said, bowing, and succeeding in
getting more or less intelligible sounds out of my throat, "I
have already had the honour of being introduced to you."
Marguerite's beautiful eyes seemed to be looking back in memory,
but she could not, or seemed not to, remember.
"Madame," I continued, "I am grateful to you for having forgotten
the occasion of my first introduction, for I was very absurd and
must have seemed to you very tiresome. It was at the Opera
Comique, two years ago; I was with Ernest de --."
"Ah, I remember," said Marguerite, with a smile. "It was not you
who were absurd; it was I who was mischievous, as I still am, but
somewhat less. You have forgiven me?"
And she held out her hand, which I kissed.
"It is true," she went on; "you know I have the bad habit of
trying to embarrass people the first time I meet them. It is very
stupid. My doctor says it is because I am nervous and always ill;
believe my doctor."
"But you seem quite well."
"Oh! I have been very ill."
"I know."
"Who told you?"
"Every one knew it; I often came to inquire after you, and I was
happy to hear of your convalescence."
"They never gave me your card."
"I did not leave it."
"Was it you, then, who called every day while I was ill, and
would never leave your name?"
"Yes, it was I."
"Then you are more than indulgent, you are generous. You, count,
wouldn't have done that," said she, turning toward M. de N.,
after giving me one of those looks in which women sum up their
opinion of a man.
"I have only known you for two months," replied the count.
"And this gentleman only for five minutes. You always say
something ridiculous."
Women are pitiless toward those whom they do not care for. The
count reddened and bit his lips.
I was sorry for him, for he seemed, like myself, to be in love,
and the bitter frankness of Marguerite must have made him very
unhappy, especially in the presence of two strangers.
"You were playing the piano when we came in," I said, in order to
change the conversation. "Won't you be so good as to treat me as
an old acquaintance and go on?"
"Oh," said she, flinging herself on the sofa and motioning to us
to sit down, "Gaston knows what my music is like. It is all very
well when I am alone with the count, but I won't inflict such a
punishment on you."
"You show me that preference?" said M. de N., with a smile which
he tried to render delicately ironical.
"Don't reproach me for it. It is the only one." It was fated that
the poor man was not to say a single word. He cast a really
supplicating glance at Marguerite.
"Well, Prudence," she went on, "have you done what I asked you to
do?"
"Yes.
"All right. You will tell me about it later. We must talk over
it; don't go before I can speak with you."
"We are doubtless intruders," I said, "and now that we, or rather
I, have had a second introduction, to blot out the first, it is
time for Gaston and me to be going."
"Not in the least. I didn't mean that for you. I want you to
stay."
The count took a very elegant watch out of his pocket and looked
at the time. "I must be going to my club," he said. Marguerite
did not answer. The count thereupon left his position by the
fireplace and going up to her, said: "Adieu, madame."
Marguerite rose. "Adieu, my dear count. Are you going already?"
"Yes, I fear I am boring you."
"You are not boring me to-day more than any other day. When shall
I be seeing you?"
"When you permit me."
"Good-bye, then."
It was cruel, you will admit. Fortunately, the count had
excellent manners and was very good-tempered. He merely kissed
Marguerite's hand, which she held out to him carelessly enough,
and, bowing to us, went out.
As he crossed the threshold, he cast a glance at Prudence. She
shrugged her shoulders, as much as to say:
"What do you expect? I have done all I could."
"Nanine!" cried Marguerite. "Light M. le Comte to the door."
We heard the door open and shut.
"At last," cried Marguerite, coming back, "he has gone! That man
gets frightfully on my nerves!"
"My dear child," said Prudence, "you really treat him too badly,
and he is so good and kind to you. Look at this watch on the
mantel-piece, that he gave you: it must have cost him at least
three thousand francs, I am sure."
And Mme. Duvernoy began to turn it over, as it lay on the
mantel-piece, looking at it with covetous eyes.
"My dear," said Marguerite, sitting down to the piano, "when I
put on one side what he gives me and on the other what he says to
me, it seems to me that he buys his visits very cheap."
