The Milkmaid of Montfermeil Part 69

"Black bread and water, eh, monsieur?" asked Bertrand.

"Yes, my friend, yes. Ah! these men! Upon my word, I have good grounds for becoming a misanthrope. I have never known the world so well as since I lost my money. Parvenus who think that they may presume to go any length because they are millionaires! Men of intellect who think of n.o.body but themselves, and who, provided that they are coddled and amused, show the most absolute indifference to everything else! People with the most polished manners who cheat you out of your money!

Conceited a.s.ses who want to be flattered, fools who flatter them, parasites who suck your blood, swindlers who ruin you, and men who turn their backs on you when you're unlucky! Those are what I see now. And they are just what have always been seen, so 'tis said. Men are the same everywhere; they were no different before the Flood, and the study of history is simply the study of the pa.s.sions which have ruled the actions of the human race for ages."

"In all this, my lieutenant, you forget the women, who----"

"Ah! let us say no ill of them, my friend, they are a hundred times better than we. Do we not find enjoyment even with those whom we deceive? That is one pleasant memory, at all events, of which misfortune cannot deprive us."

"That reminds me, monsieur, that Mademoiselle Virginie came to see you to-day."

"Poor Virginie! she doesn't know as yet of the change in my fortunes.

Well! what did she say, Bertrand?"

"She said, first of all, that it wouldn't be well for an asthmatic subject to come up so high; then she asked me whether you had come up so many flights so that you could go down in a parachute; but when I told her how you had been swindled, why, I must do her the justice to say that she seemed deeply moved; she shed some tears and asked me for a gla.s.s of kirsch to pull her together. She's coming to breakfast with you some morning."

"I shall be very glad to see her; she, at all events, won't avoid me when she meets me."

"And those good people at Montfermeil--pretty Denise--do you think, monsieur, that they wouldn't be glad to see you again?"

"I am afraid that the cold welcome I gave Denise when she came to Paris----"

"She won't remember, monsieur, when she finds out that you're unfortunate. And that child you're so fond of--that you think is such a fine little fellow--why not go to see him?"

"Why? You seem to forget, Bertrand, that I can no longer do anything for him! I promised to educate him, to take charge of his future--and all my plans are destroyed!"

"But I should say, monsieur, that you have already done a great deal for the little fellow; instead of coming to Paris, he will remain in the village, and he won't be any worse off for that."

Auguste could not make up his mind to appear in the guise of a ruined man to the good people who had seen him scattering gold in profusion; a false shame deterred him from going again to the village, and he who had just been declaiming against the pa.s.sions of men showed that he was not himself exempt from pride and vanity.

Auguste left Bertrand and went out in search of distraction and to dispel the black mood to which his reflections gave birth. Bertrand, left alone, reflected that all hopes of employment had vanished, and said to himself:

"What are we going to do when we haven't anything left, which won't be long? Shall I let him live on black bread and water? Sacrebleu! no, that shall never be! I am not capable of filling a clerk's place--besides, he wouldn't want me to leave him--but can't I work without his suspecting it?"

Bertrand thought a few moments, scratched his head, then exclaimed joyfully: "Why the devil didn't I think of it sooner?" Then he went slowly downstairs and hunted up his friend Schtrack.

"You make breeches, old fellow, don't you?" said Bertrand to the concierge; "in fact, you're a tailor----"

"Ja."

"Do you always have plenty of work?"

"Ja, I haf more than I can do."

"That's because you don't often work. Are you willing to give me some?"

"Preeches?"

"Whatever you choose, so long as I have work to do. I shall make a mess of it at first, but you can show me and I'll do better soon. You see, I'm anxious to work, I'm no more of a fool than you are, and it seems to me that I can do whatever you do. So you'll give me some work, will you?"

"Sacretie! Monsieur Pertrand, do you mean it?"

"Why, yes; I want to do something; I am tired of sitting all day with my arms folded; so I'll fold my legs, that will be a change. Is it agreed?"

"Ja, Monsieur Pertrand."

"That's good; but not a word of this before my master, or I'll begin my apprenticeship by sewing up your tongue."

"I won't say ein wort."

That same evening, as soon as Dalville had gone out, Bertrand went down to the concierge's quarters, and, seating himself in a small room behind the lodge, went to work with great zeal. At first the ex-corporal had much ado to use a needle, and he frequently thrust it into his finger; but when Schtrack said: "You've hurt yourself, mein friend!" Bertrand rejoined: "Don't you suppose a bayonet hurt more than that?"

Bertrand pa.s.sed a large part of the day at work and sometimes he worked very late. By dint of application, he began to make himself useful; he earned very little, but he hoped to become more skilful in time.

Auguste had no suspicion of anything; he was rarely at home and never inquired what Bertrand was doing. But, when he looked at his faithful companion, he noticed that his eyes were very red and that he had a tired look.

"You're not sick, are you, my friend?" he asked.

"I, monsieur--I was never so well."

"You have a tired look, and your eyes seem weak."

"Oh! that's because I read a great deal at night."

"I didn't know that you were so fond of reading."

"That depends on the book, monsieur; I'm reading the life of the great Turenne."

"You must know it by heart."

"I never get tired of it, monsieur."

Auguste asked no more questions. Some time after, one night when he could not sleep because, with all his philosophy, his reflections were beginning to be less cheerful, Auguste got out of bed and determined to try reading himself. He went to Bertrand's room to get a light, and was amazed to find that his companion was absent. Bertrand's bed was not disturbed, so that he had not retired; and yet it was late when Auguste came home, and Bertrand was apparently waiting for him to come in before going to bed.

That midnight absence disturbed Auguste. He had no idea that his faithful follower would go about to wine-shops with Schtrack, in their present condition, and as he wished to find out at what time Bertrand left the house, he went downstairs, having decided to rouse Schtrack if necessary; he was determined to learn what had become of Bertrand.

It was three o'clock in the morning and everybody in the house was asleep, but Auguste saw a light in the concierge's lodge; the door was ajar and the light came from the room at the rear. Auguste went in and discovered Bertrand seated on a table beside the sleeping Schtrack, working resolutely on a piece of cloth in which his tired eyes could hardly follow the threads which were his guide.

At sight of his master, Bertrand stopped, crestfallen. Auguste was so moved that he stood for some moments unable to speak. At last he cried:

"What! you, working, Bertrand? Have you turned tailor?"

"Why not, monsieur? I handled a musket a long while, and now I am handling a needle; they say that an honest man honors whatever he touches."

"And you pa.s.s your nights working! you are ruining your eyesight in order to work a little more!"

"This is a mere chance, monsieur; there was a piece of work to be done in a hurry to-night, and I thought--But it's the first time, I swear!"

"Oh! don't try to deceive me any more! It's for me that you sit up all night and deprive yourself of rest. It's to spin out our funds a little longer that you are ruining your health. And I--I pa.s.s my days in idleness; I squander in an hour or two what you work like a dog as many nights to earn."