My Neighbor Raymond Part 63

"I know it, Madame Dupont. Give me my keys, please."

"In a minute, monsieur, in a minute. I've taken good care of your rooms, I've had your furniture beaten every month, and I've scrubbed and----"

"Oh! I'm not at all disturbed. By the way, does Monsieur Raymond still live on my landing?"

"No, monsieur, no; he's left, and in his place----"

"Do you know his address?"

"Yes, monsieur; he left it here; he lives now on Rue Pinon, near the Opera, No.---- Oh, dear! I've forgotten, but it will come to me. Here's your keys, monsieur."

"And that number, Madame Dupont?"

"It's surprising; I knew it just the other day. But it ain't a long street."

"That's very lucky."

"Oh! wait a minute! I forgot, it was so long ago! I've got a letter for you; it's been here six weeks."

"A letter!"

"Yes. A young woman brought it."

"A woman! give it to me, pray."

"Here it is, monsieur."

I took the letter and hastened upstairs to my room, to escape the concierge's chatter. Once more I was in that dear apartment! how glad I was to be there! But the letter! It seemed to me that the writing--ah! I dared not hope--I broke the seal; it was she--Nicette--who had written to me!

"MONSIEUR:

"It's a long time since you came to see me, and I didn't know why you had abandoned me; you seemed to be angry the last time you spoke to me, and I thought you were angry with me, but I couldn't guess why. To-day I have heard that you are married; I know that you can't think of me any more, or speak to a flower girl. I take the liberty of writing to you only to say good-bye. I am going to sell my shop and go away to some place where I can be alone, not see anybody, and cry all I want to; for I am very unhappy, and I can't get over it; it isn't my fault. I have inherited a lot of money from my mother and an aunt who's left me all she had, and I have more than enough to live on. But I don't forget that I owe you everything, that you took pity on me when everybody else abandoned me, and saved me from want. I shall never forget it! Adieu, monsieur! I wish you every happiness in your home; may your wife make you happy! she must love you dearly! Adieu, my dear benefactor!

"NICETTE."

I read the letter several times. I could not help putting my lips to the characters she had traced. Was that the language of a deceitful woman?

And yet I saw--saw with my own eyes Raymond sitting beside her, holding her hands. I knew that he saw her every day; he himself told me so; but could I place any faith in what Raymond said? Ah! if I had not seen him with her!

But why torment myself so? Was she not lost to me forever? was I not married? It did not occur to me to be false to my wife, but I longed to know whether Nicette loved me! I resolved to find Raymond and to try to make him talk; that was not difficult, but to make him tell the truth was no easy task.

It was late, and as my wife might be disturbed by my absence I returned to her, but with the firm intention to visit my old lodgings again, and often.

I carefully folded Nicette's letter and took it away with me when I left my bachelor apartment for my home.

Who could have told Nicette that I was married? My concierge did not know it; if she had, she would surely have mentioned it to me. It must have been Raymond. But how did he know? I was considering this question as I approached my house, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and saw Raymond! Never, I must confess, had the sight of him afforded me so much pleasure.

"Well! here you are, my dear fellow!"

"Good-morning, Monsieur Raymond!"

"So you're in Paris now, eh?"

"As you see."

"Dear Dorsan! it seems a century since I saw you!"

"I a.s.sure you that I too am very glad to see you."

"Really? such an excellent friend! By the way, accept my congratulations; I understand that you have made a magnificent marriage, that you have a divine wife!"

"Oho! you know that, do you?"

"Yes; one of my friends, who happened to be at Melun, told me; you must have met him in society--Monsieur Regnier?"

"Yes, I believe I do remember him."

"Well! it was he who told me the whole story. Ah! I was almost angry with you.--'What!' I said to myself; 'my dear Dorsan, my friend, is married, and doesn't let me know! me, who am so interested in his welfare!' Oh! it was very ill done of you!"

"You are too kind, really; but my wife is expecting me, and I cannot stay any longer. And yet, I should be glad to talk with you. Won't you breakfast with me?"

"Won't I!"

"I will introduce you to my wife."

"I shall be enchanted to make her acquaintance."

Raymond accompanied me home; he seemed delighted by the cordiality of my greeting, especially as it was so unusual. He did not suspect that my eager desire to talk with him was due to the fact that he alone could tell me about Nicette, where she was and what she was doing. But I felt that I must be prudent and not question him too abruptly; otherwise, he would divine my sentiments, and it was more necessary than ever that I should force them back into the depths of my heart.

When we reached the house, I found that my wife was not anxious about me, for she was breakfasting without me. I presented Raymond, who confounded himself in compliments and high-flown praise which must have bored Pelagie; but women of little intellect often attach the greatest value to compliments; with such women one can make one's self most agreeable with commonplace remarks, and in that respect Raymond was well endowed.

The conversation, therefore, was confined to the pleasures of Paris, and the sensation that such a woman as my wife must cause in society; for Raymond always came back to that; he could not understand how a woman who had always lived in the provinces could be so pretty and have such distinguished manners; he was inexhaustible, but I breakfasted without listening to him. As for Pelagie, having learned that she might smile at another man than her husband, she smiled at each of Raymond's compliments, which gave her a chance to show her teeth.

I saw that I could not mention Nicette that morning; my wife did not leave the room; so I must needs be patient.

"Where do you live?" I asked Raymond.

"Rue Pinon, No. 2. I have left my old lodgings; you had ceased to be my neighbor, and they had lost all their charm."

"I mean to come to see you."

"Oh! don't put yourself to that trouble; a bachelor is seldom at home; I will come to see you, with your permission, and pay my respects to madame now and then."

"You will gratify us."

"But I must leave you now; I have three appointments for this morning. I have so many acquaintances! and not a moment to myself! Adieu, my dear friend!--Madame, I lay at your feet the homage that your charms deserve."

And Raymond took his leave, well pleased with his last compliment. He was the same as ever.