"The poor fellow is in love with you."
"If I had to listen to everybody who was in love with me, I
shouldn't have time for my dinner."
And she began to run her fingers over the piano, and then,
turning to us, she said:
"What will you take? I think I should like a little punch."
"And I could eat a little chicken," said Prudence. "Suppose we
have supper?"
"That's it, let's go and have supper," said Gaston.
"No, we will have supper here."
She rang, and Nanine appeared.
"Send for some supper."
"What must I get?"
"Whatever you like, but at once, at once."
Nanine went out.
"That's it," said Marguerite, jumping like a child, "we'll have
supper. How tiresome that idiot of a count is!"
The more I saw her, the more she enchanted me. She was
exquisitely beautiful. Her slenderness was a charm. I was lost in
contemplation.
What was passing in my mind I should have some difficulty in
explaining. I was full of indulgence for her life, full of
admiration for her beauty. The proof of disinterestedness that
she gave in not accepting a rich and fashionable young man, ready
to waste all his money upon her, excused her in my eyes for all
her faults in the past.
There was a kind of candour in this woman. You could see she was
still in the virginity of vice. Her firm walk, her supple figure,
her rosy, open nostrils, her large eyes, slightly tinged with
blue, indicated one of those ardent natures which sbed around
them a sort of voluptuous perfume, like Eastern vials, which,
close them as tightly as you will, still let some of their
perfume escape. Finally, whether it was simple nature or a breath
of fever, there passed from time to time in the eyes of this
woman a glimmer of desire, giving promise of a very heaven for
one whom she should love. But those who had loved Marguerite were
not to be counted, nor those whom she had loved.
In this girl there was at once the virgin whom a mere nothing had
turned into a courtesan, and the courtesan whom a mere nothing
would have turned into the most loving and the purest of virgins.
Marguerite had still pride and independence, two sentiments
which, if they are wounded, can be the equivalent of a sense of
shame. I did not speak a word; my soul seemed to have passed into
my heart and my heart into my eyes.
"So," said she all at once, "it was you who came to inquire after
me when I was ill?"
"Yes."
"Do you know, it was quite splendid of you! How can I thank you
for it?"
"By allowing me to come and see you from time to time."
"As often as you like, from five to six, and from eleven to
twelve. Now, Gaston, play the Invitation A la Valse."
"Why?"
"To please me, first of all, and then because I never can manage
to play it myself."
"What part do you find difficult?"
"The third part, the part in sharps."
Gaston rose and went to the piano, and began to play the
wonderful melody of Weber, the music of which stood open before
him.
Marguerite, resting one hand on the piano, followed every note on
the music, accompanying it in a low voice, and when Gaston had
come to the passage which she had mentioned to him, she sang out,
running her fingers along the top of the piano:
"Do, re, mi, do, re, fa, mi, re; that is what I can not do. Over
again."
Gaston began over again, after which Marguerite said:
"Now, let me try."
She took her place and began to play; but her rebellious fingers
always came to grief over one of the notes.
"Isn't it incredible," she said, exactly like a child, "that I
can not succeed in playing that passage? Would you believe that I
sometimes spend two hours of the morning over it? And when I
think that that idiot of a count plays it without his music, and
beautifully, I really believe it is that that makes me so furious
with him." And she began again, always with the same result.
"The devil take Weber, music, and pianos!" she cried, throwing
the music to the other end of the room. "How can I play eight
sharps one after another?" She folded her arms and looked at us,
stamping her foot. The blood flew to her cheeks, and her lips
half opened in a slight cough.
"Come, come," said Prudence, who had taken off her hat and was
smoothing her hair before the glass, "you will work yourself into
a rage and do yourself harm. Better come and have supper; for my
part, I am dying of hunger."
Marguerite rang the bell, sat down to the piano again, and began
to hum over a very risky song, which she accompanied without
difficulty. Gaston knew the song, and they gave a sort of duet.
"Don't sing those beastly things," I said to Marguerite,
imploringly.
