San-Cravate; or, The Messengers; Little Streams Part 76

"Tobie Pigeon----"

"You must have seen him here two or three times."

"Oh! yes, a little short fat man; I remember him very well. He's a very good-looking fellow."

"He's a little blackguard, who lies with imperturbable a.s.surance. It was he who offered to be my chevalier and avenge me; it was he who brought me that wretched cigar. Luckily, I didn't receive his news kindly; but, it doesn't make any difference, he was the cause of my crying my eyes out, and seeing n.o.body but you for two whole months; I will never forgive him for that. You must hunt him up, monsieur, and demand satisfaction."

"What, my dear love, a duel?"

"I insist upon it."

"But duelling is forbidden now."

"I don't care if it is."

"I don't know how to fight."

"Everybody knows how to fire a pistol."

"I have never tried."

"To-morrow morning I will take you to Lepage's shooting gallery; you must spend six hours there, and when you get through you will be able to fire well enough to fight a duel."

"But suppose Monsieur Tobie refuses?"

"Then you will have the right to punish him another way. Carry your stick, in case you need it."

"But, Herminie----"

"But I tell you, monsieur, that I will have it so. Now, let us go home; I shall not appear again in society until I am avenged; for it seemed to me to-night that people avoided me, and that the young men laughed and whispered together as they looked at me."

"Your cigar was the cause of that, madame."

"No matter! when you have chastised the man who chose to amuse himself at my expense, others will not be tempted to imitate him. Let us go, monsieur."

And the robust Herminie carried off her husband, who was not at all pleased at being forced to fight, and, for the first time in his life, was trying to think how he could manage to disobey his wife.

XXVI

A REMOVAL.--A SURPRISE

The weather was dark and damp and cold. Sans-Cravate was seated in his usual place, as dismal and gloomy as the weather. His eyes wandered from side to side, often resting on the spot where Paul was accustomed to stand; then he fixed them on the ground at his feet, rested his head on his hands, and sat perfectly motionless.

Jean Ficelle walked to and fro in front of his comrade, whistling or humming between his teeth, and from time to time taking a bite from a great slice of bread which he rubbed with a raw onion; but that repast seemed to be a matter of necessity, not of enjoyment.

"_Sacredie!_" he exclaimed suddenly, halting before his friend. "It ain't any use for me to try to like this stuff--it's nasty! Dry bread and onion will never be as good as roast veal. This is a beastly sort of breakfast for a fellow to eat; but when you're breaking in two with hunger, you must stuff your blackguard of a belly with something or other! If I only had a drop of wine to wash it down with! but there's not enough in my pocket to pay for the smallest kind of a gla.s.s. And that wine shop keeper yonder won't trust me any more, on the pretext that I owe him money now! What an old fool! Parbleu! if I didn't owe him anything, he couldn't ever have trusted me. People ain't reasonable at all. I say, Sans-Cravate, business has been pretty bad lately. We don't earn hardly anything."

"That ain't surprising; when we have a few sous, you take me right off to spend 'em! then people come and don't find us in our places, so they hire somebody else; that's the way I've lost almost all my customers.

Oh! I know well enough that I am doing wrong; I shall never save up money by hanging round wine shops and seeing n.o.body but loafers. What can they think of me at home? I am ashamed to write to my father. And my sister, little Liline, that I meant to save money for, to give her a marriage portion! d.a.m.nation! I'm an infernal coward! And to think that I haven't got the strength of mind to begin to work hard again as I used to! Ah! when a man has grief in his heart, he's good for nothing."

"Ta! ta! ta! there you go again! You're always blaming yourself, and for what? Sans-Cravate, you're no man! is it our fault if we don't get any errands to do? No. But just because we go and take a drink once in a while outside the barrier, you say we're losing our customers. That's d.a.m.ned nonsense! Look you: I'll give you a comparison, to prove that customers come all the same when we ain't here. There's Paul, that gawk who used to stand over yonder, and hasn't showed up for two weeks because you hit him so hard that he hurt himself a little when he fell,--well, in the fortnight he's been away haven't they sent here for him twenty times, to go to Monsieur Vermoncey, who wanted him? And five days ago, when you were off on an errand, didn't monsieur himself come and ask for him? There's a man that looks as if he was well fixed; he's the father of your old customer, Monsieur Albert. Ah! there was a young fellow who paid handsomely; how the money slipped through his fingers, and what a pity he's left Paris! If he hadn't, what lots of cart-wheels we'd have to spin!"

