San-Cravate; or, The Messengers; Little Streams Part 127

"But you impose on that young man's good nature."

"On the contrary, I make him very happy! The poor fellow, who has never been able to have a mistress of a decent sort, is delighted to be your escort.--'People will think I've made a conquest of her,' he'll say to himself."

"And you are willing people should think that I am that young man's mistress?"

"Why, no, indeed! no one will believe it! What I say is, that he will imagine that people believe it. I have to dot all my _i_'s to make you understand!"

"There's one thing that I understand very well, monsieur; and that is, that nowadays you do your utmost to avoid taking me anywhere with you.

Although you think me a great fool, I beg you to believe that I can see that perfectly well."

"Oh! that's just like a woman! taking everything hind side before! A fellow does all he can to be agreeable--buys a box at the theatre, for a charming play, and says to himself: 'I can't take her to a--political gathering, but I don't want her to sit mooning all alone in her chimney corner.'--And instead of being thanked for what he has done, he is overwhelmed with reproaches, and has to listen to the most absurd reflections! Don't you be alarmed: it will be very hot when I buy another box for you!"

Monsieur Dubotte left the house in a very ill humor. Madame said nothing more, but she probably thought a good deal. When evening came, she made her toilet and took infinite pains with it. Young Calle arrived with great promptness at the appointed time. He was in full dress, and becurled and perfumed as if he were going to a wedding.

"Here's your box," said Philemon, as he handed him the ticket; "I will join you later, if it's possible for me to get away from my chief's party early enough. Try to make my wife enjoy herself; that isn't very easy, for she's not always in good humor. If you succeed in making her amiable, you'll perform a miracle."

Young Calle bowed and set off with eleonore, who was becoming accustomed to accept his arm. Her escort suggested taking a cab, but she refused, as the Gymnase was not far away. On the way, Calle began a number of sentences concerning the pleasure it afforded him to be with such a charming person; when he could go no further, eleonore came to his a.s.sistance by saying: "You are very good!"--and the sentence remained unfinished.

When they reached the theatre, Calle looked at the ticket and said:

"It's a baignoire."

"A baignoire? I don't know what that is; is it very high?"

"No, on the contrary, it's low; on a level with the pit."

When the box door was opened, eleonore hesitated about going in.

"Mon Dieu! how dark it is in there!" she exclaimed. "Is this our box?"

"To be sure, madame," replied the box opener; "and it's almost opposite the stage, as you see."

"Dear me! what a strange place! Yes, we do have a good view of the stage, that is true; but we can't be seen--it is hardly worth while to take pains with one's dress. However, perhaps I shall get used to it. Do you like these boxes, Monsieur Calle?"

"So far as I am concerned, madame, I am always satisfied when--I have the--the privilege----"

"You are very good!"

eleonore took her seat at the front of the box, and Calle modestly seated himself behind her. When she had looked for a moment into the auditorium, of which she could see only a very small part, she turned toward her escort, who returned her glance, sighed, and said nothing.

"You can't see anything from where you are, Monsieur Calle, can you? Sit here in front, beside me."

"You are very kind, madame, but I am all right here; if I sat in front, I--I should crowd you."

"Not at all."

"I can see the stage very well."

"But you can't see the audience at all."

"I don't care for that; what I do see is much more agreeable to me--to look at--and when--when one is near--near madame--then one has no wish to--one does not look elsewhere for--one----"

"You are very good!"

The play began, and they listened intently; there was much talk of love in it. eleonore seemed deeply interested in it; the young man continued to sigh. After the first act he went out, and returned in a moment with bonbons and _fruits glaces_, which he offered to Madame Dubotte. She accepted them with a sweet smile. It was an excellent chance to tell her escort that he was very good; but she contented herself with handing him a quarter of an orange, then proceeded to stuff herself with the sweetmeats. As a general rule, women are very fond of bonbons; a man ought always to have his pockets full when he wishes to make himself agreeable to them. You may vary the menu, however, by adding truffles stewed in champagne; then your success will be even more complete.

The second play began. Now and then, in order to obtain a better view, the young man leaned forward from behind eleonore. At such times his head brushed against the pretty blonde's shoulders; those shoulders were very white and her chest well developed. Her dress was cut low, and while looking at the shoulders one could see the base of those charming globes which, to my mind, excel in value all balloons, past, present, and to come, even Nadar's _Giant_. With them, to be sure, you cannot float through the air; but I opine that what we find on earth is worth much more than anything we can find aloft. Young Calle, therefore, was not so much of a fool as he seemed, when he sat behind eleonore. She, upon turning suddenly, collided with the head of her escort, who was not looking at the stage at that moment; and their two faces were so near to each other that the ends of their noses touched. A man accustomed to intrigues would have seized the opportunity to kiss the young woman, but Calle hastily drew back, stammering apologies which no one demanded of him; for eleonore, when she found those eyes absorbed by contemplation of her charms, had been on the point of saying:

"You are very good!"

The second play had quite as much to say of love as the first. After the first act, finding that her companion continued to sigh without daring to speak, eleonore remembered that her husband had told her that he needed to be encouraged, and that without encouragement he would never venture to talk with a lady; so she began the conversation.

"I have noticed one thing, Monsieur Calle."

"What is that, madame?"

"That there's a lot about love in all plays."

"Yes, that is true; you are right; they bring it in everywhere."

"Why is it, monsieur?"

"Why, madame, it is, apparently, because the authors don't know how to talk about anything else."

"Do you think so? I have heard people say that the stage was simply a copy of what happens in real life. But in real life people don't talk about love all the time, do they, monsieur?"

"Oh, no! madame, they don't always talk about it--although often--one would like to talk about it--but one doesn't dare."

"Oho! so it's because one doesn't dare. That is a great mistake! It seems to me that it's more interesting, more entertaining, than any other subject."

Young Calle had a declaration on the tip of his tongue. But the second act began, and he said nothing more. During the act, eleonore dropped her opera gla.s.s on the floor. Calle instantly stepped forward to pick it up; but, in order to do it, he had to go to the front of the box and stoop until he was almost on his knees, for it was very dark, and he had to feel about on the floor. Instead of the opera gla.s.s, he seized eleonore's foot and pressed it tenderly.

"Why, that is not my opera gla.s.s that you have, Monsieur Calle; it's my foot," said the pretty blonde, laughing.

"Are you sure, madame?"

"Oh! yes, I can feel. But where are you looking, Monsieur Calle? my gla.s.s isn't there; I can feel it with my foot."

Calle decided at last, albeit with regret, to take his head from under the seat; he had the opera gla.s.s, and presented it to the young lady with a trembling hand. She was deeply moved, so much so that, in trying to take it, she dropped it again. That time it fell in her lap, however; so Calle resumed his seat; but after that, when eleonore turned to speak to him, she sometimes leaned upon him, perhaps unconsciously; ladies often venture upon trifling familiarities like that, which give great hopes to him with whom they indulge in them. The young man was as red as a cherry, and his eyes were always somewhere else than on the stage.

The act came to an end, and Madame Dubotte, turning to her escort, asked him what he thought of the play.

"I don't know, madame," he faltered; "I didn't hear a word of it."

"What! didn't you listen?"

"I beg pardon--I listened, but I didn't hear. I was so distraught by---- Did your opera gla.s.s fall again, madame?"

"Why, no--it's here in my lap."