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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c6f496a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54483 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54483) diff --git a/old/54483-0.txt b/old/54483-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b77c8ec..0000000 --- a/old/54483-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6926 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rapin, by Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Rapin - -Author: Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -Release Date: April 3, 2017 [EBook #54483] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAPIN *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank, Brian Wilcox and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from images made available by the -HathiTrust Digital Library.) - - - - - - -Transcriber’s Note:- - -The original spelling, hyphenation, accentuation and punctuation has -been retained, with the exception of apparent typographical errors -which have been corrected. - -Italic text is denoted _thus_. - - - - -THE RAPIN - - -BY - -HENRY DE VERE STACPOOLE - -AUTHOR OF “PIERROT” - - -[Illustration: colophon] - - -NEW YORK - -HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY - -1899 - - - - -_This book is not for sale outside of the United States and Canada._ - - -COPYRIGHT, 1899, - -BY - -HENRY HOLT & CO. - - - THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS, - RAHWAY, N. J. - - - - -FOREWORD. - - -In the rooms of my friend Otto Struve there hangs a parrot cage -containing a somewhat dejected-looking lark. It was given to him by -Gustave Garnier, the man who took the Prix de Rome last year—or was -it the year before?—and whose picture of a girl was bought by the -state for I do not know how many thousand francs before it had hung a -fortnight in the Salon. A story connects the painter and the picture -and the bird—a story whose name ought to have been “Célestin” but for -that eternal unfitness of things which makes the comedy of real life an -inverted image of the comedy of romance and demands for the story of -Célestin the title of “Toto,” or, if it please you better, “The Rapin.” - - H. de V. S. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - -PART I. - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. TOTO 1 - - II. THE GOOD ADVICE OF M. DE NANI 20 - - III. THE FAG END OF A NIGHT AND THE BEGINNING OF - A MORNING 35 - - IV. THE POETRY OF HATS 45 - - V. GAILLARD THE COMFORTER 62 - - VI. FANFOULLARD, MIRMILLARD, AND PAPILLARD 76 - - - PART II. - - I. IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY 88 - - II. FÊTE CHAMPÊTRE 103 - - III. THE GENESIS OF “PANTIN” 117 - - IV. RECEIPT FOR STUFFING A MARQUIS 130 - - V. ANGÉLIQUE 141 - - VI. THE DEPARTURE 146 - - - PART III. - - I. GARNIER 153 - - II. THE SORROWS OF GAILLARD 165 - - III. THE SORROWS OF ART 185 - - IV. BOURGEOIS—BANKER—PRINCE 192 - - V. THE SHOWER 218 - - - PART IV. - - I. ADAM FROISSART 227 - - II. THE STORY OF FANTOFF AND BASTICHE 253 - - III. THE REVENGE OF M. DE NANI 262 - - IV. ENVOY 290 - - - - -THE RAPIN. - - - - -Part I. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -TOTO. - - -The room was filled with an odor of Nice violets, fur, and the faint -scent of caravan tea. A number of candles burning under rose-colored -shades lit the place subduedly, whilst through the great windows the -broad white expanse of the Boulevard Haussmann reflected the cold light -of the April evening with a suggestion of snow. - -The Princesse de Cammora’s “Five-o’clock” was exhausting itself, -Madeline Frémont of the Comédie Française having just departed, also -the Duchesse M—— de M——, the wheels of whose barouche had a moment ago -rumbled away round the corner of the Rue de Courcelles. - -Nothing was left now but for the remaining few to take their departure. -There was nothing to keep them, yet they clung after the fashion of -grounds to the bottom of a coffee-cup. - -There were three ancient dames and an old Marquis, all relics of the -Empire, all boring each other to death, and lingering on in the dim -hope of being asked to dinner. A pretty girl in furs and picture hat -stood at one of the windows, her furs thrown open, and her eyes fixed -meditatively upon the street. M. le Marquis Sobrahon de Nani was -explaining to two old Empire women the difference between the Comédie -Française now and “then,” whilst the Princesse de Cammora sat near -the tea-table with its little cups and dishes of _petits fours_ and -what-nots, conversing volubly with another Princesse, painted, after -the fashion of her hostess, with the roses of eighteen on the parchment -of fifty. - -“I should never have called him Toto,” wailed the Princesse de Cammora, -whilst the girl at the window pricked her ears beneath her picture hat, -and seemed more than ever absorbed by the Boulevard Haussmann. “It -was the wretched _Nounou’s_ fault; she came from Tarbes. Really, if -I had known the worry of nurses, I would never have had a child. She -stole everything she could lay her hands upon—my bracelets, my rings, -the drops off the grand chandelier; everything was found in her box; -it was like the nest of a magpie. She spoke as if she held pins in her -mouth, and she could never pronounce the name Désiré, so she called him -Toto. Her husband was an Italian from Ventimiglia, and he was called -Toto, and so it pleased the good God that my child should receive this -outrageous nickname. Everyone calls him Toto now, and the wretched boy, -when I accuse him of his wildnesses, throws the name in my teeth, and -asks me how he can live seriously with such a pug-dog name attached to -him. I assure you, my dear Mathilde, the amounts I have paid during the -last month would horrify you—_bills_ that he has run up! Oh, no, never -give a child a thoughtless name! I assure you, in this world _things -often begin in jest which end very much in earnest_. If you could only -guess one-half of this mad boy’s wickedness and absurd”—here the other -Princesse made a grimace at Helen Powers, the American millionairess -in the picture hat, as if to say, “She is listening”—“and absurd -good-nature!” resumed the mother of Toto, snapping her scent-bottle -lid—“wickednesses without a particle of real wickedness in them, but -none the less annoying to a mother for that. Only the other night he -came home without any money. It seems he had met a poor old woman near -the Madeleine, and for a freak upset the basket of apples she was -carrying; then, to pay her for her apples, what must he do but empty -all the money in his pocket—some seventeen napoleons, as I afterwards -learnt—into her lap! That is the sort of wickedness my Toto indulges -in.” - -“Ah!” moaned the other, shaking a crumb off her muff, “such -wickednesses are enough to open the gates of heaven. And this poor old -woman?” - -“She has retired into the country to live on this bounty. Toto, I -believe, went to-day to see her and carry her some more assistance. -_Mon Dieu!_” - -Someone who had slipped into the room, and who had been standing -unobserved behind the heavy curtains of the door listening to the lies -in the air, slipped out now like a hound freed from the leash, and -embraced the Princesse de Cammora, nearly dislocating her neck, and -brushing the bloom off her right cheek. It was Toto. - -Never was created a more debonair or devil-may-care-looking person -than Toto; the name fitted him like a glove, at least now, as he stood -helping himself to sweets from the table and laughing at his mother. He -looked about eighteen; his real age, however, was twenty-two, and he -possessed that brightness of eye and vivacity of manner which sometimes -indicates genius, and sometimes excellent health, combined with a -highly strung nervous temperament. Affecting Longchamps and art, the -society of pugilists and men of letters, shining here as a _flâneur_, -there as the patron of little poets, and lately—somewhat in secret—as -a painter of pictures painted all by himself, he presented a queer -variety of that always amusing insect, the “child of the age.” - -“Where the devil can Toto have come from?” asked Otto Struve, the art -critic, one day, tilting his hat back in momentary astonishment. “His -father, on his own showing, was a miser; his mother never laughed. -They marry, and live for ten years unproductive as a pair of icebergs, -and then produce Toto, who only stops smiling when he laughs or yawns, -and spending money when he sleeps; whose head produces the most -extraordinary ideas in Paris; whom God constructed with one eye on -the gingerbread fair, and whom the devil made a prince of—a prince of -twenty, with the ideas of ten and the vices of sixty!” - -“I am a changeling,” had replied Toto, bonneting Otto Struve’s hat in -such a manner that it had to be cut off with scissors. - -Now he saluted everyone at once—Helen Powers, and his mother, and the -old Princesse de Harnac. The Empire decadents came out of their corner -like lizards towards sunshine, and he promptly invited them to stay to -dinner, knowing that his mother hated them, and that he would be dining -out himself. - -“I have been to a cock-fight at Chantilly,” he explained, glancing -down at the suit of tweed in which he was dressed. “The police broke it -up, and we had to run; but they wired, and the police stopped me at the -Nord. They let me go when I gave my address; then I took a cab from the -Nord, and coming downhill we ran over a dog—nothing but accidents.” - -The old Marquis de Nani lifted up his hands in pretended horror to -please his hostess, and lowered them again and took a pinch of snuff -when that lady frowned slightly. - -“I do not see any particular harm in cock-fighting,” said Toto’s -mother, appealing to the company generally, and Helen Powers in -particular. “I know it sounds cruel, but, then, they say the cocks -enjoy it.” - -“That must be so,” said the Marquis, replacing his snuff-box in his -pocket, “or else they would not fight.” - -“But——” said Miss Powers, and stopped. Her eyes had met Toto’s eyes. -He was standing almost behind his mother and making grimaces, as if -to say, “For goodness’ sake don’t begin an argument, or we shall -never get away.” “But,” said Miss Powers, shamelessly turning the -conversation in the wished-for direction, “you promised me, M. le -Prince, to show me those pictures on which you were engaged.” - -“That is why I came back in such a hurry,” replied Toto. “And if you -will accompany me now to my studio, come on, and M. le Marquis also, -for he is a connoisseur. No one else; my bashfulness will not hold more -than two comfortably.” - -He led the way, laughing, out of the room and up the great staircase, -Helen Powers following and the old Marquis de Nani toiling after, -his Empire legs unaccustomed to such unstately swiftness. On the top -landing Prince Toto opened a door and switched on the electric light, -exposing to view a large square studio. - -One could see at a glance that this was the atelier of no dilettante. -Work was written on the place from the top light to the boarded -floor. Several massive easels stood about with the air of willing -laborers awaiting their jobs; there was a throne and some drapery; a -painting-jacket hung suspended from a nail in the wall, along which -a number of canvases stood with their backs to the room like children -undergoing punishment. - -Helen Powers felt utterly astonished. She had known Toto some time, -and she liked him more, perhaps, than she had ever liked another man; -but she was alive to his faults, his irresponsibility, his childish -wildnesses. Here, then, was a revelation of honest hard work more -amazing than a jewel in a toad’s head. - -“I know the place is rather bare,” said Toto apologetically, “but it’s -good enough to work in. It’s a bit cold now, but I light a fire when I -am working at the nude, and then it is like a furnace. Here’s a thing.” - -He took one of the canvases in Coventry and placed it upon an easel. - -“Oh, my God, how beautiful!” said the old Marquis de Nani, -putting on his pince-nez as the electric light fell full upon the -indifferent-looking daub exposed so ruthlessly to view. - -“Everyone says that,” said Toto, so innocently and so frankly that the -tears almost rose to Helen Powers’ eyes. - -“I have never seen a picture quite like that,” continued the Marquis. -“There is an air about it, a something indefinable about it. Those -bulrushes”—it was a naked nymph trying to screen herself behind -bulrushes—“those bulrushes seem to quiver in the wind.” - -“Otto Struve said Ingres might have painted it,” said Toto, with a -smile that made him look like an angel by Raphael. He had several -smiles at his command, and most of them made him look like a -good-humored devil. “But they turned it away from the Salon, though I’d -had half of the hanging committee to dinner the night before and made -them jolly. Otto said the other half were jealous. I’ll have the whole -lot next time if I can get them. Here’s a John the Baptist. What do you -think of that?” - -John the Baptist was brought forth, and a Sisera and Jael, all treated -in the old original manner, with a difference due to want of skill. A -lamentable Holofernes appeared and vanished. - -“Those are all classical,” said the author after De Nani had almost -bleated himself hoarse in their praise, revolving in his own mind the -while a project which had for aim the borrowing of five hundred francs -from this illustrious artist. “But this is original, or, at least, I -think so.” - -He exposed a blind beggar and his daughter, filled with a mawkish -sentimentality strangely at variance with the known character of the -Prince. - -Helen Powers looked on. Her liking for Toto had rapidly altered. This -art show had supplied the crystallizing thread for her feelings to -seize upon. She was now mournfully in love with him. It was as if he -had suddenly become maimed and needful of her pity. Her mind became -filled with anger against Otto Struve and old De Nani and all the other -sycophants or sneerers who had belauded this poor boy and his works. -She felt a kindness for cock-fighting as she gazed upon the blind -beggar and his whining yellow-ocher daughter, a strange emotion in the -breast of a delicately nurtured girl, and, so to speak, one of the -minor miracles wrought by art. - -Toto, as anxious for praise as a baby for milk, looked at her with dark -expectant eyes. - -“I don’t know what to say,” said the poor girl. “I know nothing about -art, but I think I like Jael the best; but don’t take my opinion, -please, for I am an utter ignoramus. What a time it must have taken you -to paint all these!” - -“That’s just what it didn’t,” replied the artist joyously, as if he had -outwitted art by some clever trick. “I paint like lightning. You see, I -haven’t much time to spare; but I love it, and give all the time I can. -I have often thought of throwing everything else over and giving all my -time to art.” - -“Oh, do!” said Helen earnestly. - -“Do what?” asked the lightning artist. - -“Give up all your time to it, be in earnest over it. Nothing is done in -this world without earnestness of purpose. I am sure you would be—would -be—a great artist if you worked. Give up cock-fighting and all that, -and take seriously to art.” - -“Do you know,” said Prince Toto, putting the blind beggar away, “I -have often thought of kicking the world over. I’ve seen everything and -done everything worth doing, and I feel as old as the hills.” - -“He, he, he!” bleated the Marquis de Nani. - -“Then why not begin at once?” said Helen. “If you are only in earnest -and have purpose, you will succeed, for I am sure you have genius.” - -The unlucky little word had escaped unweighed by the speaker. Toto -nodded reflectively, as if to some thought that had just left the -shelter of his curly head to take visible form. - -“I am sure that M. le Prince has more genius in that head of his than -resides in all those palette-scrapers one sees in the Louvre,” declared -the Marquis de Nani, taking a pinch of snuff and making a little -old-fashioned bow, as if to the observation that had just escaped from -him. He held out his box, and the amateur genius took a pinch and -sneezed frightfully. - -“And genius,” continued the old gentleman reflectively, adding on -two hundred and fifty francs to the intended loan, “it seems to me, -never has a more charming home than with a man of birth; birth comes -out even in a picture. That blind beggar and his little daughter. -Ah, my God! cannot one see the sympathy of the well-born for the -poor illuminating it? I never praise—old age has made a wreck of my -enthusiasm; but my heart rekindles when I see art thus wrested from the -hands of the hateful _canaille_ by one of _us_.” - -“Indeed!” said Helen Powers, whose father had been a pig-slaughterer. - -“Indeed yes, mademoiselle!” replied the old man, winking and blinking -like a delirious goat, whilst Toto looked on with a grin. “I have left -all my ambition behind me, buried beneath the ruins of the Empire, else -would I wish to be young like M. le Prince, and gifted like the painter -of these treasures.” - -“Now I must be going,” said Helen Powers. - -“And I,” said Toto; “I have a dinner on at the Grand Café.” - -“Why,” cried the Marquis, seeing his seven hundred and fifty francs -vanishing, “I thought you were going to dine here, at home!” - -“Not I indeed!” said Toto; “I am giving a little dinner of my own.” - -“Alas!” moaned the old man, “I had counted upon your pleasant company. -I am desolated.” - -“Well, bring your desolation to my feast.” - -“But——” said M. le Marquis, glancing down at his frock-coat. - -“Oh, that’s nothing,” replied Toto; “I am going to dine in these.” - -“Then,” said the other, “I will go down and make my excuses to the -Princesse. Pardon me, mademoiselle.” - -“With pleasure,” answered Helen Powers, and he tripped away like a boy. - -“Toto,” said the girl,—she called him Toto sometimes