The Milkmaid of Montfermeil Part 90

It was by thinking of Denise, by recalling the happy moments that he had pa.s.sed with her, that Auguste strove to forget his deplorable plight. He was well aware that he would always find shelter under Denise's roof, but he could not make up his mind to live at her expense.

"It may be that it was from compa.s.sion that she offered me her hand," he said to himself.

On the following day, after carefully brus.h.i.+ng his old coat, and trying to dissemble his dest.i.tution, Auguste set out to visit his debtors. His first two calls were not fortunate; one man was dead, the other had gone to Bordeaux, whither Auguste could not go to seek him. At his third attempt he was more fortunate; the debtor was a young man who, like Dalville, was devoted to pleasure; he was in the act of performing his second toilet when his creditor was ushered into his presence.

One does not put oneself out for a poorly dressed person, and the young man, who did not recognize Dalville, said to him while continuing to tie his cravat:

"What do you want?"

"First of all, to see you. Is it possible that Leon does not recognize me?"

Surprised at being addressed by his baptismal name, the young man bestowed a contemptuous glance upon Auguste and said:

"Deuce take me if I know you. Can it be that we have ever had anything to do with each other?"

"Yes, monsieur, for Auguste Dalville has had the privilege of doing you a favor more than once."

"Auguste Dalville!" cried the young man, turning his head once more; "what! can it be you, my dear fellow?"

"Myself!"

"Oh! it's impossible! you are dressed like a highwayman! Are you just out of prison?"

"No, thank G.o.d! unfortunate as I am, I have never put myself in the way of being imprisoned."

"Look you, my dear fellow, that doesn't prevent one's being an honest man; I've been to Sainte-Pelagie more than once myself, and it's likely that I shall go again. Poor Auguste!--d.a.m.n this knot! I shall never get it tied.--Well, what chance brings you here, my dear friend? You haven't been seen anywhere for a century."

"It's three years since I left Paris; I have been in Italy and England."

"The devil you say! Tell me, is it true that the English tie their cravats like a groom?"

"That isn't the kind of thing I gave my attention to on my travels. As I have told you, Leon, I am not in luck; but when I was rich you had recourse to my purse more than once. I lent you more than a thousand francs; half of that sum would be of great service to me now, and I have come to ask you to pay me five hundred francs on account of what you owe me."

"Parbleu! my dear Auguste, you have chosen a very bad time. I lost at roulette yesterday all the money I had. I determined to put my luck to the test. I have nothing left, and if I can't pick up ten louis or so to-day, to take a lovely little woman to the Bois, I am a lost man. My charmer will probably go to the Bois with somebody else, and you can understand--Does my cravat look all right?"

"I thought that you had a better heart, Leon. You will find ten louis to take your charmer to drive, but you can't find them for me, to whom you owe them, and who am in a lamentable plight."

"I don't say that I won't find them for you, my dear fellow. Come again in a few days; I promise to put aside all I win at cards, and it shall be for you. Poor Dalville--on my honor, I am distressed.--This corner of my collar won't stay in place; it's terribly annoying, it spoils all the harmony of a costume."

Auguste left the young dandy's apartment, wondering how he could ever have been the friend of a man whose head was as empty as his heart. He called upon others of his debtors: some were out, some had moved. He returned home, tired out and with little hope of faring better on the morrow. For several days he persistently pursued them; but the majority were not to be found or not to be seen; those whom he succeeded in seeing never had any money, and it was impossible for him to catch young Leon at home again. He sought fruitlessly the abode of the Marquis de Cligneval; but one day, as he was going home, he saw monsieur le marquis, ran after him and stopped him.

"What do you want of me?" said Monsieur de Cligneval haughtily.

"I have something to say to you, monsieur."

"I don't know you."

