Monsieur Cherami Part 27

"It's your play, Monsieur Batonnin; do, for heaven's sake, attend to the game!"

"A thousand pardons, madame; I was listening to the singing."

"But we are not singing, monsieur!"

"Thank G.o.d!" muttered Monsieur Clairval.

"What's that! Why did you say: 'Thank G.o.d!' Monsieur Clairval?"

"Because, if we were all singing, madame, we should not have the pleasure of hearing mademoiselle."

"You see that I am disturbing the game," said Adolphine.

"No, no; pray go on, mademoiselle! As if people could play whist for two minutes without a dispute! You are the pretext at this moment, that's all."

Adolphine continued to sing. The game of whist came to an end, and Madame de Mirallon lost again. She left the table in a pet, exclaiming:

"I certainly will give up playing whist!"

"Do you know my favorite game?" said Monsieur Gerbault; "it's bezique."

"Fie, fie! a messroom game!"

"I don't know anything about that; but piquet is a messroom game, too, which doesn't prevent its being a very fine game. I've heard people say of lansquenet: 'It's a footman's game!' the same thing has been said of ecarte--but that doesn't prevent those games from being played in the salons. For my part, I believe in playing the game that amuses us, without disturbing ourselves about its origin."

"I am wild over bezique, too," cried Monsieur de la Beriniere; "and, if you will allow me, Monsieur Gerbault, I shall take great pleasure in playing a game with you."

"Whenever you choose, monsieur le comte, you will be welcome."

"That's a game I am very fond of, too," said Monsieur Batonnin.

"I am not thure whether I know it, but I think not."

"Very well, messieurs," said f.a.n.n.y; "the next time, we'll have a bezique table for those who like it.--How is it with you, Auguste; do you play it?"

"I? What? what game is that?" replied Monleard, who had not listened to the conversation.

"Bezique."

"No. Oh! yes, I played it yesterday."

"My son-in-law is distraught this evening."

They talked a few moments more, then all the guests took leave of the young husband and wife. But, as she went away, Adolphine could not resist the desire to say to her sister, in an undertone:

"Do be more affectionate with your husband. He is unhappy, I a.s.sure you."

"And I a.s.sure you," rejoined f.a.n.n.y, "that that's none of my affair; as if a woman must be forever worrying about her husband's looks! That would not be a very entertaining occupation!"

XXI

A MAIDEN'S REVERIES

More than a fortnight had elapsed since the Monleard's whist party, at which Adolphine had sung several romanzas. But her sweet voice had made a deep impression upon the Comte de la Beriniere, also upon young Anatole de Raincy; it had even caused a quickening of the heart-beats of Monsieur Batonnin, the gentleman who played whist so poorly, but who was said to have a much clearer comprehension of business, which, indeed, was his profession, for he held himself out as a business agent.

Adolphine was alone in a small salon, much less sumptuous than her sister's, but very comfortable none the less. I need not say that there was a piano in it: that has become an indispensable article of furniture; we see them even in the domiciles of concierges who have daughters at the Conservatoire.

Adolphine held a book in her hand, but she was not reading it; she was musing, and her face still wore a sad expression. Upon what subject can a maiden of eighteen muse? Everybody will conclude that her heart was engrossed by a tender sentiment. And yet, no man had ever paid court to Adolphine, no one had ever observed any youthful exquisite paying a.s.siduous attention to her. But all love affairs do not begin in the same way; they do not all follow the beaten paths; there are secret, unavowed sentiments which those who inspire them are very far from suspecting; and when it is a virtuous maiden's heart in which one of those profound attachments takes root, she suffers all the more because of the pains she takes to conceal it.

Adolphine pa.s.sed her hand across her brow, as if to brush away the thoughts that made her sad; she took up her book again, and for a few minutes tried to read; then placed it beside her, saying to herself:

"It's of no use for me to try to distract my thoughts--I cannot do it. I used to be so fond of reading! This book is intensely interesting, they say, and I have no idea what I'm reading; nothing interests me now! even music no longer has any charm for me; my poor piano is neglected; everything is a bore. Mon Dieu! shall I always be like this? Oh! no, that would be ghastly! It will pa.s.s away; it must pa.s.s away! Father has already noticed several times that I seemed sad, and it worries him; he thinks that I am sick. Oh! I don't want to make him uneasy. But it isn't my fault; I do all that I possibly can to drive out of my mind the memory of--that person--and it keeps coming back. And yet, I know perfectly well that there's no sense in it--that I'm a little fool. It's of no use for me to argue--I cannot cure myself!"

The door of the salon opened; it was Monsieur Gerbault. The girl hurriedly wiped away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks, and strove to a.s.sume a smiling expression, as she went to meet her father.

"I have come to tell you, Adolphine, that we shall have two guests at dinner to-day."

"You are very late in telling me, father. But, no matter! I will go and tell Madeleine."

"I couldn't tell you any earlier; I met Monsieur Batonnin only a moment ago. He said: 'I am going to play a game of bezique with you this evening.' I said: 'Come and dine with us, informally.'"

"Monsieur Batonnin! I don't care much for that young man."

"Still he is very gallant--and so courteous."

"He is forever paying compliments--it's a horrible bore! And then, he always has a smile on his face. Tell me, papa, is that natural? Can there be anyone in the world who is always satisfied and happy?"

"I should say that it was rather difficult. However, there are optimists who look at the bright side of everything."

"For my part, I believe that those people are not sincere, that they simply make a point of concealing what they think.--Who is the other one, father?"

"Monsieur Clairval."

"I am very fond of him; he isn't complimentary, at all events, and yet that doesn't prevent his being agreeable. He has plenty of wit, and doesn't flaunt it in everybody's face. I do like that so much--wit that doesn't parade itself!"

"But, my child, if one has wit without showing it, I should say that it was precisely equivalent to having none at all."

"Oh! it always leaks out, father, here and there, even if it's only in the smile."

"I just missed inviting Monsieur de la Beriniere, too."

"Oh! papa, how fortunate it is that you missed it!"

"Why so, pray? The count is very pleasant. He's a very distinguished man in all respects."