when no one was -by,—“beware of that old man and all these people who praise you; -there’s nothing so bad for an artist as praise. Art,” she continued, -gazing at him and speaking as if she knew all about it, “is always -capable of improvement. I mean the artist is. Don’t mind what he says -about the _canaille_—remember Millet; go and get a blouse like a -common man, work like a common man. All people are common in art till -they have made princes of themselves like Raphael and Michael Angelo.” - -“That is what I have been thinking lately,” said the unhappy Toto, -imbibing this lesson greedily because it fitted in with his whim, and -whims with Toto sometimes lasted for months—Mlle. Dumaresque lasted -for three, and cost him sixty thousand francs. “Just what I have been -thinking: what is the use of all this life? I’m sick of it. If one -could invent a new way of spending money or something new to eat—but -it’s just the same old round. I’ve thought of committing suicide, -sometimes.” - -“Oh, don’t, Toto—don’t speak like that!” - -“I won’t; besides, I didn’t think of it seriously.” - -“Tell me, Toto,” said Helen, in the voice of a mother speaking to a -child, “do you ever think seriously of anything?” - -“I think I do,” said Toto, rubbing his cheek against a corner of her -sealskin jacket, because it was soft and gratified his sensual nature. -“I have thought seriously of running away from here, and living by my -painting—seriously.” - -A look came into his face that astonished her, a look of iron -determination or leaden obstinacy, she could not tell which; but it -made her feel sure that if he ever did commit such a folly he would -adhere to it till he was famous or, a more probable eventuality, dead. - -“For” said Toto, “I have got a queer sort of feeling lately: it’s -money-hate. It’s awfully funny, for it’s not exactly money-hate, but -it’s a want to make money and not spend it. It’s like a man that wants -to dig.” - -Helen looked at him proudly. - -“Here,” thought she, “is the _man_ breaking out; the boy is dying away. -Toto will be a great man yet.” Alas for Helen’s thoughts! What woman -can ever understand a man? what woman could ever have understood Toto? -Otto Struve alone got him in a true focus, but of that anon. - -“Besides,” said Toto, still rubbing his cheek softly against the -fur, a caress which Helen took to herself, “I feel that I—I want to -protect someone, to feed them and work for them, and I haven’t anyone -to—protect, for everyone I know is so rich.” - -Helen’s eyes became dim. She was just about to say something hopeful in -reply, when the old Marquis entered the room, jubilant like a schoolboy -going to a treat. - -“Now good-by,” said Helen, pressing Toto’s hand. “No, don’t come with -me; I’ll find my way. Good-by, M. le Marquis;” and she vanished to say -good-by to her hostess and find her coachman, who for the last two -hours had been outside shivering in the cold April evening. - -As Toto and his companion passed the drawing-room door, the Princesse -appeared for a moment and drew the old fellow aside. - -“Be sure and take care of my boy, Marquis, and give him good advice.” - -“Princesse, be assured,” replied the gentleman of the old school, -placing his hand upon his heart, “_I_ will give him good advice; and,” -he whispered, “it is all right in that quarter. She called him a -genius, and that tickles a young man’s vanity, and I am almost sure -kisses passed between them during my absence from the room. I am not a -bad judge of these affairs, and I predict——” - -He nodded mysteriously, and the Princesse de Cammora smiled under her -paint and powder the smile of the happy mother. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE GOOD ADVICE OF M. DE NANI. - - -“Tell me, my dear boy,” bleated old De Nani, who wanted to get the -affair over and done with before dinner, “could you till the end -of next month, when my rents from Normandy will be due—could you -accommodate me with a little loan?” - -“Yes, rather,” said Toto. “How much?” - -“Seven hundred and fifty francs would save me the necessity of -approaching a money-lender,” said the old fellow, trembling in his -shoes at the amount for which he was asking. “But——” - -Toto stopped under the lamp at the corner of the Rue de Courcelles -where it cuts the Boulevard Haussmann. He took a note-case from his -pocket. - -“Here’s a note for a thousand. You can let me have it some time. I -haven’t anything smaller.” - -“A million million thanks!” cried De Nani, grabbing the note and -gritting his false teeth to think that he might have asked for two -thousand and obtained it just as easily—“a million thanks! Why, my dear -boy, what a doleful yawn! One might fancy you bored.” - -“I am, to death.” - -“May I make you a little prescription?” inquired the old man, in whom -the prospect of the coming dinner operated like an elixir of youth. - -“A prescription for ennui? Yes.” - -“Get married.” - -“I have been thinking that myself.” - -“She is a very charming girl.” - -“Who?” - -“Mlle.—what do you call her?—Powhair?” - -“Bah!” said Toto. “I’d as soon think of marrying the Bank of France.” - -“_Parbleu!_” murmured De Nani. “What an extraordinary remark! But -everything that comes from Prince Toto is extraordinary, even his -pictures.” - -He had the bank-note safe in his pocket, and could allow himself the -luxury of a little irony in the guise of praise. - -“Firstly,” said Toto, “she’s too rich; and secondly, my mother wants me -to marry her.” - -“True,” said De Nani. “She is also _gauche_, and speaks through her -beautiful nose like a trumpet.” - -“She is good enough as a girl,” said the Prince with a frightful yawn -as they turned down the Rue Tronchet. - -“Well, then,” said De Nani, “try a mistress.” - -“I have four,” replied Toto dolorously. - -“Dismiss them.” - -“I have, but they cling on.” - -“Get drunk.” - -“Can’t. I was born drunk, and am beginning to get sober. That is what’s -the matter with me, I think.” - -“Try opium.” - -“Makes me sick.” - -“Ether capsules.” - -“Worse.” - -“Go into the country and make love to a milkmaid.” - -“Never done that,” said Toto reflectively. - -“I did once when I was young. _Mon Dieu!_ she followed me to Paris. No, -I would advise you to leave that alone; nothing clings like a milkmaid. -Try, try, try a glass of absinthe.” - -They stopped at a café and had a glass of absinthe, for which Toto paid. - -“I would like to get drunk on absinthe and die in my cups,” said De -Nani, who was a man of original sins, frost-bound by poverty, but -blossoming now under the warm influence of Toto. - -“Let’s,” said the Prince, beginning to laugh. - -“Now I have made you laugh!” cried the old fellow triumphantly. “And -here we are at the Grand Café. No, my Toto, we will not die just -yet, while there are Grand Cafés, and good dinners, and pretty girls -adorning the world. Tu, tu, tu! how the lights flare!” - -They entered, the old man following Toto and pursing out his hideous -old lips. One could see his stomach working through his face as they -passed first to the lavatory with the frescoed ceilings, where Toto -washed himself vehemently with his coat off, and De Nani looked on. -Then, led by the assistant head-waiter, they ascended to the private -room where the Prince’s friends were waiting. - -Three men only—Pelisson, of the _Journal des Débats_; Gaillard, a -mystical poet, pantheistic, melancholic, with no very fixed belief in -anything, save, perhaps, the works of Gaillard; and Otto Struve, the -art critic. - -Pelisson, a powerfully built fellow, singularly like De Blowitz, even -to the pointed whiskers, was of the type of man who pushes the world -aside with his shoulders, whilst he pushes it forward with his head. -Gaillard, who was remarkable for his high collars, pointed beard, and -the childish interest he took in little things unconnected with his -profound art, sat astride a chair watching Pierre Pelisson juggling -with a wine-glass, a fish-knife, and a serviette. By the fireplace -stood Otto Struve, a man with a hatchet-shaped face, who seemed in the -last stages of consumption, and weighed down by the cares of the whole -world, which he bore with suppressed irritation. - -Toto’s entrance was the entrance of money. Everyone forgot everyone -else for a moment; the electric lamps seemed to blaze more brightly; -waiters suddenly appeared, mutes shod with velvet and bearing the _hors -d’œuvre_. - -“M. le Marquis de Nani,” said Toto, introducing his friend; and they -took their seats. - -Old De Nani ate his oysters, glancing sideways, this way and that -way, at the triumvirate of talent, as if to say, “Who the devil are -you?” and “Who the devil are you?” Pelisson groaned and grunted; he -was writing the beginning of a leading article in that wonderful head -of his, where a clerk always sat taking notes in indelible ink, an -artist beside him taking sketch-portraits of everyone and pictures -of everything. Toto looked bored and the dinner unpromising, till -suddenly Struve broke the ice by choking over his soup. With the -laughter, conversation broke out and babbled. The fish was served, and -one might have fancied twenty people were talking, Toto’s voice raised -shrill against Gaillard’s periods, and the trumpet tones of Pelisson -dominating all like the notes of a sax-horn. - -“I don’t believe in God, you say?” said Gaillard, savagely attacking a -fillet of sole. “Well, perhaps not, according to your ideas; according -to mine, I have the pleasure of worshiping a god. He has fifty-three -names. The Chinese call him Fot; benighted Asiatic tribes, Buddha; -Kempfer, by the way, wrote it——” - -“No, no, no!” cried Toto. “No theology, or I’ll turn M. le Marquis de -Nani upon you, and he’ll eat you up, for he’s an atheist.” - -“An atheist!” cried Pelisson, turning his broad face on De Nani. “I -thought they were all dead. M. de Nani, beware! They’ll kill you and -stuff you for the Musée Carnavalet.” - -“I’ll stuff him,” shouted Toto, imagining himself a wit. “What shall it -be, Marquis—bran, sawdust?” - -“Ortolans,” answered De Nani, too busily engaged in stuffing himself to -find passage for more than one word. - -“By my soul, the Marquis is right!” cried the great newspaper man. -“An atheist stuffed with ortolans is all they want to complete -their collection now they have crowned their idiocy by buying ——’s -collection of bronzes.” - -“Talking of crowns,” came the insidious lisp of Struve, “have you heard -the news? Willy Hohenzollern has—guess what.” - -“Written a farce?” - -“Painted his face?” - -“Become a telegraph clerk?” - -“Gone mad,” replied Struve. - -“What’s his madness?” roared Pelisson, glaring at this opposition -newsman. - -“They say he fancies himself an Emperor.” - -“Throw flowers over him to cool him,” cried Toto, snatching a rose out -of a dish and flinging it in Struve’s face as the _entrée_ was brought -in. - -De Nani listened to the random conversation as he ate, or at least -seemed to; a dull flush was apparent under the paint on his face. -Each guest had his own attendant, and the service was conducted with -the precision of mechanism. The glass of the Marquis was always full, -yet he was continually emptying it; like the old gentleman at M. de -Richelieu’s feast, he felt his teeth growing again, and for a little -while, under the influence of the powerful Rhone wines, his youth -seemed to return. - -“Talking of art,” said Gaillard, fingering the stem of his wineglass -delicately and turning to Toto, “a rumor reached me to-day through De -Brie, the editor of the _Boulevard_—you know De Brie? It was to the -effect that our host——” - -“Yes.” - -“That our host,” continued Gaillard, turning to the others, “wearied by -the incapacity of the two salons to appreciate genius——” - -“To appreciate genius,” echoed Struve. - -“Is about to found an art school.” - -De Nani leaned back in his chair and slipped a button of his waistcoat, -as if to give room for the sycophant to ramp. - -“And who,” said he, “would be fitter to found an art school than our -host—ahu!—who, may I ask, M. Veillard?” - -“Gaillard.” - -“Maillard—than our illustrious host, ahu! I have seen his works, -_ventre St. Gris_! Ahu! I am not a man of yesterday, M. Baillard; my -memory carries me back to the time before women wore hoops.” - -“Indeed,” murmured Struve, who had placed the rose flung at him by Toto -with its stalk in his glass of champagne, and was staring at it with -the rapt air of a poet. - -“Indeed yes, monsieur, I was born on the edge of the First Empire. I -saw the new Napoleon rise—you, sir, have only seen him vanish.” - -“I have seen many a napoleon vanish,” mourned Struve; “but go on—your -tale charms me. Pelisson, listen.” - -“Go to the devil!” said Pelisson, who was now writing with the speed of -fire and a stylographic pen on a long strip of paper, using the table -for a desk. - -“I have seen the art galleries of Europe,” continued De Nani, now three -parts drunk, and unconscious that he was making a fool of himself -before the first art critic in Europe, “and I unhesitatingly proclaim -M. le Prince’s work to be on a level—allowing of course for youth—on a -level with the best I have seen.” - -“Oh, rot! oh, rubbish!” cried Toto, blushing furiously and flinging -flowers at the great bent head of Pelisson, whilst that journalist, -wallowing in his journalese, only grunted and growled in a far-away -manner and wrote the more quickly. “_I_ can’t paint, _I_ can’t -draw—might if I took to it really. Pelisson, you pig! wake up and eat -your pudding.” - -“I have said what I have said,” concluded De Nani, attacking his -ice-pudding with all the youthful nonchalance of your man who wears -false teeth. - -“And my rose is drunk,” said Struve, as the rose tumbled out of the -glass. - -“_I_ can’t paint,” murmured Toto again with the air of a spoilt child. - -“Toto!” demanded Struve, placing the rose languidly in his coat, “how -much wine have you drunk?” - -“Why?” - -“Because a lot of truth is escaping from you.” - -Toto laughed; he always believed Struve to be jesting when in earnest, -and in earnest when jesting. Then he sat watching De Nani, and -wondering at his capacity for champagne. - -“Cigars, cigars!” cried Pelisson, finishing his article with a dash, -flinging down his pen and bursting out like a sun. “What’s this? -pudding!” He devoured it like a pig, and then roared again for cigars. -Three boxes were swiftly passed in from the outside. - -He placed one before him, sent his article off to the _Journal des -Débats_ office, which lies near by, and, leaning back in his chair with -thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, blew clouds of smoke at the -gilded ceiling, and cried: “Let’s make a noise.” - -“What’s up now?” inquired Toto. - -“The Ministry will be down to-morrow!” cried Pelisson, flapping the -sides of his chest with his turtle-fin hands. “You’ll hear the tumble -of portfolios—flip, flap, flop; and I’ve helped to pull them, ehu! Let -us make a noise; it’s the only thing worth living for. I’d die in a -world where I couldn’t make a noise; you couldn’t make me a worse hell -than a padded room. You, Toto—how do you live without making a noise? -Gaillard squeaks in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_, Struve grumbles in the -_Temps_, I roar in the _Débats_; you, wretched child! are silent: take -up a pen or a paint-brush and make a noise.” - -“I would if I could,” mourned Toto. - -“You mean you could if you would!” retorted Pelisson. “Write a little -book of poems, and I’ll abuse them; I’ll make your name rattle -like a pea in a bottle. Write an ode to the Pope or paint a modest -picture—there’s two ideas for you gratis, each a fortune. Give me some -coffee.” - -“I wouldn’t give a pin for fame unless I earned it,” said Toto, handing -the coffee. “I’d just as soon swing a rattle as have a work of art of -mine”—Struve groaned—“made famous by my friends or my position.” - -“Why,” cried Pelisson, “he’s talking sense, this boy is!” - -“He’s talking nonsense,” said Struve. - -“He’s talking divinity—I mean (hic) divinely,” said Gaillard, who -was finishing his second bottle of champagne, and writing poetry on -his cuffs with the stylographic pen that had just helped in the -destruction of a Ministry. - -De Nani was dumbly digesting; he had filled his pockets with cigars, -and was wishing he had brought a sack. He was also drunk—in fact, to -put it plainly, very drunk. - -“I’m talking _sense_,” cried Toto with flashing eyes. - -“_He_ can’t paint,” suddenly broke out De Nani, the drunkenness lifting -like a veil and disclosing his true thoughts. “He’s only pretending. -Doesn’t want to paint—’sgot four mistresses.” - -He slipped away from his chair as if sucked down by a whirlpool. A roar -of laughter went up that shook the ceiling, and then, to everyone’s -horror, Toto the debonair, the hero of cock-fights and what not, broke -into tears. - -At this extraordinary sight Gaillard first gazed with a grin, and then -burst out like a firework touched off, wringing his hands and calling -upon God. - -“Devil take that old scoundrel!” cried Pelisson, kicking at the body of -De Nani, which seemed quite flaccid now that the truth had got out of -it. “Where did you pick him up?—he’s a scamp, he’s a scamp!” - -“Toto, my dear Toto,” lisped Struve, “paint a picture to-morrow, and -I’ll make it famouth for you. So help me God! I will, or my name’s not -Struve.” - -“Alas!” cried Gaillard, drinking off a glass of brandy, “I am touched -at the soul. Toto, my Toto, our Toto, _do_ not grieve. I, too, will -write a little poem, and it will make your picture famous. Where is -that wretch? Kick him, Pelisson!” - -“Don’t let the waiters in,” choked Toto. “It’s only stupidity”—sniff, -sniff—“the old fellow is drunk; don’t kick him, P-P-Pelisson, he’s an -old man. I p-picked him up at my mother’s; he’s only stupid. There, I’m -all right.” - -“Oh, dear me!” sighed Struve; “we are all right now, let us play -baccarat.” - -“I am desolated,” mourned Gaillard, who had now to be comforted. “And -my little poem is spoiled.” He looked at his shirt cuffs and broke into -tears. