CHAPTER XVI.
A CONTRETEMPS IN A CARRIAGE.
My slavery lasted somewhat longer than three weeks, and less than amonth; and was brought, oddly enough, to an abrupt conclusion. This washow it happened.
I had, as usual, attended Madame de Marignan one evening to the Opera,and found myself, also as usual, neglected for a host of others. Therewas one man in particular whom I hated, and whom (perhaps because Ihated him) she distinguished rather more than the rest. His name wasDelaroche, and he called himself Monsieur le Comte Delaroche. Mostlikely he was a Count---I have no reason to doubt his title; but I choseto doubt it for mere spite, and because he was loud and conceited, andwore a little red and green ribbon in his button-hole. He had, besides,an offensive sense of my youth and his own superiority, which I havenever forgiven to this day. On the particular occasion of which I amnow speaking, this person had made his appearance in Madame deMarignan's box at the close of the first act, established himself in theseat behind hers, and there held the lists against all comers during theremainder of the evening. Everything he said, everything he did,aggravated me. When he looked through her lorgnette, I loathed him. Whenhe admired her fan, I longed to thrust it down his throat. When he heldher bouquet to his odious nose (the bouquet that I had given her!) Ifelt it would have been justifiable manslaughter to take him up bodily,and pitch him over into the pit.
At length the performance came to a close, and M. Delaroche, havingtaken upon himself to arrange Madame de Marignan's cloak, carry Madamede Marignan's fan, and put Madame de Marignan's opera-glass into itsmorocco case, completed his officiousness by offering his arm andconducting her into the lobby, whilst I, outwardly indifferent butinwardly boiling, dropped behind, and consigned him silently to all thetorments of the seven circles.
It was an oppressive autumnal night without a star in the sky, and sostill that one might have carried a lighted taper through the streets.Finding it thus warm, Madame de Marignan proposed walking down the lineof carriages, instead of waiting till her own came up; and so she and M.Delaroche led the way and I followed. Having found the carriage, heassisted her in, placed her fan and bouquet on the opposite seat,lingered a moment at the open door, and had the unparalleled audacity toraise her hand to his lips at parting. As for me, I stood proudly back,and lifted my hat.
"_Comment_!" she said, holding out her hand--the pretty, ungloved handthat had just been kissed--"is that your good night?"
I bowed over the hand, I would not have touched it with my lips at thatmoment for all the wealth of Paris.
"You are coming to me to-morrow morning at twelve?" she murmuredtenderly.
"If Madame desires it."
"Of course I desire it. I am going to Auteuil, to look at a house for afriend--and to Pignot's for some flowers--and to Lubin's for somescent--and to a host of places. What should I do without you? Nay, whythat grave face? Have I done anything to offend you?"
"Madame, I--I confess that--"
"That you are jealous of that absurd Delaroche, who is so much in lovewith himself that he has no place in his heart for any one else! _Fidonc!_ I am ashamed of you. There--adieu, twelve to-morrow!"
And with this she laughed, waved her hand, gave the signal to drive on,and left me looking after the carriage, still irritated but alreadyhalf consoled.
I then sauntered moodily on, thinking of my tyrant, and her caprices,and her beauty. Her smile, for instance; surely it was the sweetestsmile in the world--if only she were less lavish of it! Then, what adelicious little hand--if mine were the only lips permitted to kiss it!Why was she so charming?--or why, being so charming, need she prize theattentions of every _flaneur_ who had only enough wit to admire her? WasI not a fool to believe that she cared more for my devotion than foranother's! Did I believe it? Yes ... no ... sometimes. But then that"sometimes" was only when under the immediate influence of her presence.She fascinated me; but she would fascinate a hundred others in preciselythe same way. It was true that she accepted from me more devotion, moreworship, more time, more outward and visible homage than from any other.Was I not her _Cavaliere servente?_ Did she not accept my bouquets? Didshe not say the other day, when I gave her that volume of Tennyson, thatshe loved all that was English for my sake? Surely, I was worse thanungrateful, when, having so much, I was still dissatisfied! Why was Inot the happiest fellow in Paris? Why .....
