My Neighbor Raymond Part 66

"But she must go out sometimes?"

"In the morning, very early, to buy what she needs; you're still asleep, that's why you don't meet her. After that, she never stirs from her room."

"It's very strange!"

"I've tried to talk with her now and then; but she won't talk; it's impossible to get two words out of her. However, as she behaves decently and pays on the dot, there's nothing to be said. But it seems to me that people ought to be obliged to let you know who they are."

I could not help smiling at my concierge's reflection. What she had told me of my neighbor aroused my curiosity a little, and at first I felt a desire to know her; but why should I annoy the young woman? she did not like society; perhaps she had her reasons for avoiding it. I determined to respect her retirement.

I had ceased to go into society; I should have run the risk of meeting my wife or of being beset with disagreeable questions concerning the cause of our separation; in society, people are so indiscreet that they always ask, from preference, the most unpleasant questions, and I did not choose to afford them that pleasure.

I went to the play, to all the places where one is free from restraint.

Sometimes I caught a glimpse of my wife in a carriage, or in a box at the theatre with two or three young men; it seemed that she had not regretted Raymond very deeply, and I was not surprised; she was not so const.i.tuted as to regret anyone. When I saw her in the distance, I hastened away in the opposite direction; and she did the same; that was the only thing in which we agreed.

I prayed that she might not have children now! I should have to be their father, w.i.l.l.y-nilly. How delightful it would be to be presented with a little family that I must support!

"You should have gone back to your wife," someone will say; "then you could have believed that you were the father of your children."

Thanks; I preferred to live in peace and receive such gifts as my wife chose to send me.

I had been a bachelor three months; that time had pa.s.sed very rapidly, for ennui never found its way into my little apartment. I had resumed my books and my music;--music! so soothing to the heart, and so sympathetic with our joys and our sorrows! Every evening I sat down at my piano and pa.s.sed two or three hours there; it seemed to me that Nicette was with me, that she was listening to me; I dreamed that she still loved me, that she had never loved anyone else, and I was happy while cajoling myself thus with chimeras; men are great children who cajole themselves all their lives.

Sometimes I forgot the hour; the quiet of the night inclines the heart to feed on illusions, and I abandoned myself to those illusions that fascinated me. No one in the house had complained because I played so late; there was no one above me but maid-servants, whom it did not keep from sleeping; below was an old annuitant, slightly deaf; so that there was n.o.body except my neighbor on the same landing who might be annoyed by it; but I had asked the concierge if she had said anything about it, and she said _no_. That woman was absolutely invisible; several times I had fancied that I heard her door open, and had gone out quickly; for I confess that I was curious to see her--but her door was already closed.

She might have pa.s.sed me again and again, and I should not have noticed her; but nothing arouses curiosity so keenly as an air of mystery. I determined to rise very early some morning and try to see her. I made that resolve at night, but I fell asleep and forgot it. I was not the man to do sentry duty on the landing, or to stare through the keyhole ten or fifteen minutes; I left such methods to Raymond.

I heard nothing more from Melun, and for some time past I had not seen my wife; she left me in peace. I heard sometimes, from one of those officious friends whom one meets in spite of one's self, try as one may to avoid them, that Madame Dorsan was no more prudent in her conduct, that she had the same mania for b.a.l.l.s and dissipation, that her coquetry increased every day, and a thousand other bits of news no less agreeable. There were some who advised me to exert my rights and to apply for an order to have her confined. I thanked them and turned on my heel; I would swear that the very same people told Pelagie that I was a tyrant, a bear, a wretch unworthy to be the husband of so pretty and interesting a woman, and that I ought to be put under guardianship.

In order to avoid meeting my wife, I frequently went into the country, not in the direction which fashion has made its own, but to those places where the worthy bourgeois and little grisettes go to amuse themselves; the little grisettes whom I used to follow! But I had grown wiser; marriage had _matured_ my head considerably; I might say, had _embellished_ it.

On a certain day I felt more content than usual with the world; I went out on horseback and rode farther than I was accustomed to do. Darkness overtook me at Vincennes; I urged my horse to a gallop, and returned to Paris in time to avoid a storm that reminded me of the evening at Montmorency.

After taking my horse to the stable, I returned home; I felt tired and needed rest. I could hardly drag myself up the stairs. I was about to open the door--but what was it that my hand touched? Could it be? I dared not believe it, and yet I held the bouquet in my hand. I put it to my nose, I inhaled its perfume with intoxicating joy. Yes, it was really a bouquet--in the same place where she used to put them. Ah! it surely was she who brought that one! who else could have made me that present?

I hurried into the room; I could hardly wait to examine it. When I was inside and had struck a light, I gazed at that lovely bouquet and kissed it; it was of orange blossoms, the exact counterpart of those she used to bring me. Ah! it was she, of course, who sent it to me! But, in that case, she was in Paris! she still thought of me! she still loved me!