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE FAG END OF A NIGHT AND THE BEGINNING OF A MORNING. - - -When Gaillard was at last comforted and set writing poems in a corner, -the waiters were admitted, the table was cleared, and cards produced. - -“Shall we go to the club?” asked Toto. - -“No, play here,” answered Struve. - -They played loo, and Pelisson kicked the senseless body of De Nani, -which had been pushed right under the table for propriety’s sake, when -luck went against him. - -Toto played furiously, partly to drown the remembrance of his unmanly -tears, partly to be successful. His eyes burned, his cheeks were -like carnations, and his luck was frightful; but he played with the -dogged determination peculiar to him in little things, the pig-headed -obstinacy which, had it been allied with talent and poverty, might have -landed him in the Ministry or Academy. - -A few men dropped in now and then, glanced at the play, saw that the -stakes were small,—for Pelisson kept them down,—and yawned out again. - -“Toto,” said Struve, as the clock struck twelve, “you’ll be ruined at -this rate; better stop.” - -“Go on! go on!” cried Toto, like a man pursued by wolves. “The luck -will turn.” - -It turned a bit, but not for long, and the play went on till a voice -under the table asked “Where am I?” and then began moaning for a -grilled bone. - -“It’s four o’clock!” cried Pelisson, glancing at the timepiece on the -mantel, as Gaillard, waking in his corner, rubbed his eyes. “It’s four -o’clock, and here comes M. le Marquis de Nani from under the table. -_Bon jour_, Marquis; I thought there was a dog under the table, and I -have been kicking at him for the last hour.” - -“I dreamt I was being kicked by a mule,” said the Marquis, rising erect -and buttoning his waistcoat. “Who will dispute the truth of dreams -after this?” and he looked at his false teeth in the mirror upon the -wall. - -The _garçon de nuit_ entered with the bill—a yard long. - -“I have only a five-franc piece,” said Toto. “Let it stand, and bring -us up some supper, some coffee and some champagne; also cigarettes—I -want a cigarette. _Ai de mi!_ what a duffer I am! I cannot even win at -cards.” - -“He who is unfortunate at cards is fortunate in love,” said De -Nani, fumbling to feel if the thousand-franc note was safe in his -pocket, whilst the waiter respread the table with all sorts of cold -things—oysters, mayonnaise, and galantine. - -“I,” said Gaillard, “am unfortunate at both.” - -He attacked some oysters like a wolf, whilst Struve, with the withered -rose in his coat, whistled a mournful air of Berlioz’ whilst he cut a -sardine in three and put a pinch of pepper on it. - -De Nani was at the champagne again like a leech, whilst he feasted like -a man off a wreck. He looked a horribly wicked old man in the dawn, -which mixed with the electric light; the paint from his cheeks was on -his nose and chin, and his wig was awry. It was a cheerless party; -Pelisson was half asleep, and Toto as white as a ghost. Gaillard, his -cuff scribbled over with lunatic poetry, cast his mournful eyes at the -dawn peeping in white over the silent Boulevard des Capucines. - -“I was once a youth,” said Gaillard. “That is what the world says to us -in the dawn. The dawn ever fills me with despair—a delicious despair. -I do not know why, but it seems forever linked to that divine forlorn -hope, love. This is the light from which we rebuild old castles and -recall vanished faces. In the faint wind that moves we hear the whisper -of voices. Fair women walk in vanished gardens, and the sound of the -dew recalls their tears.” - -“Ah!” cried De Nani, “is this a harp I hear, or the voice of a mortal -man?” - -“Have you read my little poem,” continued Gaillard, “commencing, - - “O Love, whose every golden tress - The sunshine holds of loveliness, - What tragedy in what dark dawn - Hath lent thine eyes such mournfulness? - O——” - -“Oh, stop!” said Toto. “Your poetry makes me want to commit suicide.” - -“That,” said Gaillard, “shows but the beauty of it. My ambition is to -write a quatrain that will be as poisonous to hope as strychnine. Hope, -that accursed allurement born of the——Heaven! I am going to be ill; I -have swallowed a bad oyster.” “Run to the window,” commanded Toto. - -“Brandy,” suggested Pelisson. - -“I am better,” declared the poet. “The taste has passed. The question -is, Will it prove poisonous? _Mon Dieu!_ and the proofs of my ‘Fall of -the Damned’ are not corrected.” - -“Never mind,” said Toto gloomily. “You can correct them as you are -falling. Oh, what a wretched world this is! I’m going to drown myself -in the Seine.” He rose, yawning, from his chair. “Who will follow me?” - -“I will as far as the door,” said Struve, rising also. “Pelisson, where -are you for?” - -“Home and go to bed,” said Pelisson, rising also. “M. de Nani—why, he’s -drunk again!” - -M. le Marquis de Nani had risen from his seat, and seemed trying to -walk upstairs through the air. It was the back blow of the night. - -“I never saw a man slip into drink, like a girl into her shift, so -swiftly and with such divine simplicity,” lisped Struve. “Do wash his -face, someone; he is painted like a _demi-mondaine_, and the paint has -broken loose over his nose. Can’t possibly take him into the street -such a disgraceful figure.” - -They washed De Nani’s face with white wine and Toto’s handkerchief, -whilst the old man struggled and resisted like a child. It was a -mournful spectacle, and Toto did not laugh as the others did. - -“That’s what’s the end of all,” he thought. “Eugh! what a beastly thing -life is!” - -“Now put on his hat,” commanded Pelisson, who acted as master of the -ceremonies, “and jam it down—that’s right. I will carry his cane. Drive -him before you, and call a cab,” he cried to the _garçon_, handing him -a napoleon for _pourboire_. - -They got the old man into a fiacre, weeping and protesting and -fighting like a lunatic with his keepers. - -“Where shall we send him to?” asked Pelisson. - -“I don’t know where he lives; send him to the Morgue, send him to the -Prefecture, send him anywhere you like,” said Toto. - -“I know,” said Struve. “I have an enemy—he’s a Legitimist; I’ll send -him a drunken Marquis for a present.” And he gave the name and address -of his enemy to the driver, with half a napoleon to pay the fare. “Get -him into the house at any price,” commanded Struve; “he’s the father of -the gentleman who lives there. There goes the old nobility.” - -He finished as the cab drove away, leaving a thin stream of curses on -the morning air. And little did Toto dream where those curses would -come to roost. - -“What a jolly night we have had!” said Gaillard, as they parted at the -corner of the Rue de la Paix. - -“And we have all done something,” said Pelisson. “You have written a -poem,—don’t have that shirt washed, they’ll sell it in strips after -you are dead,—and I have written my article, and Struve has made a -present to his enemy of De Nani, who has made a beast of himself.” - -“And I,” said Toto, “have made a fool of myself.” - -“That’s what you were born for,” said Pelisson. “But never mind, Toto, -you make a most charming fool.” - -Then Toto found himself alone at the corner of the Rue de la Paix. - -Some she-asses were passing, and he stopped the _auvergnat_ driving -them, and had a glass of milk, because that was _chic_, and when he -had drunk the milk he wished he had not, because there was no one to -look; and, besides, he was tired of being _chic_. Then, with the asses’ -milk still upon his lips, he came along down the Rue de la Paix in the -direction of the river. - -The change of his five-franc piece the _auvergnat_ had given him mostly -in copper; it bulged out his trousers-pocket, and made a clanking sound -as he walked. Paris was waking up, the lidlike shutters of the shops -were rising through a thousand streets; and as he passed through the -Place Vendôme several early morning cabs laden with luggage from the -Nord Station tore by. - -In the Rue Castiglione he stopped. What should he do? It was too early -to go home, too late for the club; the world he knew had gone to bed, -the world he dimly knew of was waking up. A world in its shirt-sleeves, -clean, bright, busy, and apparently happy. The dinner, the supper, -the Marquis de Nani, Pelisson’s roaring voice, Struve’s lisp, and -Gaillard’s melancholic poetry, all pursued him like Eumenides of a low -sort, impotent, yet able to tease. - -On the Pont de Solferino he stood to look at the river, and might have -thrown himself in had not the water looked so cold, and had he not -remembered that he was unable to swim. - -Then, turning back, he came along the arcade of the Rue de Rivoli, -walking leisurely and listening to the birds singing in the trees of -the gardens of the Tuileries. - -The Place de la Concorde seemed horribly immense, and the far-away -Eiffel Tower looked like a filmy giant straddling his legs, his hands -in his pockets, and wearily waiting for something to do. Crossing the -Place de la Concorde came a solitary girl carrying something in her -hand; following the girl came a man. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE POETRY OF HATS. - - -Toto saw that the man was begging from the girl, and the girl was -walking quickly. The man was a horrible-looking scoundrel. - -“And here,” said Toto, “is something to do.” - -He advanced rapidly and obliquely upon the pursued and pursuer, who, -when he saw that the game was up, called out a vile word and turned to -run. But he had reckoned without Toto. - -It was all over in a minute, and from a distance it looked like a -sparrow-fight, Toto in his brown tweeds, and the Barrier bully in his -antique, rusty, long-tailed coat. The next our bully was running for -his life towards the Pont de la Concorde, bawling and holding his nose, -and the Prince, with his hat on the back of his head, was talking to -the girl. - -“Look!” cried Toto, screaming with laughter. “Three gendarmes are after -him.” - -“Oh, monsieur!” murmured the girl,—she had blue eyes and the air of a -fluttered dove,—“how can I thank you for having saved me?” - -“Let us hurry away,” said the Prince. “I see a gendarme shading his -eyes at us over there. Let’s dodge away down the arcade. Look! he’s -coming towards us. Run!” - -They ran down the arcade hand in hand, to the wonder of the boys who -were taking down the shop shutters. There was no earthly occasion for -this flight. But Toto always embroidered upon a position; he could not -behold a cat-fight without mentally suggesting betterments; besides, it -was _outré_. - -“Now we are safe,” said he, as they turned up a by-street. “Oh, what -fun! Tell me, mademoiselle, may I not carry your little parcel? No? May -I not accompany you, then, to your journey’s end?” - -“Oh, yes!” said the girl. “My parcel is but a hat I am taking to M. -Verral in the Rue St. Honoré. I do not live there, monsieur; I work -for him at home. I live all alone in a little room near the Rue de -Babylone—I and Dodor;” and she cast up her April-blue eyes as if -through the rim of her hat she saw Dodor in the blue April skies, -together with a vision of angels. - -“Who is Dodor?” inquired Toto in a gruff and almost jealous voice. - -“He is my lark,” said the girl; and Toto brightened. - -“You have a lark?” - -“Oh, yes, monsieur; and if you could hear him sing! He brings the green -fields to Paris in his voice.” - -“You keep him in a cage?” asked Toto, searching for conversation to fit -a lark of this description, and not finding much. - -“I keep him in a very big cage, monsieur. Ah! his cage ought to be the -blue heavens; but, then, how could I hear him sing? I bought him in a -little cage—not so big; but the parrot of Mme. Liard, our concierge, -dying, I bought its cage—one, oh, so big;” and she measured the width -of a wine-tun with hands that fluttered out like white butterflies, for -Toto had wrested from her the parcel; also, she wore no gloves. - -“Dear me! how funny! And you call him Dodor. This is Verral’s, is it -not? Now, may I—please don’t think me rude—may I wait for you? I have -nothing to do—I mean, I want to hear more about Dodor. I cannot say -‘mademoiselle’; it sounds so stiff. _My_ name is To—Désiré Cammora.” - -“And mine, monsieur, is Célestin Sabatier. I will run in with the hat. -If I can see the forewoman, Mme. Hümmel, I will not detain you long.” - -“Don’t call me ‘monsieur,’” said Toto; but she had vanished. - -It was an extraordinary find, this—a real live Henri Murger grisette. -She might have stepped out of “The Mysteries of Paris,” without her -cap, of course, but even more charming in a hat. She was “all there,” -even to the lark in the parrot cage. The parrot cage made him certain -that the lark was no trumped-up tale; she would never have thought of -inventing a parrot cage. He remembered with a sort of satisfaction the -poverty and neatness of her dress. - -Ten minutes passed, and then she came out again, like April after a -cloud has passed, smiling, and with an air of triumph. - -“Mme. Hümmel is so pleased, and I am so happy!” cried Célestin, as they -walked away down the Rue St. Honoré, all beautiful with the morning. -“She has given me an extra franc. Just think!” And she held out three -in the pink shell of her palm. - -“How much do you get for making a hat?” asked Toto. - -“Two francs, and I find my own thread; but for this hat I have received -three. It was an inspiration. Do you know, monsieur, that hats come to -one? Sometimes I am perplexed. There lie all the materials,—the tulle, -ribbons, flowers, what-not,—and there sit I, so like a stupid girl it -seems impossible that I should make the hat—impossible as building the -Eiffel Tower. And then, suddenly, something comes to me. I see the hat, -and it is made. That is when I am stupid. At other times they come to -me in hundreds—hats more beautiful than a dream; and, oh! if I had -a hundred hands I could find work for them all. Yesterday it was a -gloomy morning. Dodor drooped in his cage, and I felt very dull. Then -the sun broke out—you remember how beautifully—and Dodor sang, and the -blue sky looked in through the window and brought me this hat like a -gift from the good God. Mme. Hümmel said it was April itself. And is -it not strange, monsieur, that the seasons should help one so? For -Spring helps me in her way, and Summer and Autumn in their way, even -Winter a little,—and he helps few,—but of all of them I like Spring the -best,” sighed Célestin, casting her eyes up once more at the sky of her -imagination and the angels she seemed always to see there. - -“I suppose people wear more hats in the spring,” was the reply of Toto -to this revelation of an artist’s work, and for that reply he deserved -damning as an artist. - -“Oh, yes,” said Célestin. “The spring is the time of all others; one -makes more money in the spring.” - -Toto had steered the way into the Rue du Mont Thabor, a little street -that lies parallel to the Rue St. Honoré, and just behind the Hôtel -Lille et Albion. - -Here there was a _crémerie_, into which he invited her to enter. They -took their seats at a little marble-topped table, which was soon spread -with coffee, white bread, and butter. - -Célestin quite cast away her reserve; she never had much, and what she -had was that of a timid child. This creature, gentle as a bird, and -thriving by her own quaint and lovely art in the midst of the great, -white, cruel, beautiful city, was in herself a revelation—God, one -might almost fancy, supporting her with his fingers as he supports the -snowdrops above the snow; Art, one might almost fancy, turning from the -Louvre and all its treasures, and smiling towards the Rue de Babylone -and this humble slave interpreting her dreams by ribbon and tulle. - -“I?” said Toto with his mouth full of bread and butter, and speaking in -answer to a question of his companion. “I am an artist—a painter, you -know.” - -Célestin lowered the cup she was raising to her lips. He had won her -admiration forever by beating the bully, and now he was an artist. - -“I have never met one before,” murmured Célestin. “How great that -must be, to be an artist! I have seen them at the Louvre. I sometimes -go to the Louvre; the rooms are so beautiful, and the ceilings,”—the -child evidently had her limitations,—“and one sees such strange -people—English women in such strange hats. And do you paint in the -Louvre?” - -“No, Célestin; I work in an atelier of my own.” - -Never before in the course of his brief artistic career had praise -thrilled him like this, the frank and artless homage of a girl of -eighteen who found herself for the first time in her life in the -presence of a real artist; there were no ateliers in the street off the -Rue de Babylone, only workshops. - -“At the Porte St. Martin,” said Célestin, “where sometimes Mme. Liard -takes me,—she is a friend of the doorkeeper, and sometimes he gives -her permits,—I have seen a very sad play. It was about an artist: he -was very poor—that is to say, not so very poor at first, but he got -poorer as the play went on, and thinner, till at last his cheeks were -like this.” She sucked her cheeks in. “Then in the last act he tied a -rope to a beam in the ceiling, and made a noose in the rope and put his -head through it; I clung to Mme. Liard, I was so frightened. You cannot -think how terrible it was till the door broke open and his father -rushed in,—he was the son of a duke in disguise,—and the concierge came -after, and a lot of people, and they cut him down. Everyone wept. There -was a villain in the piece, and, oh! such a pretty girl,” finished -Célestin. “But I liked the artist best. Are all artists very poor, M. -Désiré?” - -“Oh, we manage to scrape along,” said Toto, “when we can sell our -pictures; we can’t always do that—we can’t always get them exhibited, -even. I sent one last year to the Salon.” - -“The Salon—where is that?” asked Célestin. - -“It’s a picture show; they give prizes for the best pictures.” - -“And did your picture get a prize?” - -“No,” said Toto mournfully. “They would not even hang it on the -walls—it was too classical, some people said; and one man, a man who -ought to know, told me it was jealousy.” - -“Ah, _mon Dieu!