My meditations were here interrupted by a sudden flash of very vividlightning, followed by a low muttering of distant thunder. I paused, andlooked round. The sky was darker than ever, and though the air wassingularly stagnant, I could hear among the uppermost leaves of the talltrees that stealthy rustling that generally precedes a storm.Unfortunately for myself, I had not felt disposed to go home at once onleaving the theatre; but, being restless alike in mind and body, hadstruck down through the Place Vendome and up the Rue de Rivoli,intending to come home by a circuitous route. At this precise moment Ifound myself in the middle of the Place de la Concorde, with Cleopatra'sneedle towering above my head, the lamps in the Champs Elysees twinklingin long chains of light through the blank darkness before me, and novehicle anywhere in sight. To be caught in a heavy shower, was not,certainly, an agreeable prospect for one who had just emerged from theopera in the thinnest of boots and the lightest of folding hats, withneither umbrella nor paletot of proof; so, having given a hasty glancein every direction from which a cab might be expected, I took valiantlyto my heels, and made straight for the Madeleine.
Long before I had accomplished half the distance, however, another flashannounced the quick coming of the tempest, and the first premonitorydrops began to plash down heavily upon the pavement. Still I ran on,thinking that I should find a cab in the Place de la Madeleine; but thePlace de la Madeleine was empty. Even the cafe at the corner was closed.Even the omnibus office was shut up, and the red lamp above the doorextinguished.
What was I to do now? Panting and breathless, I leaned up against adoorway, and resigned myself to fate. Stay, what was that file ofcarriages, dimly seen through the rain which was now coming down inearnest? It was in a private street opening off at the back of theMadeleine--a street in which I could remember no public stand. Perhapsthere was an evening party at one of the large houses lower down, and,if so, I might surely find a not wholly incorruptible cabman, who wouldconsent for a liberal _pourboire_ to drive me home and keep his farewaiting, if need were, for one little half-hour! At all events it wasworth trying for; so away I darted again, with the wind whistling aboutmy ears, and the rain driving in my face.
But my troubles were not to be so speedily ended. Among the ten orfifteen equipages which I found drawn up in file, there was not onehackney vehicle. They were private carriages, and all, therefore,inaccessible.
Did I say inaccessible?
A bold idea occurred to me. The rain was so heavy that it could scarcelybe expected to last many minutes. The carriage at the very end of theline was not likely to be the first called; and, even if it were, onecould spring out in a moment, if necessary. In short, the very daring ofthe deed was as attractive as the shelter! I made my way swiftly downthe line. The last carriage was a neat little brougham, and thecoachman, with his hat pulled down over his eyes, and his collar drawnup about his ears, was too much absorbed in taking care of himself andhis horses to pay much attention to a foot-passenger. I passed boldlyby--doubled back stealthily on my own steps--looked roundcautiously--opened the door, and glided in.
It was a delightfully comfortable little vehicle--cushioned, soft,yielding, and pervaded by a delicate perfume of eglantine. Wondering whothe owner might be--if she was young--if she was pretty--if she wasmarried, or single, or a widow--I settled myself in the darkest cornerof the carriage, intending only to remain there till the rain hadabated. Thus I fell, as fate would have it--first into a profoundreverie, and then into a still profounder sleep. How long this sleep mayhave lasted I know not. I only remember becoming slowly conscious of agentle movement, which, without awaking, partly roused me; of a check tot
hat movement, which brought my thoughts suddenly to the surface; of astream of light--of an open door--a crowded hall--a lady waiting to comeout, and a little crowd of attentive beaux surrounding her!
I comprehended my position in an instant, and the impossibility ofextricating myself from it. To get out next the house was to bravedetection; whilst at the other side I found myself blocked in bycarriages. Escape was now hopeless! I turned hot and cold; I shrankback; I would have gone through the bottom of the carriage, if I could.At this moment, to my horror, the footman opened the door. I gave myselfup for lost, and, in a sudden access of desperation, was on the point ofrushing out _coute que coute_, when the lady ran forward; sprang lightlyin; recoiled; and uttered a little breathless cry of surprise andapprehension!
"_Mon Dieu_, Madame! what is it? Are you hurt?" cried two or three ofthe gentlemen, running out, bareheaded, to her assistance.
But, to my amazement, she unfastened her cloak, and threw it over me insuch a manner as to leave me completely hidden beneath the folds.