"But what did Monsieur Vermoncey say to you?"

"_Pardi!_ he says like this: 'Tell me, my good man; your comrade who used to stand yonder, young Paul, is never in his place now; what has become of him? is he sick?'--I wasn't fool enough to tell him the truth, you understand, so I says: 'No, monsieur; he hasn't been coming here for some time, and I think he's given up the business. But I am here, monsieur, to do any errands you want done; tell me what you want, and I'll go.'--'I was anxious to see your comrade and talk to him,' says he; 'I take an interest in him; where does he live? can you give me his address?'--'Wait a minute,' says I; 'he lives in a street I don't know the name of, but I think it's No. 2 or No. 4--an even number, anyway.'--At that, my man went off as if he was mad, and I says to myself: 'Sold again!'"

"But if he really has business with Paul--why not send him to him?"

"Not much! Catch me sending customers to others, when we're short of 'em ourselves! that would be too soft. And, besides, did he ever tell us his address, the fox? do we know where he lives?"

"No; but since that unfortunate fall, which I was responsible for, you know that he has been living in Bastringuette's room and that she is taking care of him; you must know it--as it was you who told me."

"Yes, to be sure he's with her. Instead of having him taken to the hospital, where he'd have been taken care of for nothing, she took him to her own room; she's his nurse, his _sur de pot_. Gad! a woman must love a man, to spend all her money in drugs and medicines for him!

But it seems she does love him--with fire and blood!"

Sans-Cravate gnawed his nails, but said nothing. After a few minutes, he asked, in a low tone:

"How about his wound? isn't it getting better? Won't he soon be well?"

"Oh! I don't know! that is to say, yes--the wound on the head's better; it's all healed; but it seems that the arm will take longer; he broke something or other when he fell, and that can't be put right in a minute."

"What surprises me," said Sans-Cravate, after a pause, "is that the little dressmaker hasn't come once to ask us about him."

"_Pardi!_ she's probably done the same as he has--some other love affair; and the proof is that she don't come to her work as early as she used to; and she goes away much earlier. She has a.s.signations to keep, no doubt. Bah! it's no use, I can't swallow this dry; it sc.r.a.pes my throat; I must have a drink! Come on, Sans-Cravate, let's go to that other wine shop, on the right; you can say it's to be charged to you, and they'll trust you."

"No; I don't propose to get trusted any more. When we haven't got any money, we must drink water."

"Why, that's nonsense! on the contrary, when you haven't got any money, you get tight to forget your troubles. Come on; I'll treat, and owe you the money."

"No, I won't go!"

The decided tone in which Sans-Cravate spoke convinced Jean Ficelle that it would be useless for him to insist; so he went away alone, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously and saying:

"As you please. I'll get along without you; I can find some friend who'll offer me a bottle."

Sans-Cravate was conscious of a secret satisfaction in not having yielded; he rested his head on his hands again, and was soon absorbed in thought--probably of Bastringuette, whom he had sworn to forget.

Suddenly he felt a light tap on his shoulder; he looked up and saw Albert before him.

"What! is it you, monsieur?" he cried, overjoyed at the reappearance of his generous customer. "Ah! it's a long while since we have seen you; I was speaking of you only a moment ago."

"Yes, Sans-Cravate, it is I; I have been in Paris only a week, and I was absent more than two months. But I need you at once. Are you at liberty?"

"Always, monsieur, always at your service. You know that I am devoted to you."

"Yes, yes; I am well aware of your zeal, and I know that I can rely on your discretion, too; and that is why I have come for you. Listen; I need someone who is strong and active; I have brought a lovely girl back to Paris with me."