_ how terrible! It was so with the artist in the play: -he was betrayed by a man who was jealous of him—oh, poor M. Désiré!” - -“Célestin,” said Toto, “do not call me monsieur; call me Désiré.” - -“Désiré,” said Célestin, like an obedient child. - -“That’s right; and now tell me, Célestin, how comes it that you live -all alone with this lark of yours.” - -“My mother died when I was so high,” said Célestin, holding one hand -three feet from the floor. “And I bought Dodor at the Halles Centrales; -he cost three francs.” - -This was the history of her life as given by Célestin, with a mournful -little gesture of the hands, as if to say “That’s all.” - -“But,” said Toto, “you must have found it very dull—I mean, you must -have had to work for yourself; you have no brothers or sisters, have -you? or cousins, or people of that sort?” - -“Oh, no! I have always been alone; but people are very good to me; I -love the world—it is very good, and it is so beautiful. On Sundays, -sometimes, I go with Mme. Liard to the Buttes Chaumont; I think heaven -must be like that.” - -“Is that as far as you have been?” - -“I have been to Champrosay once when I was very little. I can remember -it still, but it is like a dream.” - -Toto was producing his coppers to pay the bill, and thinking how -fortunate it was that the _auvergnat_ had given him change in coppers, -also how fortunate it was that he had bought the asses’ milk, for these -coppers were eminently in keeping with the struggling artist. He also -kept his coat buttoned to hide his watch-chain, for Toto was now being -driven by an idea half formed, yet fully potent, just as the asses had -been driven up the Rue de la Paix by the man in sabots, armed with a -stick. - -Célestin drew out her little purse as if to help in the settlement of -the account, and then put it back with a sigh of contentment at Toto’s -gesture. One could see her satisfaction at not having to part with her -centimes, for she did not in the least try to hide it. She crossed -herself and moved her lips as if giving thanks to the good God for the -breakfast he had sent her, and then she cried, “Oh, how wicked I have -been!” - -“Why?” cried Toto, turning from a dispute about fifty centimes with the -waiter. - -“I have forgotten Dodor, and he has been waiting for his breakfast, and -I—I have been thinking of other things.” - -She rose with the rapidity and grace only given to us when the knees -are young. She seemed as if she must spread out a pair of wings and -fly at once to Dodor. So Toto relinquished his fifty centimes and -accompanied her. He proposed that they should take a cab. - -“Oh, no!” cried Célestin, “that would be far too extravagant. I think -you are very extravagant, mons—Désiré; as for me, I have never been in -a cab.” - -“Never what?” said Toto. - -“Never been in a cab. I always walk—sometimes I take the omnibus; -but that is when it is wet, omnibuses are so expensive; but they -are delightful. It is such fun seeing the people, and they are so -friendly; I would like to spend all my life driving in omnibuses. Old -gentlemen have often helped me out and walked home with me to see me -safe.” - -“Good gracious! what do they say to you?” - -“Three old gentlemen have seen me home,” said Célestin. “And——” - -“Three all together?” - -“Oh, no! at different times; and one had a red rosette in his -buttonhole.” - -“And what did they say to you?” - -“That’s the funny thing: they all wanted me to go to the theater, -and of course I was delighted,—just imagine!—and we were to meet at -different places; and then we talked of other things, and they all -took such an interest in Dodor and asked so many questions all about -how I lived; and one, the one with the red rosette, gave me a great -five-franc piece—he said it was a present for Dodor. But the funny -thing was, when we reached home they had forgotten about the theater, -and said they had other engagements, and that they would come some -other evening. The old gentleman with the rosette gave me another -five-franc piece for myself, only this one was in gold, a very small -one, and he told me to remember and always be a good girl, for the -angels were watching me; and I said I would, and he kissed my hand and -went away. But I never saw them again, for one never meets the same -person twice in an omnibus, you know.” - -Toto assented. He was thinking of this lark that flew so mysteriously -between Célestin and sin, and lived in a parrot cage. - -They had crossed the Place de la Concorde by this, crossed the Pont de -la Concorde, and were heading for the Eiffel Tower. They were walking -quickly, too, for was it not to the relief of Dodor, pining for his -groundsel, or whatever larks are fed upon? - -The exercise began to tell upon Célestin. She coughed a little, and put -her hand to her chest high up near the collar-bone. - -“You are not strong?” - -“Oh, yes, I am very strong, only my chest pains me at times, and I -cough at nights sometimes—a little, not much.” - -“Célestin,” said Toto, in a very serious voice, “I want you to meet me -again. Will you?” - -“Oh, dear!” sighed Célestin; “I forgot that we had to part.” - -“But we shall meet again.” - -“When?” - -“Could you meet me to-morrow morning?” - -“Yes.” - -“At eight?” - -“Yes.” - -“At the corner just where the Champs Élysées joins the Place de la -Concorde?” - -“Yes—oh, yes! And you will be there?” - -“I will. And, Célestin, look here: we are not rich, you know, and we -ought to help each other. Look here.” He took out a handful of coppers -and some silver pieces, all that he had remaining from the five-franc -piece. “We will divide, and take half each.” - -“No—oh, no!” - -“Yes,” said Toto, “you must.” - -“But you will want it.” - -“No, I shan’t. You want it more than I do. Besides,” continued the -Prince, “I have not a lark to keep up.” - -They divided, squabbling over an odd sou, and when the accounts were -settled they walked on. - -“How good you are!” said Célestin, almost in tears at the manifold -bounties God was heaping upon her this fine April morning. “I will put -it in the money-box for Dodor. Oh, dear! why did I think of dying just -then? It must have been the thought of Dodor. I often lie awake and -think what would become of him if I died. I have a money-box for him -to give to someone to be kind to him in case I got ill and died. The -five-franc piece is in it, and other money as well. I will put yours, -too. See, this is where I live.” - -They had reached a gloomy street sprinkled with a few shops, and filled -with the boom of an adjacent factory. A gloomy house of four stories -was the house where Célestin lived. - -“Now I shall know where to find you in case you fail to meet me -to-morrow,” said Toto, as they shook hands. - -“I will not fail,” she replied. “I have never broken a promise in my -life—only once.” - -“When was that?” - -“This morning, when I promised Dodor to be back in half an hour.” - -Then he kissed her hand just as the old gentleman with the red rosette -had done, and wandered away, his head filled with thoughts of her. For -it was a peculiarity of Célestin’s that, whilst she must have appealed -to the angels in heaven, she also appealed strongly to Porte St. Martin -minds. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -GAILLARD THE COMFORTER. - - -Then he went home, and bathed and dressed and said “The club” when his -mother, in _peignoir_ and morning paint, asked him where he had spent -his night with that good, dear Marquis de Nani. Later in the day he -wandered into Struve’s rooms. - -“Go away, Toto,” said Struve, who was busy writing at his table. He -supplied seven journals with his ideas, from the _Fremdenblatt_ to the -_Figaro_, and he seemed now engaged in writing for the whole seven at -once. One could see nothing of the lisping, melancholy Struve of the -night before in this lightning scribe. “Go away. I have no time for -Totos. Come in three hours’ time.” - -“What are you at?” inquired Toto, sinking into a chair and lighting a -cigarette. - -“Praising a man I hate.” - -“See here: stop writing your gibberish for five minutes; I want to -speak to you.” - -Struve took out his watch and laid it on the table. - -“I am listening.” - -“You once said that if a man of talent were to start in Paris with -three thousand francs and his ten fingers,—those were your words,—that -if he did not get on he deserved to fail.” - -“So he does; what more?” - -“I have been thinking of having a try, working like a devil, and -kicking over all this absurdity.” - -“Do; it won’t do you any harm. What at—politics?” - -“Oh, you owl!” cried Toto. “Politics—what do I care for politics! Art, -that’s the only thing I care a button for. I’m going to dress in a -blouse, and work like a common man—make my name off my own bat, as they -say in England. I’m utterly sick of doing nothing; I must move—I must.” -And Toto moved his arms. “And I am tied; no one takes me seriously. -Look at old De Nani, praising me one moment, and then the next——Faugh! -I’m a Prince; I am worth ten million francs when my mother dies. I play -with art, that’s enough for people; they don’t see my work, they see -me.” - -“You are always so much in evidence,” said Struve. “That’s where the -mischief is; you cut such antics that people have no time to observe -your serious attempts. You have got a frightful lot of energy, and -you are a Prince—that’s what is wrong with you; you must be doing, -you are tired of the club, the Bois, cock-fighting at Chantilly. By -the way, I see your name in the _Figaro_ this morning under a thin -disguise—Longchamps and all the rest of it. Your volcano is bunged up -by ennui; you want a new opening for the lava to escape. Well, take my -advice: move in the plane of least resistance; buy a coffee mill and -grind it.” - -“Do be serious,” said Toto; “I come to you as a friend.” - -“Toto,” said the critic, “I am very serious, else I would not advise -you to leave art alone. What’s the use? This, great, beautiful Moloch -wants a whole life to eat, or nothing. There are a thousand men in -Paris who have flung their all into this furnace. What will come out -of all this forlorn thousand? Half a dozen, and they will be filled -with despair. The walls of the Musée de Louvre are painted with the -blood of men, and that’s success. What of the failures? Their story -would shock creation. Art lives on failures; they keep the paint shops -going, and serve as a background to three or four stars. Now go away. -God in heaven! it’s four, and the post for Germany goes out at six.” - -“You are never so stupid as when you are serious,” blurted out Toto, as -he rose and flung his cigarette-end into the grate. - -But Struve did not even answer; he was writing away. - -Toto then met the young Prince de Harnac, who invited him to dine at -the Mirlitons; he refused, alleging a headache. Then he called on -Pelisson, and found him out. He was wearily entering the Place de -l’Opéra, when the devil flung him into the arms of Gaillard. - -Gaillard’s collar seemed higher than ever, and he had a distracted air. - -“I am running about looking for my dinner,” said Gaillard. “That -infernal De Brie has gone off to his country house, and forgotten my -check and left me to starve. I will turn an editor, and write no more -poetry nor little articles for his journal. Dear Toto, come and give me -my dinner, and lend me a thousand francs, and comfort me. Sit here with -me, and have an absinthe, and look at Paris as it passes; and then we -will go to the Maison Dorée and dine.” - -“You are just the man I want,” said Toto, as they took their seats at -a café, where the marble-topped tables had ventured out now that the -weather was fine, and even a bit warm. “I want your help and advice. -I’ve been with that villain Struve, and he has depressed me, and flung -cold water on me.” - -“Struve is a critic,” said Gaillard in a vicious voice; “he is one of -the sorrows of art. I do not know what criticism is coming to. Have you -seen that article in the _Tribune_ on Mallarmé?—Mallarmé, that divine -shadow moving in the twilight of the gods, even he is not safe from -their mud. But what is this, Toto, you say about help and advice? Are -you being worried by some woman? Is your mother tormenting? Unfold -yourself to me.” - -“Look here, Gaillard: you are a man of sense, you have sympathy. I am -sick of life, living like a cabbage, and I want to live really, I want -to be famous without the assistance of anyone; I have a talent.” - -“You have an undoubted genius.” - -“And I want to use it. I go to Struve, and he sneers at me, tells me to -grind a coffee mill.” - -“Oh, that Struve!” mourned Gaillard. “What led you to a critic for -advice or sympathy? He told you to grind a coffee mill? Give me a -cigarette, Toto; my case is empty; I will take three. He told you that! -They fancy their cheap wit kills, these critics do; but you are not -alone, Toto. Did you see the critique on my little poem ‘Satanitie’ -in the _Écho de Paris_? Well, that is what they fling nowadays at an -artist, and call it wit. But Pelisson is replying by a counterblast -in the _Débats_. Dear old Pelisson! He knows no more of poetry than -a rhinoceros; but he roars, and he has reduced the art of slaying a -critic to a fine edge.” - -“Yes, yes,” said Toto, trying to lead Gaillard from himself for a -moment; “but what do you think of my plan? I am going to take an attic -and work in a blouse—I _am_; and, besides, do you know, Gaillard, I -have met the most charming girl. She lives in an attic on three sous -a day with a lark; she trims hats, and she has eyes just the color of -Neapolitan violets. I have never loved a woman before.” - -“You love her?” cried Gaillard, “and you would leave the world for her -to live in an attic? Oh, _mon Dieu_! what a romance you might make of -life! And is that idea all your own? _Mon Dieu!_ you, a Prince, rich -and young and charming, beloved by all the women of Paris—the very -entry of such an idea into your brain proclaims you an artist. It is -like the Prince in my little forest tale who renounced the world for a -wood-nymph—my little tale called ‘Nymphomanie.’ You have read it.” - -“No, I haven’t.” - -“But I gave you a copy.” - -“Oh, yes, I remember now—the nymph who turned into a sow. It was a -beautiful story; but never mind it for a moment. Tell me, Gaillard: you -are not saying that just to please me?” - -“I,” said Gaillard; “I am charmed with the idea, the originality of it, -the color of it. It has a perfume of violets—those violets that come in -autumn as if to increase the sadness of the withered leaves. De Musset -might have written a play upon it. I, ha! I will—I will write a poem on -it.” - -“For goodness’ sake, don’t!” said Toto in alarm. “I want no one to -know. With my blouse I become a man like other men; I give myself a -year, and then—we will see what Otto Struve and De Nani say.” - -“But you are not serious, Toto?” cried Gaillard, who was now the man -alarmed, for Toto was a little income to him, a cigarette mine, and a -most joyous companion. “You would die, my child, under the hardships -of such a life; you were not born to the blouse, you were born to the -purple.” - -“I am serious!” cried the Prince, greatly exasperated; “you are as bad -as the rest of them. You are——” - -“I am not; _mon Dieu!_ do not freeze me, Toto, with that face. I was -but thinking of your health; you have cast frost upon me, and I was -feeling so happy; besides, a garret may be made most comfortable—it -may indeed: you can have a little charcoal-fire when the weather is -cold, and a garret need not be ugly. I saw an old oak chest in the -Rue Normandie to-day; it cried out to me to buy it, but I had not the -money; we will buy it to-morrow. We will not have the walls papered; -most have, but we need not be vulgar though we are poor. Oh, Toto, -poverty is a romance if it is taken in the right way; we will teach -the poor how to endure their poverty romantically. No, we will not -have paper—plain plaster and an etching or two of Albrecht Dürer’s, a -little library confined to one bookshelf. Loti, Baudelaire, and a few -mystics; a lark to sing to one whilst one paints or writes; a girl with -blue eyes to love; a pipe to smoke—what more does one want? In the name -of Heaven, what more does one want? I call upon Heaven to witness. I -think the problem of modernity solved in the one word ’simplicity.’ We -are too be-scented, embroidered, and diffuse; we eat too much and love -too broadly; we want concentration. Genius is like a burning-glass; -it must be focused so that the rays come together in a narrow point, -else the rays will not burn. I saw a stove in bronze of Henri Quatre; -we will get that—it’s in the same place, Rue de Normandie. Did you see -that girl pass by? She pulled up her dress to show me her ankles; they -were like cow heels. Some people have no discretion; they show what -they ought to hide, and hide what they ought to show. I have noticed -it in everything, even conversation. Well, we will get the stove and -some other things—it will be like making a nest; and when all is ready -you will spread out your wings and sing, and the female bird will come. -Heavens! I know just the place you want, in the Rue de Perpignan. -I have a friend there, a genius, but very weird; they call him -Fanfoullard, no one knows his real name. He is one of the mysteries of -Paris; he subsists by painting fans, and will not get out of bed till -dusk; he says inspirations come to him only when he is in bed. That -necessarily imposes limitations on his art, but his fans are poems; he -spreads them with autumn and spring, and sends them fluttering over the -world; he dreams of the beautiful women who will use them as he lies -there unknown in his bed. Life is full of poetry; we find it in the -most unexpected places. Well, the room below that of Fanfoullard is -unlet—it was so, at least, a week ago; we will take it; it has a little -room adjoining that will do for a bedroom. We will go hunting for the -furniture, you and I, to-morrow.” - -“But, see here, Gaillard: I am not playing at this, and I must be -economical. I’m going to start on three or four thousand francs, and -make that do. I’m deadly in earnest.” - -“You are right,” said the poet. “It would be absurd to live in an attic -with a bank-book; besides, you can always apply to your mother, Mme. la -Princesse, should the wolf scrape too loudly at the door.” - -“Oh, good gracious, you will drive me mad! If I don’t succeed I will -hang myself; I would never have the face to come back; and what I mean -by success is, success without help. I am stiff with sitting still and -being waited upon; I want to _be_.” - -And Toto’s eyes gleamed madly in the gaslight, whilst Gaillard felt a -decided shiver. Then he remembered Toto’s general eccentricities, and -rubbed his chin, making his thin beard crackle. “It will last a month,” -thought he; “and then we shall all drive home in a cab very hungry, -and the Princesse will kill the fatted calf, and the girl will be -pensioned.” - -“Gaillard, what are you thinking of?” demanded Toto. - -“I was thinking that I should like to be young again like you,” burst -out Gaillard, a lot of lunatic ideas waking up and dancing like -Bacchantes around the lie. “And be loved by a beautiful girl, and work -for her, and fail, and die in her arms; those are the happiest lives, -after all, failure ending in death with one’s beloved. Success ruins -one’s life. I have never been happy since I met it, when I was young; -but I was never young, I sucked nepenthe with my mother’s milk. I do -not believe I was ever born; I was found in some field of poppies, and -they hid the fact. When I have written my last song I shall drop in -some field of poppies. Ah, me, wretched body of mine! Toto, let us go -and dine and forget ourselves; let us become beasts for an hour, and -then you will come to my rooms. Fanfoullard may be there; he always -crawls out at dark and rides to the Rue de Rivoli in an omnibus with -his eyes shut, for fear of seeing the terrible people who make use of -those vehicles. They put him out in the Rue de Rivoli, and he opens his -eyes. Should he have any fans finished, he takes them to Nadar, who -monopolizes his work; then he always comes to my rooms and smokes—I -leave tobacco for him on the mantel. He is my familiar. For days -sometimes we do not meet, when I happen to be out, but I always know -that he has been; he leaves a smell of withered flowers behind him. All -my greatest poems are due to Fanfoullard. You remember, Schiller could -never compose without rotten apples in his desk. Fanfoullard is my -rotten apple. Come, let us go to the Maison Dorée.” - -They rose from their seats and made languidly for the Boulevard des -Italiens, Gaillard pausing at several toy shops to look in and admire -the wares. In the Avenue de l’Opéra, at Brentano’s window, a little -volume of poems by Verlaine called to him to buy it, and as he had no -money Toto bought it for him. He carried the book tight clasped to his -chest as they wandered along to the Maison Dorée, where they entered -and dined. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -FANFOULLARD, MIRMILLARD, AND PAPILLARD. - - -Two hours later they came out, each smoking a big cigar; Gaillard’s -held delicately between finger and thumb and whiffed at occasionally, -Toto’s stuck in the corner of his mouth. - -“Let us to the Moulin Rouge,” said Gaillard. “I have dined; I want to -laugh.” - -“But how about this Fanfoullard?” - -The poet had quite forgotten Fanfoullard, the attic, the Henri Quatre -stove, and all the rest of it. - -“Oh, he will wait; Fanfoullard is eternal, like a tortoise. A hundred -years hence you will find him painting his fans and crawling out at -dark to sell them.” - -“But I don’t want him in a hundred years; I want him now, to arrange -about that room.” - -“What room?” - -“The room you spoke of.” - -Gaillard groaned. He thought his companion had forgotten all that, -which showed that he only knew Toto by his surface. - -“You will not find Fanfoullard interesting.” - -“Don’t want to; but he will find me interesting, for I will pay him to -see about the place and have it cleaned up.” - -“But Fanfoullard——” said the poet, stopping to scratch his head, for -there was no Fanfoullard; he was a mythical creature that had escaped -through one of the cracks in Gaillard’s skull; he had never lived in -the Rue de Perpignan, nor journeyed forth to sell fans in the dark with -his eyes shut for fear of the frightful people one sees in omnibuses. -It seemed almost a pity. “But Fanfoullard——” said his creator. “Ah, -well; yes, let us go to my rooms and see if he has arrived.” - -They made for the Rue de Turbigo, for Gaillard condescended to live in -the Rue de Turbigo. Here he kept his Muse, or, to speak more correctly, -she kept him, assisted by Toto, Pelisson, Struve, De Brie the editor, -and a host of others. - -“Tell me about this Fanfoullard,” asked Toto. “Is he a respectable sort -of person?” - -“Oh, eminently. My dear Toto, why walk so fast? I shall have -indigestion.” - -“He doesn’t practice on the violin or come in drunk, does he?” - -“Never. Toto, tell me about this charming girl who has taken your -heart; tell me her name?” - -“Célestin.” - -“Ah, _mon Dieu!_ Célestin! What a name!—full of light.” - -“Would you like to see her? Well, come to-morrow morning. I am going -to meet her in the Champs Élysées at eight, and I’ll tell you what: we -will all go and breakfast together, and then we will take a trip into -the country. You will do for a chaperon; you can watch about and meet -us as if by accident—will you?” - -“Why, yes,” chirruped Gaillard, a vista of pleasure in the country, -champagne, pretty girls, and April skies springing up before him, -painted upon the night. “I shall be charmed. The country now is like -a picture—the skies by Fantin, the blossoms by Diaz. I will come in a -straw hat. Tell me, Toto: shall I bring a girl?” - -“Confound it, no!” said the Prince. “Célestin is not that sort.” - -Gaillard sighed. - -They had reached the house in the Rue de Turbigo where he lived, and -passed through the entresol and up, up, up a great many stairs, for the -poet lived at the top of his tree. - -“Fanfoullard has not come, then,” he cried in a voice of disappointment -as he opened his door and revealed a big room lit by the remains of a -fire. “Light a candle, Toto, whilst I build up the fire.” - -“There are no candles,” said Toto, hunting about match in hand. - -“True—I forgot,” cried the poet, running into the little bedroom -adjoining and returning with a night-light in a soap-dish; “I used them -all to-day.” - -“Why, you don’t burn candles in the daylight?” - -“Indeed,” said Gaillard, “I do. When I am working I always close the -shutters and work by candlelight. My ideas are like moths; daylight -dispels them, candlelight attracts them. They are like gray moths, -the color of decay; could you look in when I am at work, you would -perhaps see them flitting about my head—reveling around their maker. -_Bon Dieu!_ this bellows is broken. Toto, hand me that bundle of -wood. I have written by a night light. ‘Satanitie’ was written by a -night-light, finished in the first rays of the dawn; that book was -written at a single sitting in one night of sheer madness.” - -“I know; you told me so the other day,” replied Toto, whilst Gaillard, -his hat still on his head, and his frock-coat hanging round him like -a skirt, squatted on his hams before the fire, putting pieces of -stick upon it with finger and thumb, whilst the flames leaped up and, -assisting the feeble flame of the night-light, illuminated the room. - -The carpet was blue, the tablecloth red, the curtains maroon rep. -Sundry German engravings adorned the walls. One represented an angel in -a long chemise, saying, evidently, “Coosh!” to a lion in a den, whilst -Daniel, with a head four sizes too large, stood by with an air of -attention. Another, Tobias being haled along by an angry-looking seraph -to the music of cherubs playing upon wooden harps and seated upon -woolen clouds. Another, Ananias dying apparently of strychnine. There -were three photographs on the mantel: one of a boy in plaid trousers -clasping to his breast a wooden horse; another of a young man, wild -of eye, and dressed in the uniform of the 101st of the line; a third, -of a poet holding a little book in his hand. All three portraits were -of Gaillard—Gaillard at ten, Gaillard at twenty-five, and Gaillard at -thirty, as we know him. - -In a bookshelf close to the mantel stood a volume of Schopenhauer, -Baudelaire’s “Fleurs du Mal,” and ten volumes by Gaillard—that is to -say, two volumes of each of his works; twinlets delicately bound, some -gay as grisettes, but “Satanitie” ash-colored, with a black devil -dancing on its back. - -“Why,” said Toto, glancing at Daniel, “do you keep those odious prints -in your room?” - -“I don’t keep them,” said Gaillard, rising with a distracted air, and -wiping his fingers on his coat. “My poverty keeps them; they are part -of the furniture. Look at the carpet, look at the curtains—what a -background! I am like a butterfly pinned to an outrageous tapestry, -an indecent arras; they are my cross. I took them up with the rooms. -Why do I remain in the rooms? They are haunted, Toto, by a man called -Mirmillard. He was an opium-eater, and lived by writing for the -_Quartier Latin_. You know the _Quartier Latin_? It is a _farouche_ -little journal of sixteen pages or so, and appears monthly, or is it -quarterly? He blew his brains out just where you are sitting now; -the hole was extant in the wall a month ago, but I had it stopped -up with plaster. Have I seen his ghost? many times; it is one of my -inspirations, and that is why I endure those terrible curtains, that -terrible carpet, and, ah, _mon Dieu!_ those terrible pictures. Toto, -lend me your cigarette case; I will take three, and make you some -coffee—I have all the _implementa_ in this cupboard. Fanfoullard is not -coming, it seems. No matter; I will seek him to-morrow myself. To-night -perhaps, if we are lucky, we may see Mirmillard. He appeared to me only -three nights ago, and the gash in his throat gaped.” - -“I thought you said he blew his brains out?” - -“He completed the work with a razor,” said Gaillard, putting the little -kettle on to boil. “But enough of Mirmillard. These cigarettes are very -good. Let us talk of flowers.” - -“Oh, bother flowers!” said the Prince, lying luxuriously back on the -old sofa, whose springs were bursting out below. “Tell me, Gaillard; -have you ever been in love with a woman?” - -Gaillard, squatting before the fire, looked at the kettle with an -expression as though he were regarding the gash in Mirmillard’s throat. -He had never seen that gash, simply because there was no Mirmillard, -not even the ghost of one. He, like Fanfoullard, was one of Gaillard’s -creatures, born to bedizen conversation. - -He made no response to Toto’s question. - -“For I am,” said Toto, without waiting for one. “I never thought I -should be; but that girl’s eyes are quite different from other women’s. -But you will see her yourself to-morrow. Deuce! what is this?” - -A little bundle of papers was disturbing his rest on the sofa. He -picked them out. They were newspaper cuttings, paragraphs about an -individual called Papillard. For the last few months a series of little -stories had been attracting the attention of Paris to the pages of -_Gil Blas_. They were naughty, but screamingly funny, and just long -enough to read whilst smoking a couple of cigarettes or sipping a glass -of absinthe. They were signed “Papillard.” Everyone was asking who -Papillard was. Nobody knew but the editor, and editors never speak when -they are told not. - -“Why, hello!” cried Toto. “Do you know Papillard?” - -“No,” said Gaillard, removing the kettle from the fire in a hurry. - -“But see here: here are things about him, addressed to him and opened.” - -“Oh,” said Gaillard, “I know. He’s a friend of Fanfoullard’s. He must -have been yesterday, and no doubt left them. My dear Toto, do you like -your coffee strong?” - -Gaillard’s hand was shaking. He dared not admit that Papillard was -himself. No one had ever guessed it, for Gaillard, though a source -of great humor, was believed to be utterly destitute of that quality, -and so, in fact, he was. Papillard was a sprite that lived in the -brain of his unwilling host. He was a creature like Fanfoullard and -Mirmillard, only much more highly organized, for he was able to cling -to his tenement and to exercise his abilities in literature. The -stories of Papillard horrified his master when in print. There was -something so abominably low about them. Servant girls giggled over -them on back-stairs. Gaillard admitted to himself in secret that he -wrote them, and enjoyed writing them, but he would sooner almost have -died than admitted the authorship. One of the stories in question had -for motive a cold leg of mutton. There is nothing particularly funny -about a cold leg of mutton, but the story was killing. And it had been -written by the author of “Satanitie”! Gaillard, when he remembered -this fact, felt dizzy, and pinched himself to see if he was there. -He was jealous, too, of Papillard’s fame. Wind of these trifles had -even reached England, or, at least, the _Daily Telegraph_. “Satanitie” -had never gone so far. When people cried “What a droll fellow this -Papillard is!” Gaillard’s tongue had to lie mute at the bottom of his -mouth—a cruel torture. You cannot be two people at once. You cannot be -a mystical poet, and a buffoon—at least, before the eyes of the world. -He had discovered his genius by accident, and too late. His self-love -had crystallized round poetry, and, in fact, the poet was the true -_him_. Papillard was a clove of garlic in a bonbon box, placed there by -accident or freak, smelt by everyone, but never localized. - -He would have burnt Papillard’s stories, but they brought him -money—much more money than “Satanitie” or “Nymphomanie” or “The -Poisoned Tulip” or “The World Gone Gray” had ever brought him; and -Gaillard was a sieve for gold—at the mercy of every woman he met, -who robbed him of the money that ought to have gone to his tailors, -bootmakers, hatters, and hosiers. Lately, indeed, he would have gone -very much to pieces only for the fantastic labors of Papillard, and for -these benefits he was ungrateful. You know the maxim of Rochefoucauld. - -He handed Toto his coffee, and, to turn the conversation, reminded him -of the loan of a thousand francs which he had requested on their first -meeting that evening. - -“It is indispensable to me,” said Gaillard. - -“I will let you have it,” replied the Prince, “but not now. If you had -money now, you would be off to the Moulin Rouge, and I should not see -you in the morning. I will let you have it to-morrow evening when we -come back.” - -“But I have not a centime!” cried Gaillard, turning out his waistcoat -pockets in despair. “And how can I meet you, how can I get to the -rendezvous, in this condition?” - -“It’s better for you to come like that than come, perhaps, tipsy. -Besides, I will pay all expenses, and I will give you five francs now; -that will pay your cab to the Champs Élysées in the morning. Stay at -home and write poetry just for to-night, and think of all the fun you -will have to-morrow night.” - -“_Mon Dieu!_” said Gaillard, as the vision of the Moulin Rouge vanished -before him into thin air. - - - - -Part II. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY. - - -The next morning broke fair. The sky over Paris held the blue of -forget-me-nots, and the wind from the west, lazy and warm, ruffled the -lilac of the Seine with streaks of sismondine. It was the summer end -of April; she had still five days’ tenancy, and here May had arrived -before her time, flushed and warm from her journey, but seemingly -unspeakably happy. - -“Ah, _mon Dieu!