"Oh, how proper you are!" she said, smiling and giving me her
hand. "It is not for myself, but for you."
Marguerite made a gesture as if to say, "Oh, it is long since
that I have done with propriety!" At that moment Nanine appeared.
"Is supper ready?" asked Marguerite. "Yes, madame, in one
moment."
"Apropos," said Prudence to me, "you have not looked round; come,
and I will show you." As you know, the drawing-room was a marvel.
Marguerite went with us for a moment; then she called Gaston and
went into the dining-room with him to see if supper was ready.
"Ah," said Prudence, catching sight of a little Saxe figure on a
side-table, "I never knew you had this little gentleman."
"Which?"
"A little shepherd holding a bird-cage."
"Take it, if you like it."
"I won't deprive you of it."
"I was going to give it to my maid. I think it hideous; but if
you like it, take it."
Prudence only saw the present, not the way in which it was given.
She put the little figure on one side, and took me into the
dressing-room, where she showed me two miniatures hanging side by
side, and said:
"That is the Comte de G., who was very much in love with
Marguerite; it was he who brought her out. Do you know him?"
"No. And this one?" I inquired, pointing to the other miniature.
"That is the little Vicomte de L. He was obliged to disappear."
"Why?"
"Because he was all but ruined. That's one, if you like, who
loved Marguerite."
"And she loved him, too, no doubt?"
"She is such a queer girl, one never knows. The night he went
away she went to the theatre as usual, and yet she had cried when
he said good-bye to her."
Just then Nanine appeared, to tell us that supper was served.
When we entered the dining-room, Marguerite was leaning against
the wall, and Gaston, holding her hands, was speaking to her in a
low voice.
"You are mad," replied Marguerite. "You know quite well that I
don't want you. It is no good at the end of two years to make
love to a woman like me. With us, it is at once, or never. Come,
gentlemen, supper!"
And, slipping away from Gaston, Marguerite made him sit on her
right at table, me on her left, then called to Nanine:
"Before you sit down, tell them in the kitchen not to open to
anybody if there is a ring."
This order was given at one o'clock in the morning.
We laughed, drank, and ate freely at this supper. In a short
while mirth had reached its last limit, and the words that seem
funny to a certain class of people, words that degrade the mouth
that utters them, were heard from time to time, amidst the
applause of Nanine, of Prudence, and of Marguerite. Gaston was
thoroughly amused; he was a very good sort of fellow, but
somewhat spoiled by the habits of his youth. For a moment I tried
to forget myself, to force my heart and my thoughts to become
indifferent to the sight before me, and to take my share of that
gaiety which seemed like one of the courses of the meal. But
little by little I withdrew from the noise; my glass remained
full, and I felt almost sad as I saw this beautiful creature of
twenty drinking, talking like a porter, and laughing the more
loudly the more scandalous was the joke.
Nevertheless, this hilarity, this way of talking and drinking,
which seemed to me in the others the mere results of bad company
or of bad habits, seemed in Marguerite a necessity of forgetting,
a fever, a nervous irritability. At every glass of champagne her
cheeks would flush with a feverish colour, and a cough, hardly
perceptible at the beginning of supper, became at last so violent
that she was obliged to lean her head on the back of her chair
and hold her chest in her hands every time that she coughed. I
suffered at the thought of the injury to so frail a constitution
which must come from daily excesses like this. At length,
something which I had feared and foreseen happened. Toward the
end of supper Marguerite was seized by a more violent fit of
coughing than any she had had while I was there. It seemed as if
her chest were being torn in two. The poor girl turned crimson,
closed her eyes under the pain, and put her napkin to her lips.
It was stained with a drop of blood. She rose and ran into her
dressing-room.
"What is the matter with Marguerite?" asked Gaston.
"She has been laughing too much, and she is spitting blood. Oh,
it is nothing; it happens to her every day. She will be back in a
minute. Leave her alone. She prefers it."
I could not stay still; and, to the consternation of Prudence and
Nanine, who called to me to come back, I followed Marguerite."