"Oh, nothing, thank you!--I only caught my foot in my cloak. I am reallyquite ashamed to have alarmed you! A thousand thanks--good-night."
And so, with something of a slight tremor in her voice, the lady drew upthe window. The next instant the carriage moved on.
And now, what was to be done? I blessed the accident which rendered meinvisible; but, at the same time, asked myself how it was to end.
Should I wait till she reached her own door, and then, still feigningsleep, allow myself to be discovered? Or should I take the bull by thehorns, and reveal myself? If the latter, would she scream, or faint, orgo into hysterics? Then, again, supposing she resumed her cloak ... acold damp broke out upon my forehead at the mere thought! All at once,just as these questions flashed across my mind, the lady drew the mantleaside, and said:--
"How imprudent of you to hide in my carriage?"
I could not believe my ears.
"Suppose any of those people had caught sight of you ... why, it wouldhave been all over Paris to-morrow! Happily, I had the presence of mindto cover you with my cloak; otherwise ... but there, Monsieur, I have agreat mind to be very angry with you!"
It was now clear that I was mistaken for some one else. Fortunately thecarriage-lamps were unlit, the windows still blurred with rain, and thenight intensely dark; so, feeling like a wretch reprieved on thescaffold, I shrank farther and farther into the corner, glad to favor amistake which promised some hope of escape.
"_Eh bien_!" said the lady, half tenderly, half reproachfully; "have younothing to say to me?"
Say to her, indeed! What could I say to her? Would not my voice betrayme directly?
"Ah," she continued, without waiting for a reply; "you are ashamed ofthe cruel scene of this morning! Well, since you have not allowed thenight to pass without seeking a reconciliation, I suppose I mustforgive you!"
I thought, at this point, that I could not do better than press herhand, which was exquisitely soft and small--softer and smaller than evenMadame de Marignan's.
"Naughty Hippolyte!" murmured my companion. "Confess, now, that you wereunreasonable."
I sighed heavily, and caressed the little hand with both of mine.
"And are you very penitent?"
I expressed my penitence by another prodigious sigh, and ventured, thistime, to kiss the tips of the dainty fingers.
"_Ciel_!" exclaimed the lady. "You have shaved off your beard! What canhave induced you to do such a thing?"
My beard, indeed! Alas! I would have given any money for even amoustache! However, the fatal moment was come when I must speak.
"_Mon cher ange_," I began, trying a hoarse whisper, "I--I--the factis--a bet--"
"A bet indeed! The idea of sacrificing such a handsome beard for a merebet! I never heard of anything so foolish. But how hoarse you are,Hippolyte!"
"All within the last hour," whispered I. "I was caught in the storm,just now, and ..."
"And have taken cold, for my sake! Alas! my poor, dear friend, why didyou wait to speak to me? Why did you not go home at once, and changeyour clothes? Your sleeve, I declare, is still quite damp! Hippolyte, ifyou fall ill, I shall never forgive myself!"
I kissed her hand again. It was much pleasanter than whispering, andexpressed all that was necessary.
"But you have not once asked after poor Bibi!" exclaimed my companion,after a momentary silence. "Poor, dear Bibi, who has been suffering froma martyrdom with her cough all the afternoon!"
Now, who the deuce was Bibi? She might be a baby. Or--who couldtell?--she might be a poodle? On this point, however, I was leftuninformed; for my unknown friend, who, luckily, seemed fond of talkingand had a great deal to say, launched off into another topicimmediately.
"After all," said she, "I should have been wrong not to go to the party!My uncle was evidently pleased with my compliance; and it is not wise tovex one's rich uncles, if one can help it--is it, Hippolyte!"
I pressed her hand again.
"Besides, Monsieur Delaroche was not there. He was not even invited; soyou see how far they were from laying matchmaking plots, and howgroundless were all your fears and reproaches!"
Monsieur Delaroche! Could this be the Delaroche of my special aversion?I pressed her hand again, more closely, more tenderly, and listened forwhat might come next.
"Well, it is all over now! And will you promise _never, never, never_ tobe jealous again? Then, to be jealous of such a creature as thatridiculous Delaroche--a man who knows nothing--who can think and talkonly of his own absurd self!--a man who has not even wit enough to seethat every one laughs at him!"