_ ’tis like an old Italian picture!” cried Gaillard as -he opened his lattice in the Rue de Turbigo. - -“Oh, _ciel_!” cried Célestin far away near the Rue de Babylone, as she -stood by her open window and clasped her hands before all this beauty, -whilst Dodor gave praise from the parrot cage till the brown sparrows, -grubbing in the street below, cocked their impudent heads on one side, -as if to say “What’s that? Who is making that noise?” - -Célestin had been dreaming of Toto, and praying before she slept that -the morrow might be fine and that he would not forget. What a day had -come in answer to her prayers! She fully believed that her prayers had -brought this angelic morning, tripping with blue parasol outspread -across the fields of light, across the hills of dreams and the country -of impossible primroses. Then the artist turned from the window and -from heaven, and flung herself into a hat. - -It had got the better of her yesterday. She had stared vainly at the -foundation. Nothing came, only the vision of Toto beating the beggar -man, Toto drinking his coffee, Toto declaring himself an artist, Toto’s -eyes, Toto’s nose, the coat he had worn, his beautiful hands, his hair -so well groomed, his white teeth, and his angelic smile. You cannot put -these things into a hat—that is to say, immediately; but now, after -twenty-four hours nearly had elapsed, the miracle was accomplished. - -The result was a confection that made Princesse Klein look ten years -younger at the Countess Prim’s garden party. She did not know that she -was wearing Toto upon her head, Toto idealized and converted into a hat -by the joint endeavors of love and April, assisted by the fingers of -Célestin Sabatier. - -The doing of it took but an hour, and then she held it out on the point -of her finger and smiled; Dodor broke into a song of triumph, and the -little American clock on the shelf struck seven. - -So she breakfasted—a cup of milk and a Vienna roll eaten in haste—and -gave Dodor his morning fly round the room. Then she started, closing -the door carefully for fear of Mme. Liard’s cat, and all the way down -the steep and dusty stairs Dodor’s voice pursued her, seeming to cry -“Come back! come back!” - -Toto had dressed himself in his oldest suit of tweed; he wore also a -revolutionary-looking felt hat. A Prince cannot break into a blouse -in one morning any more than a tree can cast its leaves in one night, -but he was advancing. He had also been waiting since ten minutes to -eight—that is to say, exactly five minutes—for at five minutes to -eight Célestin appeared beneath the trees of the Avenue Champs Élysées, -and Toto, who had been standing close to one of the little kiosks, came -to meet her. - -She wore a bunch of blue violets in her bosom, an artless adornment -bought for a sou at the corner of the Rue de Varennes. She was in -exactly the same dress as that she had worn on the previous morning, -but her hands were gloved in honor of Toto. - -They shook hands and laughed a little, and inquired after each other’s -health. Then Toto led her to some chairs placed close to one of the -little kiosks. - -“Don’t let us sit on those,” said Célestin; “they charge for them. I -once sat on a little chair just here, and a man came out and asked me -for a sou; there was nothing to be done but pay him.” - -“Never mind,” said the Prince; “let us be extravagant for once in our -lives. Célestin, I have a treat for you—guess what it is.” - -Célestin thought vaguely of what it could be; she could imagine -nothing but a breakfast, hot rolls and butter and coffee, but somehow -she did not care to tell of this imagining. She shook her head. - -“I am going to take you for a day in the country and show you the -flowers and things—that is, if you will come. Will you come, Célestin?” - -“Oh, Désiré!” cried the girl. She could say no more; she held out -both hands to Toto; her soul was in a tumult, and her eyes filled -with tears of pure delight. The country, the mysterious country, the -long-dreamt-of country, that land of her dreams compounded of old -visions of Champrosay and the shrill sweetness of Dodor’s song! Had -Israfel appeared before her offering a trip to the fields of heaven, I -doubt if his offer would have been received with such delight. - -Toto felt an extraordinary little thrill run through him as he took -her hands. No one had ever called him Désiré before in a voice like -that; women, when they knew him well enough, always called him Toto, -generally with a little laugh—men too. Here was a being, lovely -and lovable, who called him by his right name, and, oh, with what -sweetness! It was a new revelation of himself; it was as if, glancing -in a mirror, he saw, reflected in a new way, a face very much more -handsome and manly than his own, and yet the true reflection of his -face. He would have loved that mirror and disliked the false mirrors -he had been accustomed to, just as he was beginning to love Désiré—I -mean Célestin. He kissed each little hand and put them back in her lap, -where they rested as if satisfied. - -“But where shall we go?” asked Toto, glancing round to see if he could -make out any sign of Gaillard, and almost hoping that he had overslept -himself. - -“Oh, anywhere,” said she. “What matter where, so that it is the -country, where the trees are and the flowers? There is nothing so -beautiful in the whole world as the trees; I dream of them sometimes, -and they are lovely. Oh, see that white butterfly, white as an angel of -heaven! he seems so glad, and he seems to know.” - -“Bother!” said Toto. - -“What?” asked Célestin, coming back from heaven. - -It was Gaillard in the distance. The poet had dressed himself for -pastoral pleasures; he wore a gray frockcoat, a white waistcoat, and -a straw hat—one of those straw hats they manage better in France: it -was soft, and the brim curled. He had also a green necktie, to be in -keeping with the grass, a rose in his buttonhole, and a large stick -with a crook handle. - -“Ah, my dear Désiré!” screamed the poet when in speaking distance. He -had been schooled overnight to forget the odious little name Toto. “I -despaired of seeing you; you were not to be seen, and now I find you -sitting on a seat.” He removed his hat and bowed low to Célestin. - -“This is my friend M. Gaillard, the famous poet,” said Toto, putting in -“the famous poet” as a sort of excuse for the gayety and _bizarrerie_ -of his friend’s dress, which he felt might frighten Célestin. But -Célestin was not in the least frightened, though somewhat awed by the -grandeur and white waistcoat of Gaillard. She had heard Mme. Liard -speak of poets, wonderful and fabulous beings who lived in the country. -The country seemed coming to her in bounds, the gods descending in -showers, the birds singing louder in the trees of the Champs Élysées as -if to welcome God Gaillard. She felt very happy. - -“I am char-r-r-med,” said Gaillard, bowing again and sinking into a -chair. “Charmed to make Mlle. Célestin’s acquaintance. I have not been -to bed. To—Désiré, I have passed the night pen in hand; the dawn came -in upon me as I worked; then it was too late.” - -He told this frightful lie with unction, for he had been, not only -in bed, but snoring, when Mme. Plon, the concierge, tipped overnight -by Toto, had actually come into his room and threatened to strip the -clothes off him if he did not get up to go and meet Prince Cammora. - -“_Mon Dieu_, monsieur!” had cried Mme. Plon. “Where will you get that -hundred and ten francs you promised me for the rent but yesterday, -should you fail to meet M. le Prince, and put His Highness in a bad -temper?” - -“How wonderful that is,” said Célestin timidly, “to be a poet!” - -Gaillard swelled a bit under his white waistcoat; then he laughed a -dreary little laugh. - -“Ah, mademoiselle, on a morning like this, yes, it is a wonderful thing -to be a poet; but the world is not always May, the world is not always -May. Mademoiselle has, perhaps, never read my——” - -“No, of course she hasn’t,” cut in Toto. “At least—but that’s not the -question; tell me, where shall we go? We want a pleasant day. Now, what -do you suggest?” - -“But, mademoiselle——” - -“She has already suggested anywhere; she is indifferent.” - -“Well,” said Gaillard, who had the day’s festivity already sketched out -in his head, “I would propose a _petit déjeuner_ now, then drop in to -the Louvre and look at the Primitives, then I would propose _déjeuner_. -After that, why not let us go to Montlhéry; we can take the train from -the Gare d’Orléans. There is an old tower at Montlhéry that I love. We -will dine at the Chat Noir; they have some very fine carp in a pond -there, we will get the landlord to kill one and cook it for us. He -knows me, and he manufactures a most delicious white wine sauce for -carp. Well, then we will have a carriage back and supper at Foyot’s, in -the Rue de Tournon.” - -“That might do for M. Rothschild, but it is not simple enough for us,” -said Toto, making suppressed grimaces at the poet. “If I had sold a -picture even lately, but I haven’t.” A blank look began to overspread -Gaillard’s face; he had not reckoned on this. “So we must be very -economical. How much money have you?” - -“I have nothing!” cried the unfortunate Gaillard, and he began, as was -his wont, to turn his pockets inside out; then he remembered Célestin. -“My publisher was out when I called upon him. My dear To—Désiré, how -much have you?” - -“Nineteen francs,” said Toto with a diabolical grin as he produced his -money, “and a sou.” Célestin laughed and felt in her pocket for her -little shabby purse, but Toto said “No.” - -“We are rich. Poets and painters, you know, Célestin, have a way -of getting along on air, like the birds—haven’t we, Gaillard?” But -Gaillard only made a noise like a groan. “I know what we’ll do. But -first come, and we will have our _petit déjeuner_ at the little -_crémerie_ in the Rue du Mont Thabor. You remember the _crémerie_ where -we breakfasted yesterday, Célestin?” - -“That delicious little _crémerie_!” murmured Célestin, and they started. - -They crossed the Place de la Concorde, Célestin laughing, Toto talking, -and Gaillard walking silent like a froward child. He would have -returned to the Rue de Turbigo had he not been absolutely penniless, -for the five francs had all vanished, devoured by a rose, a cigar, and -a cab. - -“I will be silent,” thought Gaillard, “and spoil this wretched Toto’s -pleasure; I will turn his feast into a funeral. Nineteen francs, _mon -Dieu!_ and three people, and a day in the country! The mind revolts!” - -But ten minutes later he was calling for honey, declaring that he -could not eat his roll and butter without it, and joining in the -conversation. He could no longer endure the agony of holding his -tongue; besides, he remembered the thousand francs Toto had promised -him if he conducted himself decorously and with discretion. - -“I know where we will go!” cried the Prince. - -“Barbizon?” queried Gaillard, putting six lumps of sugar in his coffee. - -“No, Montmorency; the chestnut trees will look splendid to-day. They -are not in flower yet; but no matter—one cannot have everything.” - -“True,” said Gaillard, trying to ogle Célestin and failing, for she was -entirely engrossed with Toto and the bread and butter; “one cannot have -everything. We will go to Montmorency, and sit beneath the chestnut -trees and tell each other fairy tales.” - -“Oh, how delightful!” murmured Célestin. - -“I will tell you the tale of the giant and the dwarf,” resumed -Gaillard. “It is my own—one of a series of _fin-de-siècle_ fairy tales -I am writing for Lévy. There is a terrible battle in it, and the -giant beats the dwarf. In the olden tales the dwarf beats the giant -invariably, but I have changed all that. The giant in my story is the -type of sin; he pelts the dwarf with roses, nothing more; the dwarf -replies with mud; he is Virtue, and has a hump, and is hairy. Rousseau -had a châlet at Montmorency; it is there still. I will leave you two -amongst the primroses whilst I go and cast a stone at it—wretched -man, murderer of his own children, destroyer of the _haute noblesse_, -progenitor of the bourgeoisie!” - -“Oh, bother Rousseau!” cried the Prince, helping Célestin to more -honey. “We don’t want to think of him; we want to be happy.” - -“True,” said Gaillard; “you are young—we are all young; May is coming -in. Désiré, a great idea has struck me: we will have a picnic. The -inn at Montmorency may not be a good inn; I have my doubts about it. -My children, listen to me: we will dine on the grass beneath those -chestnut trees.” - -“But——” objected Toto. - -“Hear me out. I have a friend; we will call her Églantine. Do not -laugh, Désiré. My friend lives close by; she is, in fact, very -well-to-do, and owns a café. I will go to her, and she will pack me a -luncheon basket, and so we will be at the mercy of no landlord.” - -“Well, go,” said Toto, “but do not be long.” - -“Half an hour is all I ask,” replied the poet, rising in a great hurry -and departing. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -FÊTE CHAMPÊTRE. - - -He passed almost at a run down the Rue St. Honoré. A friend tried to -stop him. - -“I am busy,” cried Gaillard; “do not detain me! _Mon Dieu!_ I will pay -you to-night! Meet me at eight at the Café de la Paix.” Then, at a run, -round the corner of the Rue Royale and into a large café just waking -up: “Du Pont! Du Pont! Where is M. Du Pont?” - -The proprietor, a large black-whiskered man in shirt-sleeves, appeared -from the back premises, wiping his mouth with a serviette. This was -Églantine. - -“My dear Du Pont,” cried Gaillard, “here am I nearly mad! M. le Prince -has arranged a little picnic, and Sarony has forgotten to send the -luncheon basket.” - -Du Pont flung up his hands as if the world had fallen in. - -“Can you arrange a basket for three—cold fowl, tongue, and some _pâté -de foie gras_, also champagne?” - -“How many for—three?” cried M. du Pont, holding up three fingers. -“_Tenez!_” and away he rushed. - -In ten minutes the basket arrived, borne by a waiter; it was a -capable-looking basket, and seemed heavy. - -“At least, we shall not starve,” murmured Gaillard. “Charge it to M. -le Prince, Du Pont. Adieu!” And he drove away in an open fly with the -basket beside him, remembering, when it was too late, that he ought -also to have ordered a box of cigars. - -He met his companions in the Rue Mont Thabor; they had left the -_crémerie_, and were walking up and down in the sun. - -Then the trio, with the luncheon basket in their midst, drove off, -and were deposited at the Gare du Nord, that dreary station with its -multitudinous platforms and engines that do not whistle healthily, but -toot mournfully with a suggestion of phantom horns. - -Here in the hurry and hubbub the poet could express his ideas on the -third-class tickets which Toto insisted on buying, without fear of -Célestin overhearing his plaints. - -“My dear Toto, do not do this disgraceful thing. Consider my position -in the world, if you forget your own. Should anyone see me, _mon Dieu!_ -it will be all over Paris, and they will say my books are not selling. -Already they are saying that the editions are being faked. I will go -back, I will commit suicide——” - -“Oh, rubbish! I’m going third. Stay behind if you like. _Ma foi!_ see -over there standing beside that woman with the plum-colored face! It’s -old De Nani, and he has seen us. Wait—wait for me, Célestin; I wish to -speak to a friend. My dear Marquis,” cried Toto, dragging the old man -aside, “I am going on a little private business into the country. In -fact, I am going with a lady and my friend Gaillard, but I do not want -her to know my identity—you understand.” - -“_Parfaitement_,” replied the old beast, grinning under his paint and -glancing at Célestin, and vowing in his own mind to do Toto an evil -turn, if such a thing were possible. - -For by a strange chance Struve’s enemy, to whose house he had been -driven drunk on the previous morning, was also his most deadly enemy. -The Comte de la Fosse was this gentleman’s name, and on descending in a -flowered dressing gown on the previous morning to see what the hubbub -was about, he had found M. le Marquis de Nani seated without his wig -in the middle of the hall and singing ribald songs as he attempted to -remove his boots. The Comte de la Fosse had ordered his enemy to be -put to bed, and later in the day read him a pious lecture on the evils -of drink and the disgrace he had brought on the old nobility. Toto was -indirectly the cause of all this—directly, for all that old De Nani -knew. Needless to say, he felt very bitter. - -“And above all things,” said Toto, “I don’t want my mother to know.” - -“I understand,” said De Nani. “I, too, am going into the country—to -Chantilly.” - -“Good-by.” - -“_Au revoir._ But stay. Where shall I meet you again? Could I see you -to-night?” - -“Be at the Café de la Paix,” said Gaillard, who had come up to see -what was going on, and what this old blood-sucker was saying to his -Toto, “and ask for M. Théodore Wolf. Anyone will show you him. He is a -journalist with a black beard. I have made a rendezvous for eight with -him. We will be there.” - -“Yes,” said Toto, “be there at eight.” - -And De Nani left them, not for Chantilly, indeed, but to take a cab and -drive to the Boulevard Haussmann and say to the Princesse de Cammora: - -“Madame, something very strange is going on. Alas! it is not the fact -of the young lady that alarms me, but, madame, he desired me not to -mention her existence to you. Young men will be young men, but why -this excessive secrecy? I have an intimate knowledge of the world, -and I fear——I do not like this M. Gaillard, either; he indulges most -intemperately.” - -“Oh, Gaillard the poet,” said the Princesse; “there is not much harm in -him.” - -Still, she felt uneasy, and determined in her own mind to have an -interview with Gaillard, and implore him to protect her precious Toto -from the machinations of strange girls, and lead him into the right -path—the path that led to Helen Powers. - -“Why did you give that old fool a rendezvous at the Café de la Paix?” -asked the Prince as the train whirled them along past green fields, on -which Célestin’s eyes were fixed with pathetic rapture. - -“I did not give him a rendezvous,” replied the poet, who had obtained -Célestin’s assent to his smoking one of Toto’s cigarettes. “I shall -not be there. Wolf will be there, and they will bore each other. Wolf -is a dun, M. de Nani is a bore. I always appoint my duns and bores to -meet each other at the Café de la Paix, the Café Américain, or the -Grand Café. They dine together and speak ill of me whilst I am dining -at Foyot’s, or the Café Anglais, or the Maison Dorée. I have made the -fortune of three cafés by the people I have sent there to wait for me. -They all ask for each other, and sit at the same table and wait for -me; then they dine, and as a rule drink too much champagne to assuage -themselves——” - -“_Mon Dieu_, Célestin!” cried Toto, seizing both her hands; “what is -this? You are crying!” - -“I have just remembered Dodor,” sobbed Célestin. “I have left him shut -up in my room, and, oh! should anyone open the door and leave it so, -Mme. Liard’s cat may kill him. _What_ shall I do?” - -“Why, the girl has a baby!” thought Gaillard in astonishment. - -“Well, this is a nuisance!” said Toto in a voice of tribulation. - -“How old is Dodor, mademoiselle?” asked the poet. - -“He is two years and a little bit,” wept Célestin. - -“Ah, then be assured, mademoiselle, he is safe; cats never attack -children of that age.” - -Toto made horrible faces at his companion. - -“He is not a child, monsieur,” murmured Dodor’s mistress—“I often wish -that he were; he is my lark, and Mme. Liard’s cat may kill him.” - -Gaillard’s