The Bashful Lover Part 28

Monsieur Poterne replied, with a sneering laugh that sounded like the rattling of copper sous in a saucepan:

"Monsieur Jasmin is joking! The cat that I had the honor to sell you is very valuable; he used to belong to a Spanish grandee. It is possible that he may turn white temporarily; he may not be well; but the color will all come back if you take good care of him."

"Do you mean that you think that animals aren't well fed in our house?"

demanded Jasmin haughtily.

"I didn't mean that, my dear monsieur; but Spanish cats are very delicate, and----"

"All right," said Cherubin, "we have talked enough about a cat.

Doubtless you have come to offer me something new, Monsieur Poterne?

for you are an invaluable man! With you one has no time to form a wish."

"Monsieur le marquis is too kind; as it happens, I have something."

As he spoke, Monsieur Poterne bestowed a savage glance on the old valet, whose presence embarra.s.sed him; but Jasmin did not budge, and as his master did not tell him to go, Monsieur Poterne was fain to make up his mind to exhibit before him what he had under his coat.

"Well, what have you brought me to-day?" asked Cherubin.

"What I have brought you, monsieur le marquis,--is a bargain."

"Always bargains," muttered Jasmin; "we know all about that."

"I have just come from the sale at an ex-minister's house; he was a great epicure. At your age, monsieur le marquis, young people like sweetmeats--good things--especially those that are hard to get. Faith, when this was put up for sale, I thought that you might like it."

As he spoke, Monsieur Poterne produced from beneath his coat a huge jar of blue china, carefully sealed with parchment.

"What is there in that, Monsieur Poterne?"

"Indian preserve, monsieur le marquis; it's a very popular sweetmeat in hot countries, and very rare in France, on account of the difficulty of bringing it here; this is made of pineapples."

"The deuce!" muttered Jasmin; "he's taken to bringing us eatables now!

This is the finis.h.i.+ng touch!"

"A jar of this size is ordinarily worth a hundred francs at Chevet's, when he has any. I got this for fifty, and I bought it with the intention of offering it to you."

"Thanks, Monsieur Poterne; pineapple preserve should be delicious, in very truth.--Jasmin, give Monsieur Poterne fifty francs, then take this preserve to the pantry."

Jasmin took the jar which the ugly knave handed him.

"We don't need preserves," he muttered. "Mademoiselle Turlurette makes very good ones, and it wasn't worth while----"

A glance from Cherubin imposed silence on the old retainer, who walked, still grumbling, to the secretary and took out the money, while Poterne said to the young man:

"I shall soon have something very interesting to offer to monsieur le marquis. It's a monkey of the large species, extremely bright and intelligent, whose owner would not dispose of him except that he has failed in business. I mean to seize the opportunity, and you will have a monkey worthy of a king."

"A monkey!" cried Jasmin; "that would be the bouquet! Our house would be a complete menagerie then!"

"Hush, Jasmin," said Cherubin; "and do you, Monsieur Poterne, bring me the monkey as soon as you obtain it. I am very anxious to own it."

Monsieur Poterne bowed, took the fifty francs which the old servant, with a horrible grimace, counted out to him, and left the room, repeating that he would try to get the monkey at a reasonable figure.

Cherubin, who had an appointment with Darena and several other young men to breakfast at the Cafe de Paris, hastily completed his toilet and dismissed his old servant, who was in despair at the idea of having a monkey. He left the room, after casting an angry glance at the jar for which his master had just paid fifty francs.

A few minutes later, Cherubin, attended by a genuine groom, entered his tilbury and drove away, paying no heed to Jasmin, who shouted to him from a window in the pantry:

"He's taken us in, monsieur! It's grape jelly and nothing else!"

XVI

MONSIEUR POTERNE CONTINUES HIS LITTLE TRICKS

At the Cafe de Paris, Cherubin found Darena and two young dandies whose acquaintance he had made in the foyer of the Opera. Intimacies are quickly formed at eighteen years; we proffer and give our friends.h.i.+p as if it were the most commonplace thing in the world. As we grow older, we often discover that we gave nothing and received nothing.

Cherubin's two new friends were only a few years older than he. One of them, whose name was Benoit Mousseraud, called himself _de_ Mousseraud, and never mentioned his Christian name, which he considered vulgar. The other, on the contrary, whose name was Oscar Chiponard, used his Christian name only, and never mentioned his family name.

The former was a tall, slender young man of twenty-two, not ill-looking, although his eyes lacked expression and his hair, which he declared to be blond, bordered closely on the red; he was a brainless chatterbox, who boasted of making a conquest of every woman he saw, and of being the best dressed man in Paris.

The other was twenty-four years of age; he was small, dark, yellow-skinned, and would have been decidedly ugly, except that his black eyes were so full of fire and animation that they imparted much expression to his countenance. He might have pa.s.sed for a clever fellow, if he had not had the folly to blush for his family and to lose his temper whenever anyone mentioned the name of his father.

Both these gentlemen belonged to wealthy families. Mousseraud was the son of a provincial notary and proposed to purchase a brokerage business in Paris; Chiponard, whose father was a retired watchmaker, proposed to do nothing at all.

They both displayed great friendliness to Darena because he was of n.o.ble birth, and he reciprocated because they were rich. In society there is an almost constant interchange of these selfish sentiments.

"Come, come, Marquis Cherubin," said Darena, "we are waiting for you; the breakfast is all ordered, and it will be rather fine; I understand such matters."

"You're a little late," said Oscar.

"He has probably been to bid one of his mistresses good-morning," added the tall Mousseraud, stroking his chin.

"My mistresses!" repeated Cherubin artlessly; "oh! I haven't any."

"Hasn't any, indeed!" cried Darena, nudging him; "I trust that you don't believe that! The fact is that he has them in all quarters; he is a downright villain with the women already.--Don't say that you have no mistresses," he added in Cherubin's ear; "people will laugh at you and point their fingers at you as a curiosity. And it's a fact, my dear fellow, that for a young man of eighteen, you are very backward."

Cherubin blushed and hastily took his seat at the table. During the breakfast Mousseraud talked incessantly of his _bonnes fortunes_, while Oscar from time to time made malicious comments upon what his friend said. Darena ate, drank, and laughed at their speeches. Cherubin listened to everything with the utmost good faith, simply uttering exclamations of wonder when their adventures seemed to him extraordinary.

"Yes, messieurs," said the tall red-blond, "at this moment I have five mistresses, without counting two others who are on the waiting list."

"Waiting for what?" sneered Oscar.

"Parbleu! that is plain enough: waiting for the intrigue to be consummated; it will be arranged this week, or next at the latest."

"Then you will have seven mistresses, just like a rooster!"

"Oh! you may pretend to joke, Oscar, but it's the truth. Indeed, I sometimes have more."