I was delighted. I longed to embrace her on the spot! Was there eversuch a charming, sensible, lively creature?
"Besides, the coxcomb is just now devoting himself, body and soul (suchas they are!) to that insufferable little _intriguante_, Madame deMarignan. He is to be seen with her in every drawing-room and theatrethroughout Paris. For my part, I am amazed that a woman of the worldshould suffer herself to be compromised to that extent--especially oneso experienced in these _affaires du coeur_."
Madame de Marignan! Compromised--experienced--_intriguante_! I felt asif I were choking.
"To be sure, there is that poor English lad whom she drags about withher, to play propriety," continued she; "but do you suppose the world isblinded by so shallow an artifice?"
"What English lad?" I asked, startled out of all sense of precaution,and desperately resolved to know the worst.
"What English lad? Why, Hippolyte, you are more stupid than ever! Ipointed him out to you the other night at the Comedie Francaise--a pale,handsome boy, of about nineteen or twenty, with brown curling hair, andvery fine eyes, which were riveted on Madame de Marignan the wholeevening. Poor fellow! I cannot help pitying him."
"Then--then, you think she really does not love him?" I said. And thistime my voice was hoarse enough, without any need of feigning.
"Love him! Ridiculous! What does such a woman understand by love?Certainly neither the sentiment nor the poetry of it! Tush, Hippolyte! Ido not wish to be censorious; but every one knows that ever since M. deMarignan has been away in Algiers, that woman has had, not one devotedadmirer, but a dozen; and now that her husband is coming back...."
"Coming back! ... her husband!" I echoed, half rising in my place, andfalling back again, as if stunned. "Good heavens! is she not a widow?"
It was now the lady's turn to be startled.
"A widow!" she repeated. "Why, you know as well as I that--_Dieu_! Towhom I am speaking?"
"Madame," I said, as steadily as my agitation would let me, "I beg younot to be alarmed. I am not, it is true, the person whom you havesupposed; but--Nay, I implore you...."
She here uttered a quick cry, and darted forward for the check-string.Arresting her hand half way, respectfully but firmly, I went on:--
"How I came here, I will explain presently. I am a gentleman; and uponthe word of a gentleman, Madame, am innocent of any desire to offend oralar
m you. Can you--will you--hear me for one moment?"
"I appear, sir, to have no alternative," replied she, trembling like acaged bird.
"I might have left you undeceived, Madame. I might have extricatedmyself from, this painful position undiscovered--but for some wordswhich just escaped your lips; some words so nearly concerning the--thehonor and happiness of--of.... in short, I lost my presence of mind. Inow implore you to tell me if all that you have just been saying ofMadame de Marignan is strictly true."
"Who are you, sir, that you should dare to surprise confidences intendedfor another, and by what right do you question me?" said the lady,haughtily.
"By no right, Madame," I replied, fairly breaking into sobs, and buryingmy face in my hands. "I can only appeal to your compassion. I am thatEnglishman whom--whom...."
For a moment there was silence. My companion was the first to speak.
"Poor boy!" she said; and her voice, now, was gentle and compassionate."You have been rudely undeceived. Did Madame de Marignan pass herselfoff upon you for a widow?"
"She never named her husband to me--I believed that she was free. Ifancied he had been dead for years. She knew that was my impression."
"And you would have married her--actually married her?"
"I--I--hardly dared to hope...."
"_Ciel_! it is almost beyond belief. And you never inquired into herpast history?"
"Never. Why should I?"
"Monsieur de Marignan holds a government appointment in Algiers, and hasbeen absent more than four years. He is, I understand, expected backshortly, on leave of absence."
I conquered my agitation by a supreme effort.
"Madame," I said, "I thank you. It now only remains for me to explain myintrusion. I can do so in half a dozen words. Caught in the storm andunable to find a conveyance, I sought shelter in this carriage, whichbeing the last on the file, offered the only refuge of which I couldavail myself unobserved. While waiting for the tempest to abate, I fellasleep; and but for the chance which led you to mistake me for another,I must have been discovered when you entered the carriage."
"Then, finding yourself so mistaken, Monsieur, would it not have beenmore honorable to undeceive me than to usurp a conversation which...."
"Madame, I dared not. I feared to alarm you--I hoped to find some meansof escape, and...."