eyes became filled with tears; a moment more, and he might -have allowed himself the pleasure of weeping. - -“Did you lock your door?” asked Toto. - -“Why, yes, I did!” cried Célestin, brightening through her tears and -putting her hand into the back pocket of her dress; “and the key—I have -it. Oh, how relieved I feel! Still, I ought not to have forgotten him; -he was a treasure given me by the good God to keep. Ah, monsieur,” she -said, turning to Gaillard, “you do not know how I love Dodor.” - -Gaillard’s lachrymal works again began to threaten. - -“Here we are,” said Toto, and the train drew up at Montmorency, with -the trees waving in the wind. - -They came along the white road leading to the little town, a boy hired -for half a franc carrying the basket, Gaillard threatening him with -untold terrors if he dropped it and herding him with his crook-handled -stick. - -The blue sky was dotted here and there with little white clouds, like a -sparse flock of white lambs tended by some invisible shepherd who had -gone to sleep in the azure fields and left them to graze at their own -sweet will. Beneath the sky and far away stretched the country, green -as only April makes it, spread with apple blossom, the air filled with -a sound one never hears in Paris—the hum of the wind in a million trees. - -Célestin seemed tipsy. One can fancy a newly arrived angel in the -fields of Paradise drunk with color and light. She dashed into -hedgerows after wild flowers, and clapped her hands at butterflies, -and cried out with happiness when she saw a lamb just like one of the -lambs one sees in the Magazin du Louvre at Christmas time, but this one -dancing round its mother in the middle of a field pied with daisies. - -“She has gone mad,” said Toto, delighted with the delight of his -_protégée_. - -“’Tis the primitive woman breaking out,” said Gaillard. “Proceed, -Alphonse, and if you drop that basket I will flay you! Believe me, -Désiré, every woman is a nymph at heart. I know several women who are -devotees when in Paris, but in the country they become hamadryadic; -’tis the influence of the trees—they remember Pan. Have you read -my little brochure ‘Pan in Paris’? It appeared as a feuilleton in -_Lucifer_, the journal of the Satanists. I am not a Satanist; I despise -the sect. I went to their church once; Satan in person was to appear. -He did; the lights were lowered, but he did not frighten me, for I had -heard him bleating in the vestry before he was brought on—it was a -goat. Besides it was very dull; I left in the middle of the sermon, and -Satan smelt dreadfully. I had to burn pastilles in my room for three -days to help me to forget him.” - -They skirted the happy little town, and made for a part of the chestnut -forest declared by Alphonse to be suitable for picnics. Here, beneath -the trees on the edge of the sunlight, the basket was deposited on the -greensward, and Gaillard flung himself down to rest. - -“I will leave you here,” said Toto, “to get the things ready, and I -will take Célestin to the hill-top to see the view.” - -“Leave me, then, your cigarette case,” murmured Gaillard, his hat over -his eyes, and his arms flung out on either side; “and do not be long, -Désiré, for I am famished.” - -From the hill of Montmorency the whole world of April lay before -them, in its midst Paris, the city of light, sixteen miles away, -cream-colored and drab; Paris the noisy, silent amidst all that silent -country stretching away in billows of tender green to the sky of pale -and wonderful blue. - -“Oh, _ciel_!” sighed Célestin, removing her gloves as she sat by Toto, -and folding them carefully inside out and putting them in her pocket. -“Can that be Paris, that little place? my thumb covers it when I hold -it so. And, oh, the sky!—it seems to stretch to heaven. How happy the -world is!” - -“Do you find it happy?” asked Toto, tearing up wild violets and -flinging them away to keep his hands employed. - -“Yes,” said Célestin, breathing the word out in a manner that made it a -prayer of praise. - -“But you are not rich—you are like me; and they say the rich see more -of the pleasure of the world than we do. Tell me, would you like to be -a great lady, one of those one sees in the Bois?” - -“Oh, no!” said Célestin; “I would much rather be myself.” - -“But!” said Toto, tearing a daisy’s head off, “imagine having money to -spend, as much as one wanted.” - -“I have.” - -“Imagine having a carriage and horses.” - -“That would be nice; at least, I would sooner, I think, go in -omnibuses—one would be very desolate all alone in a carriage. It is the -people who make omnibuses so delightful; one wonders where they are -going to and what they have in their baskets; and some read books, and -one tries to imagine what they read of. And then the hats one sees! -they make one want to laugh and weep. Sometimes they are not so bad, -but sometimes they are frightful; often have I wished to say, ‘Madame, -let me retrim your hat; I will do it for love, and use my own thread,’ -but I have never dared.” - -“Well, imagine being able to ride in omnibuses all day long.” - -Célestin smiled, and looked away into the blue distance, as if she were -watching an ethereal omnibus filled with her familiar angels. - -“Well, you could do that all day if you were rich.” - -“I could not take Dodor.” - -Toto, the tempter, felt that she had him there, but he was not tempting -her in the ordinary acceptation of the word. - -“You love Dodor very much?” Her eyes swept round to him, and rested -full upon his. “Tell me, Célestin: could you not love me a little too?” - -When they got back to the picnic they found the cloth spread, the -places laid, and the Perigord pie eaten; they had, in fact, been away -over two hours, and the poet had not waited. - -There was cold tongue, and part of a fowl and rolls and butter left, -all of which Gaillard offered with effusion; he had expected a scolding -for beginning without them, but he did not get it. Toto did not -care, Célestin did not know; cold tongue or Perigord pie, it did not -matter—they were in love. The poet smiled upon them like a father, and -piled their plates, and gave them what was left of the champagne. - -“Here’s to Églantine!” said Toto, toasting the provider of the feast in -a glass of Mumm, from which Célestin had taken a sip. “Has she brown -eyes or blue?” - -“Blue,” said Gaillard. “Blue as the skies above Pentelicus.” - -“Well, tell her what I say, and give me a cigarette.” - -“There is only one left,” replied the poet, as he hastily lit it. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE GENESIS OF “PANTIN.” - - -They returned to Paris at five, leaving the luncheon basket at the -Montmorency Station. - -“Églantine will send for it,” said Gaillard. - -At the Nord they took an open carriage driven by a cabman in a white -beaver, and drawn by two white ponies. In this conveyance they tore -down the Rue de Faubourg St. Denis, along the Boulevard Nouvelle, and -down the Rue Richelieu. Toto sat beside Célestin; Gaillard on the front -seat, his stick between his legs, chattered like a magpie, so delighted -was he to find himself back in his dear Paris. - -“Gaillard,” cried Toto, when Célestin had been deposited at her own -door, with a whispered word in her ear and a promise on her lips for a -rendezvous on the morrow, “I am in love.” - -“_Ma foi!_ I know.” - -“You don’t; you know nothing of love, neither you nor any of us. I -don’t know how many women have sworn that they love me; they do because -I am a Prince, because I am jewelry, good dinners, and what not. -(Boulevard Haussmann, you fool! I have told you twice; and make those -pigs of horses travel faster—we are not a dung cart.) Yes, I am all -that, and they love me. De Nani, for instance, is a pattern of truth -and friendship, as we know it. I have never seen our world before; -Célestin has lit it for me. My mother paints; good God! my father -painted; he wore stays.” - -“I, too, have worn stays,” declared Gaillard—“three years ago, when I -was very young and foolish. I was then twenty-two. I discarded them -because they were such a trouble to lace. I have even painted. What -will you have? Youth must expend itself; but believe me, Toto, our -world is not a bad world beneath the paint.” - -“I tell you it is a vile world.” - -“Well, perhaps it is, in parts. De Nani, for instance; beware of that -old man, Toto. He is the type of excess. An old man drunk and a drunken -old man are two different people. De Nani is a habitual drunkard; I -can read it in his eye. He is more dangerous than a cartful of women. -Still, despite the fact of De Nani and a thousand like him, I have a -childish faith in the world. I believe in humanity, or what I can see -of it through the misery and mystery of life. I believe in flowers, I -believe in trees. Have you read my ‘Rose Worship’? _Mon Dieu!_ what was -that? Only a dog we have run over. Animals, too, are part of my creed. -I am thinking of having a book of my belief published, with colored -plates. It would be the bible of childhood. Flowers, beasts, birds, -and insects would be as the four Apostles. I was saved from atheism -by a butterfly. It flew into my rooms in the Rue de Turbigo one day -last August. Everyone was at the seaside; I was alone in Paris. De -Brie had refused to advance me the money for a trip to Normandy. You, -Toto, were at Trouville. The day was sultry, and, to add to my pain, -a barrel-organ played in the street outside. Mme. Plon brought me a -letter. It was a draft from my sister for five hundred francs. As I -cast my eyes over it, a white butterfly flew in through my window, -thrice around the room, and out again. It was the voice of the Unseen, -saying ‘I am here.’ Yes, I believe—I believe in your Célestin. She is -all nature, and to be loved by such a woman is a benediction.” - -La Princesse de Cammora’s carriage was at the door. She had just -returned from shopping, and tea was being served to her in the drawing -room. - -Gaillard loved tea and Princesses,—even Princesses of fifty,—so he left -Toto to go upstairs and change, whilst he found his way to the drawing -room. - -The Princesse was not alone—Pelisson was with her. He had come to find -Toto. His head looked larger than ever; it seemed bursting with some -great idea, and, true to his nature, he was making a noise. He was also -making the Princesse laugh. The tears were in her eyes as Gaillard -entered. - -Gaillard sipped his tea whilst the journalist finished his story. It -was about an actress. Then the Princesse drew Gaillard into a corner, -leaving Pelisson to look over a bundle of engravings till the coming -of Toto. - -“Oh, M. Gaillard,” said the great lady in a motherly yet playful voice, -“how naughty it is of you to lead my Toto astray! No, no, do not speak; -it is not you I fear; but I have heard—no matter: a little bird told -me. Now, this journey to the country. Who is she, M. Gaillard?” - -“Madame, I swear to you——” - -“Nay, nay, I do not want you to tell tales out of school; but you have -been seen—the three of you—this morning at the Nord. Tell me, now—her -name!” - -“Madame, be assured, it was a most innocent freak. She is a most -charming and innocent girl.” - -“Oh, this is dreadful!” murmured the Princesse. “M. Gaillard, I -speak to you as a mother to a son. I do not mind Toto’s Mimis and -Lolottes,—one cannot keep a young man in a cage,—but I dread these -innocent girls. I have seen, alas! so much of life. They come to the -house and make disturbances; they have relations, old men from the -country, who come and sit in one’s hall till a _sergent-de-ville_ is -called. One need not be straitlaced, but one need not beat a tin pan -over one’s indiscretions. Besides, Toto is at a very critical age. I -have a match at heart for him, a girl pure and beautiful as an angel. -But she is an American, and they do not understand the little ways of -young men. She is also a good match, even for Toto. So you see it is a -mother’s heart that speaks. I pray you tell me her name.” - -“Her name is Lu-lu,” said Gaillard, Papillard coming to his aid. - -“Lu-lu. Ah, that sets my heart at rest, M. Gaillard. There was never an -innocent girl in Paris with that name.” - -“Madame,” said the poet, “I think your perception is very clear. I -would not disparage Mlle. Lu-lu’s innocence; still, she has a habit of -casting her eyes about, and speaks of ‘larks.’” - -“And tries to persuade poor Toto that she is an innocent. M. Gaillard, -I have read your beautiful poems, and I know your mind, for I have seen -it in your works. I have no fear of Toto whilst you are by; stay near -him, M. Gaillard, watch over him.” - -“I will.” - -“And let me know how things go on. Hush! here he is.” - -Toto entered in evening dress, covered with a light overcoat. - -“Hello, Pelisson!” - -“M. Pelisson has called to take you to dine with him,” said the -Princesse. “He has some great journalistic feat to perform, and he -wants your aid. Go, all of you, and be happy.” - -“I am bursting!” cried Pelisson, when they were in the street. -“Toto, take my arm; Gaillard, give me yours. Cab! No, I must work my -electricity off by walking. We will dine at the Café de la Paix. I met -Wolf an hour ago; he told me he would be there.” - -“Stop,” said Gaillard. “I do not want to go to the Café de la Paix.” - -“Why, Wolf told me you had a rendezvous with him.” - -“It was a _rendezvous de convenance_,” said the poet. “He is bothering -me. Never knew a man to bother so over a paltry hundred francs.” - -“I will pay it,” said Pelisson. “Come along. What’s that you say: Old -De Nani will be there—the Marquis? He’ll do; I am in want of a cheap -Marquis. Really, the gods are working. Hearken to Paris—it hums; I will -make it roar. The Ministry is down. Have you not heard? Oafs! where -have you been? Well, then, the time is coming; it only wants the men to -bring it.” - -“The time has come for what?” asked Gaillard. - -“For a general rooting out, all the rotten sticks into the fire. What -will be the end of it?—who knows? The restoration of the Bourbons, I -believe. The republic is a rotten hoarding, papered with Panama scrip. -What’s behind the hoarding? ah, ah, my children! wait and see. I am -going to bring out a paper; everything is ready down to the printer’s -ink. I want from you a hundred thousand francs, Toto. I want your -brains, Gaillard. Struve we will pull into it also. I have four other -men; all the talent in Paris will be with me. It is to be a dull paper -full of ideas. It will lick the boots of the bourgeoisie, and wink -behind it at the throne. It will slaver, and stink, and shuffle along, -but it will build barricades in the world of thought. Gaillard, can you -write an ode to a yard-stick?” - -“I can write an ode to anything beautiful.” - -“What is more beautiful than a bourgeois? He is the emblem of commerce.” - -“Looking at him in that light, he has his dim sort of beauty; besides, -I would do anything to vex De Brie. He pays one for one’s work as if -one were a butcher selling legs of mutton. He reduces literature to the -level of a trade. He would be mad if he thought I were on the staff of -another journal.” - -“He’ll be madder when he sees my paper break out like the smallpox; but -you must be dull.” - -“I would endeavor even to be dull,” said Gaillard, “to vex De Brie.” - -“But see here,” said Toto. “What is the use of another paper? There are -hundreds of papers.” - -“There is no paper like mine,” said Pelisson. “Wait till you see it! -it will begin with a grunt and end in a yell. _Ma foi!