"You don't know me!" cried Auguste angrily, standing in front of the marquis, who was about to walk away. His tone and the flash in his eyes evidently refreshed Monsieur de Cligneval's memory, for he replied, trying to smile:

"Oh! I beg pardon! a thousand pardons! It's Monsieur Dalville. I was so engrossed--I am going out to dinner--I am late, and----"

"Monsieur, you have owed me money for a long, long time, which you borrowed for a few days only."

"I, owe you money? Oh! you are mistaken, I a.s.sure you."

"What, monsieur?"

"I beg pardon--I paid you! I give you my word that I paid you, a long time ago; that's why you have forgotten it."

"You dare to a.s.sert----"

"My dear sir, you confuse my debt with somebody else's; really I paid you. Think carefully and you will remember. When you lend to a number of people, you get them mixed and forget; it's like boston--there are people who always ask you twice for the trick.--Adieu! au revoir! I am going out to dine."

Monsieur de Cligneval was already far away. Auguste stood still, petrified by his debtor's impudence; but what is one to do with a man who denies a debt, when one has no evidence thereof? To thrash him would be some compensation at least, but the law would put you in the wrong.

Auguste went home more depressed and dejected than ever, and, to cap the climax of his misfortunes, fatigue and anxiety had inflamed his blood.

He was consumed by fever; he was alone, on a bag of straw, and ere long it would be impossible for him to obtain those things which were essential for his restoration to health.

Stretched on his bed, where he had pa.s.sed the whole day, Auguste courted sleep, which avoided his eyes. He was in pain, he breathed with difficulty, and sounds of mirth disturbed the silence of his abode. The person who lived below him seemed to be singing over her work; her voice pierced the thin ceiling that separated her from the hapless invalid, and the latter, on his bed of suffering, distinguished from time to time a vaudeville air or the refrain of a _chansonnette_.

"Those people haven't a fever like me," he said to himself. "Oh! this is an excellent time to be philosophical, but nature speaks louder than philosophy."

After a sleepless night, the poor fellow, devoured by thirst, found that he had no more water with which to satisfy it. He summoned all his strength, left his bed, and dragged himself down to the concierge's room; for he dared not apply to any neighbors, and moreover he was alone, between two lofts, on his sixth floor.

"Oh! are you sick, monsieur?" cried the concierge, at sight of Auguste.

"Yes, I have been suffering greatly since yesterday."

"You must take care of yourself and not go out."

"Oh! that would be impossible!"

"Leave your key outside, monsieur; I'll come up to-night to see if you want anything."

Auguste thanked the woman, crawled back to his garret with much difficulty, and threw himself on his bed once more.

The concierge, like all of her cla.s.s, loved to talk, and very soon all the lodgers who stopped at her lodge knew that there was on the sixth floor a young man with a very distinguished bearing who was probably going to have inflammation of the lungs.

Among the persons who stopped to chat with the concierge was the singer who lived below the sick man. This singer was no other than Virginie, who had not succeeded in making a fortune by riotous living. Dissipation soon banishes the hues of health, late hours circle the eyes, fatigue of all sorts impairs beauty, and beauty was almost the sole possession of Virginie, who, with three years added to her age, had fewer lovers than of yore. All this was the reason why she was living in the Marais, in a very modest fifth floor apartment; that she often pa.s.sed her evenings in working, because she no longer had some pleasure party for every evening; and lastly, that she sang over her work, because she had retained her voice and her cheerfulness.

Virginie had a kind heart, she had never sinned except through excess of sensibility. There are women who have no sensibility except where pleasure is concerned, but Virginie was still capable of sympathy with the unfortunate. On learning that there was a young man above her who was alone and ill, Virginie asked the concierge:

"Have you been up to see if he wanted anything?"

"I haven't been yet because I've got to watch my stew; but I'll go up to-night."

"Well! you are a good one! Suppose the man gets sicker before then? I'll go myself. I'm only sorry I didn't know it sooner, for I sang all last evening, and when a person is feverish he don't like trills; but I was in good voice! I could have sung _Armide!_ I'm going up to see my neighbor. He's young, you say?"

"Why, yes--twenty-nine or thereabouts."