All these ideas chased one another through my brain; I looked to see if there was a note in the bouquet--nothing! I went to the door, I looked in the keyhole and on the floor--nothing! I had only the bouquet; but that was much! She must have been there; I flew downstairs to question Madame Dupont. I forgot my fatigue.

"Has anyone been here to see me?" I asked the concierge.

"No, monsieur."

"What! no one has been to ask for me?--a young lady?"

"I give you my word, monsieur, that I haven't seen anybody who asked for you, and I haven't been away from my door."

"Oh! you never see anything! you never used to see her before!"

"Who, monsieur?"

"Someone came, all the same, for I found this bouquet on my doork.n.o.b."

"Well, well! that's very funny; somebody must have made a mistake in the door."

"Mistake! no, there's no mistake; it was she who came."

"She! who's she?"

"Raise the latch, Madame Dupont."

"What, monsieur! are you going out again now? Wait till the storm has pa.s.sed; it's raining bucketsful."

"Open the door, I tell you!"

The concierge dared not make any further suggestions. I went out; I had no idea where I was going, but I was absolutely determined to find out something about Nicette, to learn where she was. I hurried along the street, looking all about me--no one! It was a terrible storm. I went to Rue Saint-Honore, to her former shop; it seemed to me that I might learn something by going to the place where she used to live; but the shop was closed, tightly closed. I knocked--there was no reply. I entered the cafe opposite and asked the waiters if the former flower girl had returned to her shop. They stared at me, having no very clear idea what I was saying; I was so excited, and my rain-soaked clothes and muddy boots gave me such a wild aspect, that they took me for a lunatic, I doubt not. I left the cafe without obtaining any information. Where should I go next? I was still determined to find her.--Ah! perhaps where her mother used to live. It was a terribly long way, but I ran there without stopping. It was quite late; I could find nothing open but a grocery in the neighborhood of Mere Jerome's house. I went in and inquired; there I was at least more courteously treated than at the cafe, because the grocer was more accustomed to see drenched and muddy people. But I learned nothing; since Madame Jerome's death her daughters had not been seen in the quarter. So I must needs renounce all hope of learning what had become of her! But, no; I would hope on; she had sent me a bouquet, and perhaps she would return.

I went home sadly enough. I felt completely exhausted; my clothes were stuck to my body; I could hardly walk, but I looked in vain for a cab; it rained in torrents, and I did not meet a single one. I reached home at last. Madame Dupont was waiting for me; the poor woman was terrified when she saw the state I was in; she insisted on going upstairs to warm my bed, on my taking something hot; but I refused her attentions; I hoped that rest would restore me. When I entered my room, my teeth chattered violently and my legs trembled under me. I felt far from well; I crept into bed with Nicette's bouquet on my heart; it seemed to me that that must cure me.

The next morning my concierge found me wildly delirious; I recognized n.o.body; my head was on fire, my mouth was parched; I was consumed by a burning fever. Fatigue, the storm, the mental agitation of the preceding night, had all combined to make me seriously ill. In a few days I was at the door of the tomb.

Who was there to take care of me? who would nurse me? My relations were not in Paris. I had a wife, but she, instead of coming to my bedside, would have fled from me for fear of contagion; strangers had to take the place of kindred and friends.

For nine days I had no idea who was nursing me; I neither heard nor saw anything. Not until the end of that time was the crisis safely pa.s.sed; I was saved, my delirium disappeared; all that I needed was good care, quiet, and rest.

I half opened my eyes and looked about me with difficulty, trying to collect my thoughts. I saw Madame Dupont by my side.

"Have I been delirious long?" I asked.

"Nine days, monsieur; oh! you've been very sick; you almost died! But, thank heaven! you're saved; all you need now is patience and plenty of rest. I was sure you'd be sick. The idea of going out in such a storm!

and all in a sweat, too! And when you came back, why, your eyes were starting out of your head! But young men will never listen to advice!

And then, think of going to sleep with a nosegay under your nose! that's very bad--very unhealthy!"

"What has been done with that bouquet?"

"It's in the other room there; never fear, you'll find it all right."

"Who has nursed me since I have been sick?"

"I have, and--your neighbor."

"My neighbor!"

"Yes, the lady on your landing. Oh! she has taken the best possible care of you. As soon as she heard you was sick, she insisted on being your nurse, and, my word! if she'd been nursing sick folks all her life, she couldn't have done better."

"Where is she? I would like to thank her."

"Oh! you can thank her later. She's just gone to her room. But here you are talking, and the doctor told us we mustn't let you talk! Go to sleep, monsieur, go to sleep; it'll do you good."

Madame Dupont closed my curtains and refused to answer any more questions. I was at a loss to understand the unknown lady's conduct; but I was not strong enough to reflect long; I fell asleep wishing that I might see her. Toward evening I woke. Someone was beside me. When I moved, the person attempted to hurry away; but it was too late; my eyes had met hers, I had recognized her: it was Nicette.