San-Cravate; or, The Messengers; Little Streams Part 44

Mademoiselle Sophie's anecdote greatly amused the young dressmaking apprentices. Mademoiselle Euphemie could not control her outbursts of laughter, and the corpulent Julienne cried:

"But it would have been much more convenient for eating, if they'd had a box with a salon. There must be plates and gla.s.ses in those boxes."

"They even have a kitchen at one side," said tall Laura, "with everything you need to roast a joint."

"Oh! what fun it must be to see a play and turn the spit at the same time!"

"Mon Dieu! how you do chatter to-day, mesdemoiselles! If this nonsense goes on, we shan't be able to deliver our orders."

"Talking don't prevent sewing, mademoiselle."

"We haven't any reason to be dismal," said the girl with the affected manners.--"By the way, mesdemoiselles, I saw our old comrade Leonie yesterday. She had the arm of a man who didn't have any style at all--and who was dressed like a messenger!"

"Ah! some women have such vile taste!"

"They stoop so low!"

"There are some who wouldn't blush to love a bootblack."

"A messenger and a bootblack are the same thing."

"Do you think so, Euphemie?"

"To be sure; when you want to have your shoes polished, you go up to a messenger and put your foot on his _crochets_, and he's obliged to polish 'em right away."

"Indeed! but what if he don't have any polish?"

"That don't make any difference. Besides, those fellows always do have; they lend their things to each other."

"I must treat myself to a s.h.i.+ne, then. Two sous is enough to pay, and I'll have my shoes s.h.i.+ned by young Paul, the messenger who plays the swell."

Little Elina said nothing, but held her head still lower over her work; for her eyes were full of tears, she was choking with vexation and anger, and she did not want them to see her weep.

Luckily, Madame Dumanchon's arrival put an end to this conversation.

When their mistress was present, the girls dared not talk or laugh or sing; they had to content themselves with looking at one another from time to time, and making signs or wry faces.

Elina left the workroom with a heavy heart and eyes still red with weeping.

"Mon Dieu! how spiteful those girls are!" she said to herself. "But what would they say if they knew that poor Paul, whom they sneer at so, is also a foundling? But all that doesn't prevent my loving him, for I'm sure that he's honest and good, and that he loves me. Oh! his voice rang so true when he told me. And it seems to me that, for all his humble condition, he has better manners and expresses himself better than any of the men who come to speak to the girls sometimes."

To help her to forget the chagrin she had felt in the workroom, she hurried across the street to say good-night to Paul before returning to her aunt's. But her hope was disappointed: Paul was not in his place, and, having looked about to see if she could discover him anywhere, Elina sadly went home, flattering herself that she would have better luck the next day.

The next day came; Elina, who had slept very little and dreamed a great deal,--which seems, at first glance, a difficult feat, yet happens not infrequently,--descended from her loft, dressed with care, looked at herself in her mirror oftener than usual, to make sure that her hair was becomingly arranged, and left the house, saying in reply to her aunt, who asked her where she was going so early, that there was a press of work, and that Madame Dumanchon had urged them to come in good season.

"There ought not to be many people in the street as yet," thought Elina, as she went downstairs; "and we shall have time to talk a little. I am sure he's as anxious for a little talk as I am."

She walked rapidly from her home to the dressmaker's, and when she reached the corner of the boulevard glanced toward Paul's usual stand; but he was not there, and there were no _crochets_ or jacket to indicate that he had been there.

"It seems that he is less eager to see me than I am to see him,"

murmured Elina, with a sigh. "But he may have business this morning, some errand a long way off--so that it isn't his fault that he isn't here. Oh, yes! that must be it, for it isn't possible that he doesn't want to see me this morning."

Reflecting that it was still very early to go to her work, the girl walked some distance along the boulevard, then returned to the corner of Rue du Helder. Paul had not arrived, but his two comrades, Sans-Cravate and Jean Ficelle, were in their places.

Elina hesitated, walked away a few steps, then returned to the boulevard, saying to herself:

"But I haven't bought anything yet for my breakfast and dinner; still, I must live to-day, so I will go and buy something; meanwhile, he will come; as his comrades have arrived, he must be here soon."

She walked along the boulevard, going from one shop to another, hesitating between the pastry-cook and the grocer, between a loaf of bread and some _galette_, between honey and jam, in order to spend more time about it and to give Paul an opportunity to arrive. But she had to make up her mind at last. She returned to Rue du Helder with a portion of _galette_, which she had no desire to taste; but Paul was not in his place. She must needs resign herself to the necessity of going to her work without speaking to Paul, without even catching a glimpse of him.

All day long, her feet itched; she tried to invent pretexts for going out, she offered to do all the errands; but her zeal was unrewarded, she was not sent out; and the more eagerness she manifested, the more determined Mademoiselle Frotard seemed to be that she should not go. So that she was compelled to wait until evening.

As soon as the hour for ceasing work had come, she went away among the first; and when she reached the street, she gazed anxiously about. But her heart fell, her hope vanished; Paul was not there.

To be unable to see the person whom one loves best, to have no idea where he is, or what is the cause of his absence--is not that enough to make one exceedingly unhappy, and have we not all had that experience?

Profound discouragement and gloom seize upon our hearts at such times, and it seems to us that all is lost, that our happy days have vanished, never to return.

In this frame of mind, Elina returned to her aunt's; she could find no hope elsewhere than in her little loft, because there everything spoke to her of Paul, because it was there that he had first told her that he loved her.

The next day, Elina rose as early, dressed even more quickly, and hastily left the house. She was no more fortunate than on the preceding day: the young messenger was not in his place; she loitered about and waited, to no purpose; nor did she see him that evening, when she left her work.

A week pa.s.sed thus, a week which seemed endless to Elina, who was utterly unable to understand Paul's disappearance, and did not know what to think; but her heart was oppressed by anxiety and the keenest sorrow.

At last, on the ninth day, when she arrived at Rue du Helder in the morning and looked in vain for Paul, the girl could no longer endure the tortures she was suffering, and accosted Sans-Cravate and Jean Ficelle, who were seated side by side.

"I wanted to speak to your comrade--Monsieur Paul," she said, in a trembling voice; "doesn't he stand here any more?"

"You can see for yourself," replied Sans-Cravate, with his usual gruffness, intensified by the anger he felt whenever he heard Paul's name.

Elina was going away, afraid to ask any further questions, when Jean Ficelle said to her, in a wheedling tone:

"If mademoiselle wanted someone to do an errand or carry a letter, or anything else, I am at her service, and I can do what's wanted as well as the one she asks for."

"I thank you," replied Elina, "but I didn't ask for Monsieur Paul, to do an errand; that is to say, it was about something I asked him to do; he was to bring me an answer--and I haven't seen him for a week."

"Sure enough, mamzelle; he hasn't been in his place for as long as that."

"And you don't know what keeps him away? Perhaps he is sick?"

Jean Ficelle replied, with a cunning smile:

"Oh, no! that ain't the reason he ain't here."

"It isn't? Why, do you know what the reason is?"

"_Dame!_ we have our suspicions. In the first place, perhaps he ain't a messenger any longer; he had more than one trade."

"More than one trade? What do you mean?"

"Oh! there's something mysterious about it; he's a man of mystery, is your Monsieur Paul."