by the old
bachelor.
"Ah! is it you, Suzanne?" said the Chevalier de Valois, without
discontinuing his
occupation, which was that of stropping his razor.
"What have you come for, my dear little jewel of mischief?"
"I have come to tell you something which may perhaps give you as much
pleasure as pain?"
"Is it anything about Cesarine?"
"Cesarine! much I care about your Cesarine!" she said with a saucy
air, half serious, half indifferent.
This
charming Suzanne, whose present
comicalperformance was to
exercise a great influence in the
principal personages of our history,
was a work-girl at Madame Lardot's. One word here on the topography of
the house. The wash-rooms occupied the whole of the ground floor. The
little
courtyard was used to hang out on wire cords embroidered
handkerchiefs, collarets, capes, cuffs, frilled shirts, cravats,
laces, embroidered dresses,--in short, all the fine linen of the best
families of the town. The chevalier assumed to know from the number of
her capes in the wash how the love-affairs of the wife of the prefect
were going on. Though he guessed much from observations of this kind,
the chevalier was
discretion itself; he was never betrayed into an
epigram (he had plenty of wit) which might have closed to him an
agreeable salon. You are
therefore to consider Monsieur de Valois as a
man of superior manners, whose talents, like those of many others,
were lost in a narrow
sphere. Only--for, after all, he was a man--he
permitted himself certain penetrating glances which could make some
women tremble; although they all loved him
heartily as soon as they
discovered the depth of his
discretion and the
sympathy that he felt
for their little
weaknesses.
The head woman, Madame Lardot's factotum, an old maid of forty-six,
hideous to behold, lived on the opposite side of the passage to the
chevalier. Above them were the attics where the linen was dried in
winter. Each
apartment had two rooms,--one lighted from the street,
the other from the
courtyard. Beneath the chevalier's room there lived
a paralytic, Madame Lardot's
grandfather, an old buccaneer named
Grevin, who had served under Admiral Simeuse in India, and was now
stone-deaf. As for Madame Lardot, who occupied the other
lodging on
the first floor, she had so great a
weakness for persons of condition
that she may well have been thought blind to the ways of the
chevalier. To her, Monsieur de Valois was a despotic
monarch who did
right in all things. Had any of her workwomen been
guilty of a
happiness
attributed to the chevalier she would have said, "He is so
lovable!" Thus, though the house was of glass, like all
provincialhouses, it was
discreet as a robber's cave.
A born confidant to all the little intrigues of the work-rooms, the
chevalier never passed the door, which usually stood open, without
giving something to his little ducks,--chocolate, bonbons,
ribbons,
laces, gilt crosses, and such like trifles adored by grisettes;
consequently, the kind old gentleman was adored in return. Women have
an
instinct which enables them to
divine the men who love them, who
like to be near them, and exact no
payment for
gallantries. In this
respect women have the
instinct of dogs, who in a mixed company will
go straight to the man to whom animals are sacred.
The poor Chevalier de Valois retained from his former life the need of
bestowing
gallantprotection, a quality of the seigneurs of other
days. Faithful to the
system of the "petite maison," he liked to
enrich women,--the only beings who know how to receive, because they
can always return. But the poor chevalier could no longer ruin himself
for a
mistress. Instead of the choicest bonbons wrapped in bank-bills,
he
gallantly presented paper-bags full of toffee. Let us say to the
glory of Alencon that the toffee was accepted with more joy than la
Duthe ever showed at a gilt service or a fine equipage offered by the
Comte d'Artois. All these grisettes fully understood the fallen
majesty of the Chevalier de Valois, and they kept their private
familiarities with him a
profound secret for his sake. If they were