Sentimental Education (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (48 page)

And, in a familiar fashion, she laid her finger on his chin. He trembled at the contact of her long hands, at the same time thin and soft. Round her cuffs was an edging of lace, and on the body of her green dress lace embroidery, like a hussar’s uniform. Her bonnet of black tulle, with a drooping brim, concealed her forehead a little. Her eyes shone underneath; the scent of patchouli escaped from her hair. The oil-lamp placed on a round table, shining up like the footlights of a theatre, made her jaw look prominent; and suddenly before this ugly woman with the little movements of a panther, Frédéric felt an intense longing, a lusty desire.

She said to him, in a buttery tone, while she drew forth from her purse three square slips of paper:

“Will you take these from me?”

They were three tickets for Delmar’s benefit performance.

“What! for him?”

“Certainly.”

Mademoiselle Vatnaz, without giving a further explanation, added that she adored him more than ever. If she were to be believed, the comedian was now definitely classed amongst “the leading celebrities of the age.” And it was not such or such a personage that he represented, but the very genius of France, the People. He had “the humanitarian spirit; he understood the priesthood of Art.” Frédéric, in order to put an end to this praise, gave her the money for the three seats.

“You need not say a word about this over there. How late it is, good heavens! I must leave you. Ah! I was forgetting the address—’tis the Rue Grange-Batelier, number 14.”

And, at the door:

“Good-bye, beloved man!”

“Beloved by whom?” asked Frédéric. “What a strange woman!”

And he remembered that Dussardier had said to him one day, when talking about her:

“Oh, she’s not much!” as if alluding to dishonorable stories.

Next morning he went to the Maréchale’s abode. She lived in a new house, with awnings that projected into the street. At the head of each flight of stairs there was a mirror against the wall; before each window there was a flower-stand, and all over the steps extended a carpet of canvas; and when one got inside the door, the coolness of the staircase was refreshing.

It was a man-servant who came to open the door, a footman in a red waistcoat. On a bench in the entrance-hall a woman and two men, tradespeople, no doubt, were waiting as if in a minister’s vestibule. At the left, the door of the dining-room, slightly ajar, afforded a glimpse of empty bottles on the sideboards, and napkins on the backs of chairs; and parallel with it ran a corridor in which gold-coloured posts supported an espalier of roses. In the courtyard below, two boys with bare arms were scrubbing a landau. Their voices rose to Frédéric’s ears, mingled with the intermittent sounds made by a currycomb knocking against a stone.

The man-servant returned. “Madame will receive Monsieur,” and he led Frédéric through a second room, and then into a large drawing-room hung with yellow brocade and rope-mouldings in the corners which were joined in the middle of the ceiling, and which seemed to be continued in the cable-shaped loops of the chandelier. No doubt there had been a party there the night before. Some cigar-ashes had been allowed to remain on the tables.

At last he found his way into a kind of boudoir with stained-glass windows, through which the sun shed a dim light. Trefoils of carved wood adorned the upper portions of the doors. Behind a balustrade, three purple mattresses formed a divan; and the stem of a platinum hookah lay on top of it. Instead of a mirror, there was on the mantelpiece a pyramid-shaped whatnot, displaying on its shelves an entire collection of curiosities, old silver trumpets, Bohemian horns, jewelled clasps, jade studs, enamels, grotesque figures in china, and a little Byzantine virgin with a vermilion cape; and all this was mingled in a golden twilight with the bluish shade of the carpet, the mother-of-pearl reflections of the foot-stools, and the tawny hue of the walls covered with brown leather. In the corners, on little pedestals, there were bronze vases containing clusters of flowers, whose scent made the atmosphere heavy.

Rosanette presented herself, attired in a pink satin jacket with white cashmere trousers, a necklace of piasters, and a red cap encircled with a branch of jasmine.

Frédéric started back in surprise, then said he had brought the thing she had been speaking about, and he handed her the bank-note. She gazed at him in astonishment; and, as he still kept the note in his hand, without knowing where to put it:

“Pray take it!”

