The Wandering Jew Part 138

"Better than that, most rosy and pompous of all Rose-Pom, pons! I am head editor of a religious journal; and as I must make some appearance in so respectable a concern, I ask every month for four weeks in advance, and three days of liberty. On this condition, I consent to play the saint for twenty-seven days out of thirty, and to be always as grave and heavy as the paper itself."

"A journal! that will be something droll, and dance forbidden steps all alone on the tables of the cafes."

"Yes, it will be droll enough; but not for everybody. They are rich sacristans, who pay the expenses. They don't look to money, provided the journal bites, tears, burns, pounds, exterminates and destroys. On my word of honor, I shall never have been in such a fury!" added Ninny Moulin, with a loud, hoa.r.s.e laugh. "I shall wash the wounds of my adversaries with venom of the finest vintage, and gall of the first quality."

For his peroration, Ninny Moulin imitated the pop of uncorking a bottle of champagne--which made Rose-Pompon laugh heartily.

"And what," resumed she, "will be the name of your journal of sacristans?"

"It will be called 'Neighborly Love.'"

"Come! that is a very pretty name."

"Wait a little! there is a second t.i.tle."

"Let us hear it."

"'Neighborly Love; or, the Exterminator of the Incredulous, the Indifferent, the Lukewarm, and Others,' with this motto from the great Bossuet: 'Those who are not for us are against us.'"

"That is what Philemon says in the battles at the Chaumiere, when he shakes his cane."

"Which proves, that the genius of the Eagle of Meaux is universal. I only reproach him for having been jealous of Moliere."

"Bah! actor's jealousy," said Rose-Pompon.

"Naughty girl!" cried Ninny Moulin, threatening her with his finger.

"But if you are going to exterminate Madame de la Sainte-Colombo, who is somewhat lukewarm--how about your marriage?"

"My journal will advance it, on the contrary. Only think! editor-In chief is a superb position; the sacristans will praise, and push, and support, and bless me; I shall get La-Sainte-Colombe--and then, what a life I'll lead!"

At this moment, a postman entered the shop, and delivered a letter to the greengrocer, saying: "For M. Charlemagne, post-paid!"

"My!" said Rose-Pompon; "it is for the little mysterious old man, who has such extraordinary ways. Does it come from far?"

"I believe you; it comes from Italy, from Rome," said Ninny Moulin, looking in his turn at the letter, which the greengrocer held in her hand. "Who is the astonis.h.i.+ng little old man of whom you speak?"

"Just imagine to yourself, my great apostle," said Rose-Pompon, "a little old man, who has two rooms at the bottom of that court. He never sleeps there, but comes from time to time, and shuts himself up for hours, without ever allowing any one to enter his lodging, and without any one knowing what he does there."

"He is a conspirator," said Ninny Moulin, laughing, "or else a comer."

"Poor dear man," said Mother a.r.s.ene, "what has he done with his false money? He pays me always in sous for the bit of bread and the radish I furnish him for his breakfast."

"And what is the name of this mysterious chap?" asked Dumoulin.

"M. Charlemagne," said the greengrocer. "But look, surely one speaks of the devil, one is sure to see his horns."

"Where's the horns?"

"There, by the side of the house--that little old man, who walks with his neck awry, and his umbrella under his arm."

"M. Rodin!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Ninny Moulin, retreating hastily, and descending three steps into the shop, in order not to be seen. Then he added. "You say, that this gentleman calls himself--"

"M. Charlemagne--do you know him?" asked the greengrocer.

"What the devil does he do here, under a false name?" said Jacques Dumoulin to himself.

"You know him?" said Rose-Pompon, with impatience. "You are quite confused."

"And this gentleman has two rooms in this house, and comes here mysteriously," said Jacques Dumoulin, more and more surprised.

"Yes," resumed Rose-Pompon; "you can see his windows from Philemon's dove-cote."

"Quick! quick! let me go into the pa.s.sage, that I may not meet him,"

said Dumoulin.

And, without having been perceived by Rodin, he glided from the shop into the pa.s.sage, and thence mounted to the stairs, which led to the apartment occupied by Rose-Pompon.

"Good-morning, M. Charlemagne," said Mother a.r.s.ene to Rodin, who made his appearance on the threshold. "You come twice in a day; that is right, for your visits are extremely rare."

"You are too polite, my good lady," said Rodin, with a very courteous bow; and he entered the shop of the greengrocer.

(21) There are, really, ordinances, full of a touching interest for the canine race, which forbid the harnessing of dogs.

CHAPTER XXIX. THE DEN.

Rodin's countenance, when he entered Mother a.r.s.ene's shop, was expressive of the most simple candor. He leaned his hands on the k.n.o.b of his umbrella, and said: "I much regret, my good lady, that I roused you so early this morning."

"You do not come often enough, my dear sir, for me to find fault with you."

"How can I help it, my good lady? I live in the country, and only come hither from time to time to settle my little affairs."

"Talking of that sir, the letter you expected yesterday has arrived this morning. It is large, and comes from far. Here it is," said the greengrocer, drawing it from her pocket; "it cost nothing for postage."

"Thank you, my dear lady," said Rodin, taking the letter with apparent indifference, and putting it into the side-pocket of his great-coat, which he carefully b.u.t.toned over.

"Are you going up to your rooms, sir?"

"Yes, my good, lady."

"Then I will get ready your little provisions," said Mother a.r.s.ene; "as usual, I suppose, my dear sir?"

"Just as usual."

"It shall be ready in the twinkling of an eye, sir."