Frederique Volume I Part 24

"Yes, monsieur; she has three hundred francs."

"Well?"

"Well, that don't make any difference; when she does an errand--for instance, when her master sends her with a letter to one of his friends, or anywhere else--well, that's fifteen sous; she charges a commission of fifteen sous. When she has to wash the windows, it's twenty sous. When she scrubs, it's twenty-five sous; do you see?"

"Perfectly. So it's just the same as if he hadn't any servant; that's very convenient!"

"She calls that putting the masters where they belong."

"Just try putting me where I belong! I'll discharge you on the instant."

"However, it seems that Rosalie's master never found any fault with all that; but the other night he told her to warm his bed; and when she charged him twelve sous for it the next day, that made him mad. I says to her: 'I must say, mamzelle, it seems to me, you might warm your master's bed for nothing!'--'Well, I guess not!' says she; 'he'd get into the habit of having it done every night!'"

"Peste! there's a servant who will make her way in the world."

"She's making it, monsieur; she tells me that she takes thirty-six francs to the savings bank every month."

"And her wages are only twenty-five! She has the saving instinct, sure!"

While I was talking with Pomponne, I noticed an odor that was not customary in my apartments.

"Pomponne," I said abruptly, "have you been smoking this morning?"

"Smoking, monsieur? You know I never smoke."

"But it smells of tobacco here; not of cigars, but of a pipe, and vile tobacco too."

My servant smiled with an expression which he tried to render cunning, and said in an undertone, leaning over me:

"I know who it is; it's the other one."

"What other one?"

"The man who's waiting out there, in the reception room."

"What! there's someone waiting for me, and you didn't tell me?"

"Oh! he--he said he wasn't in any hurry."

"And you told me that no one had called!"

"He's not a caller. I heard you say once: 'If that person comes here again, and I have company, call me at once; don't let him in.'"

I trembled as I began to realize who the visitor was.

"Can it be----" I faltered.

"Yes, monsieur; it's the party named Ballangier--the one who's so free and easy like, and makes himself so much at home here, just as if he was in his own house."

I felt as if a heavy weight had settled down on my chest. In an instant all my cheerful thoughts had vanished. A feeling of depression replaced them. The presence--the very name--of Ballangier always produced that effect on me.

"Has this--gentleman been here long?"

"About three-quarters of an hour, monsieur, when you rang."

"Didn't you tell him that I had been at a ball, and that I was likely to sleep very late?"

"Yes, monsieur, I said all that. But he just sat down and said: 'That's all the same to me; I've got plenty of time.' And then, he took out a pipe and lighted it. It was no use for me to say: 'You mustn't smoke here; my master don't like the smell.'--He sings out: 'I smoke everywhere! and you can open the windows and burn some _castonnade_.'"

"Show the gentleman in, and leave us. And if anybody should call while he is here, remember, Pomponne, that I am not at home to anyone."

"Yes, monsieur--as usual."

Pomponne went out, and in a moment the person who was waiting entered my bedroom.

Ballangier was thirty-four years old; he looked older, because he had led a riotous life for a long while. Dissipation and debauchery make a man old prematurely.

Imagine a man of more than ordinary height, who would have had a good figure if he had not acquired the habit of stooping. A refined, regular face, aquiline nose, small, heart-shaped mouth, and very black eyes surmounted by heavy eyebrows; an abundance of hair, once black, but now gray. All this would have formed an attractive whole, had it not been spoiled by a p.r.o.nounced hangdog air. An expression that was impudent when not made stupid by drink, and manners that were often brutal; in addition, clothes that were always soiled and often in tatters, and the gait of a drummer; this rough sketch may serve to convey an impression of the person who stood before me.

On the present occasion he wore a brown frock-coat that was neither ripped nor torn. It lacked only two b.u.t.tons in front, but it was covered with spots and stains. His black trousers were shockingly muddy, as were his boots. As for his linen, that was invisible. A frayed black stock encircled his neck, and he held in his hand a round black hat which seemed to have had many hard knocks.

When he entered my bedroom, Ballangier removed his pipe from his mouth.

He walked forward, swaying his hips, nodded to me with a smile, and stretched himself out in an easy-chair, saying:

"Here I am! How goes it, Charles?"

"Very well, thanks."

"It seems that you had a bit of a spree last night, and you've had a good snooze this morning. You do right to enjoy yourself. It's such good fun to spree it! I'd like to do nothing else, myself."

"I should say that you had done little else thus far."

"Bah! bagatelles! To make things hum, a fellow must have the needful.

Everything's so dear to-day! Those villains of wine merchants and restaurant keepers won't give credit any more!"

"They are wise."

"Why are they wise?"

"Because you have run up bills more than once that would never have been paid if I hadn't paid them."

"Who says I wouldn't have paid my debts? But a fellow must have time!

Why are they in such a hurry?"

"You make me blush for you, Ballangier! Am I the person for you to make such speeches to?"

"Well, what's the matter now? Ain't I to be allowed to speak?"