My Neighbor Raymond Part 49

Madame de Marsan saw it all; she smiled maliciously and watched Nicette closely.

"What's the matter with you, child?" she asked, in a contemptuous tone; "you seem very much excited."

"Nothing, madame, nothing's the matter," the poor girl replied, in a trembling voice, looking at Madame de Marsan and at me in turn.

"What's the price of this orange tree?"

"It's--it's--whatever you choose to give, madame; I don't care."

"What's that? you don't care? That's a strange answer!--What do you think, my dear Dorsan? Come, answer; I don't know what's the matter with you to-night, really!"

"When you are ready, madame, we will go."

"Ah! I see, monsieur; you have reasons for not wanting to stay in this place with me; my presence embarra.s.ses you--and seems to grieve mademoiselle! Ha! ha! this is too good! to grieve this poor child!--that would be cruel beyond words! Come, monsieur, when you choose. But, I beg you, don't leave her in despair.--Adieu, my girl!"

She left the shop at last, and I followed her after glancing at Nicette.

But she was crying and did not look at me.

When we were in the street, Madame de Marsan laughed as if she would die, and joked me about my amours and about the innocent flower girl. I made no reply, although I might have made some very mortifying remarks; we must be indulgent to the woman who has been weak for our sake. I left her at her door. I was in great haste to see Nicette again; I was determined now to tell her all my thoughts, all my sentiments; I proposed to conceal from her no longer the genuine pa.s.sion which she had inspired, and which I had fought against to no purpose. She shared it; I could not doubt that. We would be happy together; yes, I would abandon myself thenceforth to the dictates of my heart, which told me that I must possess Nicette. The friends.h.i.+p between us was simply a pretext to conceal our love; we could not misunderstand each other! Why those fruitless efforts to overcome the sentiment that drew us toward each other? Why should cold prudence deprive us of happiness? Is love a crime, pray? and can that which makes us so happy make us guilty?

I ran, I flew--at last I stood before her shop; it was closed, and I could see no light within. I knocked: there was no reply. Was she asleep? No, no; I was sure that she would not be able to sleep. I knocked again--no reply! Where could she be? I pa.s.sed an hour in front of her shop. I knocked again, but to no purpose. I was convinced that she was inside, but that she was determined not to admit me, that she was weeping and did not wish me to see her tears. Perhaps she feared that I would reproach her for her conduct before Madame de Marsan. Dear Nicette! Far be it from me to reprove your love.

"I will see her to-morrow," I thought; "I will console her, and I shall easily triumph over the resolutions of the night! Since it must be, I will wait till to-morrow."

XXVII

MY STAR PURSUES ME

I did not sleep; my mind was too disturbed, my heart too agitated for me to obtain any rest. All night long I formed plans, prudent, extravagant, and delicious. Nicette was always included in those charming visions of the future, which my imagination conceived so readily; I transformed her into a shepherdess, a great lady, a _demoiselle_; she and I were together in a palace, in a village, in a desert; but, wherever we were, we were happy. Ah! how sweet it is to dream waking dreams when one loves and believes one's self to be loved in return!

I rose at daybreak; I had twenty schemes in my head, and, as usual, I could not decide upon any one. First of all, I must see Nicette; that was the most important thing. My toilet was soon completed; I was sure that I always looked well to her.

I left my room; everybody was still asleep in the house, unless there was somebody who was very much in love. Madame Dupont, who had ceased to be amorous, kept me waiting a century before she pulled the cord of the porte cochere; at last she heard me knocking and shouting at her window, and I was free.

In less than five minutes I was in front of the shop; it was still closed. I was surprised; Nicette was usually such an early bird.

Should I wait? should I knock? I stood hesitating in the street, when a messenger pa.s.sed. It was the same one I had questioned some time before; he recognized me, touched his hat as he pa.s.sed, and took his seat some twenty yards away. I walked toward him, with no definite idea what I was going to do. The messenger, who was pleased with my conduct on the former occasion, hastened to offer me his services.

"I have nothing for you to do, my friend," I said, in a decidedly dismal tone, mechanically putting a five-franc piece in his hand.

He stared at me in amazement, and waited for me to speak before he ventured to put the coin in his pocket. I looked toward Nicette's shop and pointed at it.

"That flower girl is rather late about opening, it seems to me," I said.

"Oh! it's early yet; but still, she's been a bit lazylike for some time.

Well, well! it isn't surprising!"

"Why so?"

"When a woman gets love into her head!"

"How do you know? Who told you she was in love?"

"Oh! a man don't have to be very sharp to see that kind of thing! you see, I've been on this square twenty year, so I ought to know pretty well what's going on in the quarter."

"What do you know about this girl? What have you seen? Answer, and keep nothing back. Here, take this."

I felt in my pocket again and put more silver in the messenger's hand, whereat his amazement redoubled and he looked into my face for symptoms of insanity.

"You told me that this girl was virtuous and honest, and that she did not speak to anybody, because she preferred not to."

"That's true, monsieur, that's true. She's honest enough still; but when a girl's young, she may take a liking for someone, and----"

"Explain yourself more clearly! What makes you think that?"

"Pardi, monsieur! because I see the fellow come to see her."

So Nicette had deceived me! Nicette did not love me! No, I could not believe it. I determined to question the man further. I leaned against the post that adjoined his stone bench; I needed support, for I trembled at the thought of finding my misery confirmed.

"You say that you see someone come to her shop?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Since when?"

"Why, it was about three weeks ago that the man came prowling around here; at first he came in the morning, to buy flowers; then he came at night, just at dusk, and talked a little; then he stayed longer; and it's got so now that he comes almost every night and talks an hour or two with the pretty little flower girl. But I think everything's all straight as yet; the shop door's always open, and unless they meet somewhere else, which is possible enough, for women are sly, and it ain't safe to trust to virtuous airs!----"

"What does he look like?"

"Well, he ain't exactly a young man, perhaps about forty years old; nor he ain't very handsome, either; but as to his get-up, he's one of your sort, a man who looks as if he was somebody! And you can see that the little flower girl, who put on airs with us poor folks, might have been flattered to make the conquest of a swell; that's probably what caught her!"

"And he comes every night?"

"Yes, monsieur, pretty near; he don't hardly ever miss a night now."

"That's enough."

I strode away from the messenger; the poor fellow had unsuspectingly torn my heart; at the very moment that I proposed to abandon myself without reserve to my love for Nicette; to turn my back on society of which I was weary, so that I might live with her and for her--at that moment, I lost her thus! She loved another, and I believed myself to be sure of her love! With that sweet delusion vanished the blissful future of my waking dreams that morning.

I was still in the street; I could not go away. At last the shop opened; Nicette appeared; she was pale and downcast; but I had never seen her when she was so pretty, I had never been so deeply in love with her.

The little traitor--with that innocent air! Alas! had I the right to complain? had she given me her troth? had I told her that I loved her?--But was it necessary to tell her so? It seemed to me that we understood each other so perfectly. We had both been deceived!

Should I speak to her? Of what use was it now? what could I say to her that would interest her? No; I would not see her or speak to her again; I would forget her!