She seized it; then, as she flung it on the divan:

“You are very kind.”

She wanted it to meet the rent of a piece of ground at Bellevue, which she paid in this way every year. Her offhand manner wounded Frédéric’s sensibility. However, so much the better! this would avenge the past.

“Sit down,” said she. “There—closer.” And in a grave tone: “In the first place, I have to thank you, my dear friend, for having risked your life.”

“Oh! that’s nothing!”

“What! Why, ’tis a very noble act!”—and the Maréchale exhibited an embarrassing sense of gratitude; for it must have been impressed upon her mind that the duel was entirely on account of Arnoux, as the latter, who believed it himself, was not likely to have resisted the temptation of telling her so.

“She is laughing at me, perhaps,” thought Frédéric.

He had nothing more to do, and, pleading that he had an appointment, he rose.

“Oh! no, stay!”

He resumed his seat, and presently complimented her on her costume.

She replied, with an air of dejection:

“ ’Tis the Prince who likes me to dress in this fashion! And one must smoke such contraptions as that, too!” Rosanette added, pointing towards the hookah. “Suppose we try it? Have you any objection?”

She procured a light, and, finding it hard to set fire to the tobacco, she began to stamp impatiently with her foot. Then a feeling of languor took possession of her; and she remained motionless on the divan, with a cushion under her arm and her body twisted a little to one side, one knee bent and the other leg straight out.

The long serpent of red morocco, which formed rings on the floor, coiled itself around her arm. She rested the amber mouthpiece on her lips, and gazed at Frédéric while she blinked her eyes in the midst of the cloud of smoke that enveloped her. A gurgling sound came from her throat as she inhaled the fumes, and from time to time she murmured:

“The poor darling! the poor pet!”

He tried to find something of an agreeable nature to talk about. The thought of Vatnaz recurred to his memory.

He remarked that she appeared to him very lady-like.

“Yes, upon my word,” replied the Maréchale. “She is very lucky to have me, I’ll tell you!”—without adding another word, so much reserve was there in their conversation.

Each of them felt a sense of constraint, something that formed a barrier separating them. In fact, Rosanette’s vanity had been flattered by the duel, of which she believed herself to be the cause. Then, she was very much astonished that he did not hasten to take advantage of his achievement; and, in order to compel him to come back, she had invented this story that she wanted five hundred francs. How was it that Frédéric did not ask for a little love from her in return? This was a piece of refinement that filled her with amazement, and, with a gush of emotion, she said to him:

“Will you come with us to the sea-side?”

“What does ‘us’ mean?”

“Myself and my friend. I’ll make you pass for a cousin of mine, as in the old comedies.”

“A thousand thanks!”

“Well, then, you will arrange lodgings near ours.” The idea of hiding himself from a rich man humiliated him.

“No! that is impossible.”

“Suit yourself!”

Rosanette turned away with tears in her eyes. Frédéric noticed this, and in order to show that he cared for her, he said that he was delighted to see her at last in a comfortable position.

She shrugged her shoulders. What, then, was troubling her? Was it, perchance, that she was not loved.

“Oh! as for me, I always have people to love me!”

She added:

“It remains to be seen in what way.”

Complaining that she was “suffocating with the heat,” the Maréchale unfastened her vest; and, without anything else underneath except her silk chemise, she leaned her head on his shoulder so as to awaken his tenderness.

A man of less introspective egoism would not have bestowed a thought at such a moment on the possibility of the Vicomte, M. de Comaing, or anyone else appearing on the scene. But Frédéric had been too many times the dupe of these very glances to compromise himself by a fresh humiliation.

She wished to know all about his relationships and his amusements. She even enquired about his financial affairs, and offered to lend him money if he wanted it. Frédéric, unable to stand it any longer, took up his hat.