"_Mon Dieu_! what means? How are you to escape as it is? How leave thecarriage without being seen by my servants?"
I had not thought of this, nor of the dilemma in which my presence mustplace her.
"I can open the door softly," said I, "and jump out unperceived."
"Impossible, at the pace we are going! You would break your neck."
I shook my head, and laughed bitterly.
"Have no fear of that, Madame," I said. "Those who least value theirnecks never happen to break them. See, I can spring out as we pass thenext turning, and be out of sight in a moment."
"Indeed, I will not permit it. Oh, dear! we have already reached theFaubourg St. Germain. Stay--I have an idea I Do you know what o'clockit is?"
"I don't know how long I may have slept; but I think it must be quitethree."
"_Bien_! The Countess de Blois has a ball to-night, and her visitors aresure not to disperse before four or five. My sister is there. I willsend in to ask if she has yet gone home, and when the carriage stops youcan slip out. Here is the Rue de Bac, and the door of her hotel is yetsurrounded with equipages."
And with this, she let down a front window, desired the coachman tostop, leaned forward so as to hide me completely, and sent in herfootman with the message. When the man had fairly entered the hall, sheturned to me and said:--
"Now, Monsieur, fly! It is your only chance."
"I go, Madame; but before going, suffer me to assure you that I knowneither your name, nor that of the person for whom you mistook me--thatI have no idea of your place of residence--that I should not know you ifI saw you again to-morrow--in short, that you are to me as entirely astranger as if this adventure had never happened."
"Monsieur, I thank you for the assurance; but I see the servantreturning. Pray, begone!"
I sprang out without another word, and, never once looking back, darteddown a neighboring street and waited in the shadow of a doorway till Ithought the carriage must be out of sight.
The night was now fine, the moon was up, and the sky was full of stars.But I heeded nothing, save my own perplexed and painful thoughts.Absorbed in these, I followed the course of the Rue du Bac till I cameto the Pont National. There my steps were arrested by the sight of theeddying river, the long gleaming front of the Louvre, the quaint,glistening gables of the Tuilleries, the far-reaching trees of theChamps Elysees all silvered in the soft, uncertain moonlight. It was amost calm and beautiful picture; and I stood for a long time leaningagainst the parapet of the bridge, and looking dreamily at the scenebefore me. Then I heard the quarters chime from belfry to belfry allover the quiet city, and found that it was half-past three o'clock.Presently a patrol of _gendarmes_ went by, and, finding that they pausedand looked at me suspiciously, I turned away, and bent my stepshomewards.
By the time I reached the Cite Bergere it was past four, and the earlymarket-carts were already rumbling along the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre.Going up wearily to my apartments, I found a note waiting for me inDalrymple's handwriting. It ran thus:--
"MY DEAR DAMON:--
"Do you know that it is nearly a month since I last saw you? Do you knowthat I have called twice at your lodgings without finding you at home? Ihear of you as having been constantly seen, of late, in the society of avery pretty woman of our acquaintance; but I confess that I do notdesire to see you go to the devil entirely without the friendlyassistance of
"Yours faithfully,
"OSCAR DALRYMPLE."
I read the note twice. I could scarcely believe that I had so neglectedmy only friend. Had I been mad? Or a fool?--or both? Too anxious andunhappy to sleep, and too tired to sit up, I lit my lamp, threw myselfupon the bed, and there lay repenting my wasted hours, my misplaced loveand my egregious folly, till morning came with its sunshine and itstraffic, and found me a "wiser," if not a "better man."
"Half-past seven!" exclaimed I to myself, as I jumped up and plunged myhead into a basin of cold water. "Dr. Cheron shall see me before ninethis morning. I'll call on Dalrymple at luncheon time; at three, I mustget back for the afternoon lecture; and in the evening--in the evening,by Jove! Madame de Marignan must be content with her adorable Delaroche,for the deuce a bit of her humble servant will she ever see again!"
And away I went presently along the sunny streets, humming to myselfthose saucy and wholesome lines of good Sir Walter Raleigh's:--
"Shall I like a hermit dwell On a rock, or in a cell, Calling home the smallest part That is missing of my heart, To bestow it where I may Meet a rival every day? If she undervalues me, What care I how fair she be?"
In the Days of My Youth: A Novel Page 13