“I’m off, my pet! I hope you’ll enjoy yourself thoroughly down there.
Au revoir!
”

She opened her eyes wide; then, in a dry tone:

He made his way out through the yellow drawing-room, and through the second room. There was on the table, between a vase full of visiting-cards and an inkstand, a chased silver chest. It was Madame Arnoux’s. Then he experienced a feeling of tenderness, and, at the same time, as it were, the scandal of a sacrilege. He felt a longing to raise his hands towards it, and to open it. He was afraid of being seen, and went away.

Frédéric was virtuous. He did not go back to the Arnoux’s house. He sent his man-servant to buy the two negroes, having given him all the necessary directions; and the case containing them set forth the same evening for Nogent. Next morning, as he was on his way to Deslauriers’ lodgings, at the turn where the Rue Vivienne opened out on the boulevard, he met Madame Arnoux face to face.

The first movement of each of them was to draw back; then the same smile came to the lips of both, and they advanced to meet each other. For a minute, neither of them uttered a single word.

The sunlight fell round her, and her oval face, her long eyelashes, her black lace shawl, which showed the outline of her shoulders, her gown of shot silk, the bouquet of violets at the corner of her bonnet; all seemed to him to possess extraordinary magnificence. An infinite softness poured itself out of her beautiful eyes; and in a faltering voice, uttering at random the first words that came to his lips:

“How is Arnoux?”

“Well, thank you!”

“And your children?”

“They are very well!”

“Ah! ah! What fine weather we are having, are we not?”

“Splendid, indeed!”

“You’re going out shopping?”

“Yes.”

And, with a slow inclination of the head:

“Good-bye!”

She put out her hand, without having spoken one affectionate word, and did not even invite him to dinner at her house. No matter! He would not have given up this chance meeting for the most delightful of adventures; and he pondered over its sweetness as he proceeded on his way.

Deslauriers, surprised at seeing him, concealed his annoyance; for he cherished still through obstinacy some hope with regard to Madame Arnoux; and he had written to Frédéric to prolong his stay in the country in order to be free in his manoeuvres.

He informed Frédéric, however, that he had presented himself at her house in order to ascertain if their contract stipulated for a joint estate between husband and wife: in that case, proceedings might be taken against the wife; “and she put on a queer face when I told her about your marriage.”

“Now, then! What an invention!”

“It was necessary in order to show that you wanted your own capital! A person who was indifferent would not have been attacked with the fainting fit that she had.”

“Really?” exclaimed Frédéric.

“Ha! my fine fellow, you are betraying yourself! Come! be honest!”

A feeling of nervous weakness stole over Madame Arnoux’s lover.

“Why, no! I assure you! upon my word of honour!”

These feeble denials ended by convincing Deslauriers. He congratulated his friend, and asked him for some details. Frédéric gave him none, and even resisted a secret yearning to concoct a few. As for the mortgage, he told the other to do nothing about it, but to wait. Deslauriers thought he was wrong on this point, and was cutting in his remonstrances.

He was, besides, more gloomy, malignant, and irascible than ever. In a year, if fortune did not change, he would embark for America or blow out his brains. Indeed, he appeared to be in such a rage against everything, and so uncompromising in his radicalism, that Frédéric could not keep from saying to him:

“Here you are going on in the same way as Sénécal!” Deslauriers, at this remark, informed him that that individual to whom he alluded had been discharged from Sainte-Pelagie,
^bc
the magisterial investigation having failed to supply sufficient evidence, no doubt, to justify his being sent for trial.

Dussardier was so much overjoyed at the release of Sénécal, that he wanted to invite his friends to come and take punch with him, and begged of Frédéric to be one of the party, giving the latter, at the same time, to understand that he would be found in the company of Hussonnet, who had proved himself a very good friend to Sénécal.

In fact, the
Flambard
had just become associated with a business establishment whose prospectus contained the following references: “Vineyard Agency. Office of Publicity. Debt Recovery and Intelligence Office, etc.” But the Bohemian was afraid that his connection with trade might be prejudicial to his literary reputation, and he had accordingly taken the mathematician to keep the accounts. Although the situation was a poor one, Sénécal would but for it have died of starvation. Not wishing to mortify the worthy shopman, Frédéric accepted his invitation.