_ yes. There are -a hundred dull papers pretending to be clever, but there is no clever -paper pretending to be dull. I am going to be respectable, and wear a -scorpion’s tail. I am going to give more business news than any other -paper. M. Prudhomme will read me after dinner; and I will tickle him -under the ribs, and then some day I will bite him behind, and make him -jump from his easy-chair and pull things down. You will hear Paris -crack. Here we are!” - -They had reached the Café de la Paix; De Nani and Wolf were there -already. - -“For goodness’ sake, Pelisson,” said Gaillard, “give this wretched Wolf -his hundred francs, or he will be making innuendoes all dinner-time! It -is a way he has; he is most spiteful and has no reserve.” - -Wolf was a journalist, with a long black beard, a high forehead, and -spectacles. His forte was interviewing. He entered one’s house like a -wolf, and swallowed one—house, wife, furniture, and all; the backyard -and the front garden were not beneath him. Then he vomited the remains -into the columns of fifty papers, and went and devoured someone else. -But he was a good-natured wolf, ready to lend to a friend in distress, -but a terrible creditor, for, to use Gaillard’s expression, he tortured -one so. - -Pelisson drew him aside and promised him payment, and then they dined, -the journalist sketching out his plan between the courses to the -delight of his listeners, excepting Toto. - -The wretched Toto had no part in the scheme; they asked him for money -to help them, but they did not invoke his brains. He felt the slight, -but not severely; literature was not his path. He had no hankering -after distinction as a journalist, so he agreed to supply the hundred -thousand francs, if he could get them. - -“I will give you bills at three months, and leave you to discount them. -I am going to Corsica to shoot moufflon.” And he touched Gaillard’s -foot under the table to remind him of Célestin and the attic in -Bohemia. - -“But,” said De Nani, who had remained sober, for the gout was -threatening, and, besides, there seemed to be a chance of money in all -this, “what is the name of this journal to be?” - -“_Pantin_,” replied Pelisson. “I have sifted a hundred thousand names -in my head during the last three days, and _Pantin_ is the only one -that stuck. It fits my idea like a glove; it has several meanings. It -is like a stroke on a gong.” - -_Pantin’s_ health was drunk, then the conversation ran on, everyone -talking except Toto, who was drinking. - -Toto, to do him credit, rarely drank much; he drank to-night because -the joy of the others depressed him. He could not share their -excitement; he felt himself to be the drone in this hive; they were all -famous in their way, these men, except De Nani. He and De Nani, the -representatives of birth—what a pair! He drank double on account of De -Nani. - -They all rose from the table and trooped out, Pelisson’s hand on -everybody’s shoulder, Wolf with his spectacles glittering in the -gaslight, Gaillard gesticulating, De Nani sniggering, Toto smoking. -They were going to Pelisson’s rooms to formulate their plans on paper. -Unhappy Toto, had he known the nasty trick _Pantin_ was destined to -play him! - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -RECEIPT FOR STUFFING A MARQUIS. - - -Some days later Gaillard was lying in bed. It was noon, and the blinds -of his room were down. Toto burst in. - -“Go away, Toto,” said the poet in a feeble voice. “I am dying.” - -“What are you dying of?” - -“Misery,” murmured Gaillard, turning his face to the wall. - -Toto pulled up the blind. - -“Never mind the misery. Get up and come out; I want you. What’s the -matter?” - -“The world; it comes upon me like this sometimes, the horror of the -whole thing. Besides, someone stole all my money last night. Where is -God? I do not know. Go away, and leave me to myself.” - -“You haven’t taken poison or anything, have you?” - -“No—not yet.” - -“Well, get up, and I will give you some money, and we will go and have -_déjeuner_.” - -Gaillard moved uneasily. - -“Do be quick, or I will go without you.” - -The poet rose rapidly, and began to dress. - -“I have seen Célestin,” said Toto, standing by the window, and looking -out on the street. - -“Ah, that charming Célestin!” sighed Gaillard, putting on his trousers -with a weary air. - -“And I have taken an atelier in the Rue de Perpignan. I spent the whole -afternoon yesterday hunting for that fool Fanfoullard; no one knew of -such a person, but I found very nice rooms.” - -“Fanfoullard has left Paris—gone to Nîmes. But, Toto, what is this -you tell me? Are you really going to start on this crusade—become a -painter?” - -“I am a painter.” - -“I mean, live in this dreadful way? Toto, I predict that there will be -great trouble. Your mother is very anxious; she is anxious for you to -make a good match.” - -“That’s all right.” - -“How all right?” asked Gaillard, scratching his head. - -“I saw the American girl yesterday, and told her what I was going to -do. She is going to keep my mother quiet; she fell in with the idea at -once. She is the only person who understands me.” - -“Did you tell her of Célestin?” - -“No, of course I did not; I am not that sort of person. I never talk of -one woman before another. Go on dressing.” - -“And I suppose you will end by marrying the beautiful American, when -you are famous?” - -“I will never marry anyone but Célestin. She is the only woman I have -ever loved.” - -“But, _mon Dieu_! you are not going to marry her?” - -“No; I would if she wanted to, but she doesn’t. A priest mumbling -over us will not make us love each other any more. Don’t put on that -awful green necktie, for goodness’ sake; take that plaid one, it looks -better.” - -“And you are going to start your _ménage_ to-morrow?” asked Gaillard, -putting on the desired necktie carefully before the glass. - -“Yes, and that is what I am going to start on.” - -He held out three bank-notes for a thousand francs each. - -“It won’t last you a month.” - -“It will have to last me a year.” - -“Toto, are you serious?” - -“What the deuce!” blazed out Toto. “Everyone asks me that when I want -to do anything that is not foolish. When I took to painting first, that -fool De Harnac raised his stupid eyebrows and said: ‘Toto, are you -serious?’ When I told Helen Powers yesterday, the first thing she said -was, ‘Toto, are you serious?’ And now you. Am I a buffoon? And stop -calling me by that odious name: I am Toto no longer—I am Désiré. Are -you dressed? Let us go, then.” - -“But I do not know what will become of me,” said Gaillard, as they -descended the stairs. “What will become of me, all alone in Paris, -without you? I shall be bored; I shall die of yawning.” - -“You can come over every day and see us.” - -“It is so far.” - -“You can take an omnibus.” - -“A what? An omnibus! I!” - -“They are good enough for Célestin; they are good enough for me; but -see here, Gaillard: above all things, you must not tell anyone what I -am going to do or where I am going. I am going to amuse myself. Well, -what does it matter to people whether I am amusing myself by shooting -in Corsica or by painting in the Rue de Perpignan?” - -“I will be mute as a fish.” - -“I have joined a studio—Melmenotte’s. I want to do a lot at the nude. I -will sell my studies as I go on. A student there told me it was quite -easy to live by pot-boiling, but I am going to have a great work in -hand. How can a man work leading the life we lead? The other morning, -just as I was settling down to a picture, Valfray came and dragged me -off to that cock-fight at Chantilly. I got a blouse yesterday for six -francs. Come in here, I want to see Pelisson; he is sure to be here at -this hour.” - -They entered a café on the Boulevard des Capucines, and there sure -enough sat Pelisson; he had finished his _déjeuner_ and was reading -letters. - -“How’s _Pantin_?” asked Gaillard. - -“Blooming, or going to bloom. I am besieged with firms who want to -advertise.” - -“Have you fixed on your editor?” - -“De Nani” - -“What!” asked Gaillard in a horrified voice. “That drunken old wretch!” - -“Pah! he is only the figurehead. I am the editor; no one knows him, -that is the charm. He has been lying _perdu_ at Auteuil for half a -century, and now I have got him, he is only a skin; I am going to -stuff him—stuff him with Pelisson. Already people are asking who is -this Marquis de Nani, and people are answering he is the editor of the -new journal that is going to be, _Pantin_, the wittiest man in Paris, -and discovered by Pelisson. I am circulating _bonmots_ of De Nani’s; -they are mine, but nobody knows that. In a week’s time everyone will -be talking of De Nani, this Marquis who is a genius; everyone will be -craving to see him. You know Paris. The old fool is wise enough to -dodge round comers, for he knows his own stupidity; should anyone find -it out, they will put it down to his cleverness. Wolf is publishing an -interview with him written by me. Oh, yes! _Pantin_ will be a success, -and you will have your hundred thousand francs back, Toto, and a -hundred thousand on top of it.” - -“You got the bills discounted?” - -“Oh, yes.” - -“What is this I hear about a new journal?” asked Struve, who had come -in unobserved, slipping into a chair beside Pelisson. - -The newspaper man explained whilst Toto and Gaillard breakfasted. - -“And Toto pays for all this?” - -“He has good security; besides, he only pays a third. I have two -hundred thousand francs from a little syndicate, and the promise of -five hundred thousand if the thing takes. Toto has a lien on the -advertisements; he is perfectly safe.” - -“What’s De Nani’s salary?” - -“I give him a dinner every day and ten francs.” - -“Have you a cash-box?” - -“Why?” - -“Keep it locked. Pelisson, you are a fool.” - -“Why?” - -“To have let that old goat into your affair.” - -“You wait and see.” - -“I will.” - -“You are not going?” - -“I am.” - -“But see here: I want a man to do the art criticism.” - -“You’ll find lots.” And Struve vanished. - -“He always throws cold water on everything,” said Toto, remembering the -advice about the coffee mill. - -“He’s a critic,” said Gaillard. - -“He’s a clever man,” said Pelisson, knitting his brows an instant; “but -he’s wrong here.” - -“Oh, the middle of the day!” cried Toto in a voice of tragedy as he -took the poet’s arm half an hour later and lounged out of the café. -“What a frightful institution it is! I would like to be born into a -world where the days had no middles.” - -“You are right; it is a most inartistic flaw in the scheme of things. -The night has no such blunder; that is why I love it. The night always -reminds me of the exquisite masterpiece of some forgotten painter in -the gallery of some bourgeois millionaire. Every twelve hours we slip -into the exquisite poem of darkness, and then out again into this -villainous prose. Pah! if I had the key of the meter that feeds our -great chandelier, men would have a three-hours’ day; it is quite long -enough.” - -“Quite. I am going to look at my new rooms; will you come? We will take -a cab.” - -They drove to the Rue de Perpignan; it was a long street situated in -what remains of the Latin Quarter. Gaillard shivered at the everyday -appearance of the place. He had never been in it before; the name, -floating loose in his head, had attached itself to the name of -Fanfoullard; he wished now that he had never imagined the fan-painter. - -“It is a great way from everywhere, do you not think, Désiré? Why put -the Seine between one’s self and civilization? One can hide one’s self -just as easily a hundred yards from the Rue St. Honoré as a hundred -miles.” - -Toto made no answer, but led the way upstairs. - -The atelier was certainly large enough; men were at work settling the -stove; another man was mending the top light. The place was almost -studiously bare; a tulip in the bud in a red-tile pot stood on a table; -an old guitar hung on the wall; there was a throne and drapery, an -easel, or, at least, three. Some of these things had belonged to the -last tenant. The tulip in the pot had, however, only just arrived. It -suited the surroundings, which were those of an ordinary atelier; yet -there was something about the place suggestive of a scene in a theater. -Perhaps it was the guitar. But one felt the hand of Henri Murger over -it all. - -“This,” said Toto, touching a nail in the wall, “is for Dodor’s cage.” - -Gaillard’s heel struck against the handle of a little frying-pan that -protruded from a bundle. - -“We will have our meals sent in, but it is useful sometimes to be able -to cook at home—sausages and things. You must come and teach us how to -make coffee.” - -Gaillard poked his nose into an adjoining room; it was a bedroom. He -observed that the washing-jug was cracked. - -“Well,” said Toto, “what do you think of it all?” - -“I envy you.” - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -ANGÉLIQUE. - - -“I envy you,” said Gaillard as they returned to civilization; “I envy -you because you are young, rich, and a Prince. I do not envy you for -these things, but rather for the enjoyment they can give you. To -be twenty-two, poor, and in love—what can be better than that? You -are twenty-two, and in love, and you are so rich that you can allow -yourself the luxury of being poor. What a change for you, and how -you will taste it all! Poverty falls to the poor; they have it every -day, but they do not enjoy it. It is like the old women who sell -sugar-plums; they do not eat their own wares. But with you it will be -different; you will bring an unsated palate. Your present, contrasted -with your past, will be as a naked man standing against a background of -old-gold brocade. Extraordinary being to have found out a new pleasure -in this jaded age, and that pleasure lying unnoticed before the eyes -of all men. Look at that beggar man—are not his clothes the color -of withered leaves? I have seen greens in old coats that no painter -has ever seized. You would never guess my deep acquaintance with the -ways of the poor, but I have been thrown in their way. Toto, I have a -girlfriend.” - -“Better say a dozen.” - -“I know girls pursue me, but I cast them off. Angélique is not of the -common order.” - -“Who is Angélique, for goodness’ sake?” - -“She is the only woman I love.” - -“I have heard you say that a dozen times about a dozen women.” - -“I was only pretending; in this world one hides one’s pearls and wears -one’s glass beads. Angélique is very poor; she is a _pompon_ maker.” - -“What’s a _pompon_?” - -“A _pompon_ is a thing women wear in their hats—a little fluffy -feather, an absurdity, but it supports Angélique. In this world, -Toto, some fate ordains that men live on each other’s absurdities. -Absurdity is to men as grass to cattle, air to life. Could you place -a great cupping-glass over Paris, and, with an air-pump, remove all -its absurdity, the place would fall to pieces; ten thousand men would -starve; the journals would wither like autumn leaves; Struve, Pelisson, -De Brie, and a thousand others would vanish; women would no longer -wear _pompons_ in their hats, and poor little Angélique would die -from want of folly in others. Angélique has a lame brother who lives -at Villers Cotterets; he is a great trial to us—an incessant drain. -You often laugh at me for my expenses; the fact is, Toto, I am always -being tapped, like a person with the dropsy. The affection between this -brother and sister is a poem; I weep my money away over it. Now you are -casting in your lot with art, Angélique rises up in my mind, and I hear -her say “What will become of me?” I will not hide it from you that you -have, through me, been the mainstay of an unfortunate man. Angélique -knows it. Well, I want you to leave in my hands a certain provision for -these people before you cut yourself off from your resources.” - -“I’ll give you some money to-morrow; I want you to come and see me -started.” - -“Where shall I call for you?” - -“At the Boulevard Haussmann.” - -“In the morning?” - -“Yes, and be sure that you say nothing of all this; I want no one to -know what I am doing.” - -“But your mother?” - -“She does not care so long as the American does not know.” - -“Do not yawn so, Toto.” - -“I can’t help it; it’s the thought of my mother, and old De Nani, -and all the lot. Do you know, some day or another I would have -cut my throat if I had not met Célestin; she was like a breath of -air—she understands me because she loves me. Oh, I’m so sick of women -_grinning_ at me; Célestin is the only woman I have ever seen smile. -Mlle. Powers is a nice girl; she means what she says, but she always -talks to me as if I were her grandchild, and she calls me Toto. Won’t -it be a joke when my mother finds out that I have given old Pelisson -a hundred thousand francs! I am fond of Pelisson, he’s the best of the -lot; I’d do anything for him.” - -“Pelisson has his limitations,” said Gaillard, and Toto yawned again. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -THE DEPARTURE. - - -Gaillard, who was somewhat of a philosopher, had once divided sorrow -under two heads—the sorrows of life and the sorrows of art. He reckoned -the necessity of getting up early chief amidst the mundane sorrows, and -accepted it in a grumbling spirit; but this morning he did not grumble. -He dressed rapidly and sadly, and departed for the Boulevard Haussmann, -refusing the coffee and roll and butter offered to him by Mme. Plon. - -“I cannot eat,” said Gaillard. “I am deeply disturbed.” - -He found Toto dressed and in his atelier. He was looking at Sisera and -Jael. Jael had the air and aspect of a stout housemaid nailing carpets -down with energy. - -“How could I have painted that beast?” asked Toto. “She is all flesh, -she is an animal, she is like a bull-fighter in a skirt. Imagine a -woman like that, and then imagine Célestin.” - -“Are you going to remove these canvases to your new atelier?” - -“_Mon Dieu_, no! I will remove nothing that reminds me of this place. I -tell you what: I will make you a present of this picture. You can have -the water-nymph too.” - -“Thanks,” said Gaillard in an unenthusiastic voice. “I will not remove -them at present; they would remind me too much of all the pleasant -times that are gone. I feel very depressed this morning, Toto—I mean -Désiré; one cannot get out of old habits in a hurry without shivering.” - -He looked out of a side window and away over the roofs of Paris. The -morning was sitting on the roofs pelting the city with roses; the city -grumbled, Gaillard sighed. - -“Oh, the good times, how they pass! Do you remember, Désiré, the night -you won a thousand napoleons at the Grand Club? It is only a month ago, -yet it seems a year.” - -“The night we tied the two cats by the tail and hung them from a -lamp-post? Where did De Mirecourt get those cats? He suddenly appeared -with them. Do you remember the _sergent-de-ville_ who tried to get them -down?” - -“I had forgotten the incident of the cats. I remember it dimly now—one -was a tortoise-shell. Yes, those were pleasant times. Désiré, it is not -too late to go back to them; consider your position well before you -take this step.” - -“Come,” said Toto, “I am going.” - -“But have you said good-by to Mme. la Princesse?” - -“She would never forgive me for waking her at this hour.” - -“_Mon Dieu!_ but you have no luggage.” - -“I have a bag in the hall below.” - -“Ah, _mon Dieu!_ I hope this is all for the best. So you are going with -only a bag? Désiré, have you forgotten Angélique?” - -“I have three thousand francs in an envelope—it will keep you going. -Do try and make it do for six months. Look at me; I have only three -thousand for a year.” - -“I will try. Ah, _mon Dieu!_ I wish I had never seen this day; my heart -is heavy. Thanks, I will not open the envelope till I meet Angélique; -we will open it together. We are like two children sitting at a feast -and pulling crackers; each day is like a cracker tied with dawn-colored -ribbon. Sometimes Angélique weeps at the contents of these crackers, -sometimes she laughs and claps her hands; she will clap her hands -to-day. Come, let us go and follow our fates.” - -“This is my luggage,” said Toto, picking up a huge Gladstone bag in the -hall. - -Gaillard opened the hall door, and they passed out into the bright -morning. The clock of St. Augustin was striking eight; the sparrows -were fighting in the sunshine; the earth seemed teeming with life and -light and happiness. - -“How good it all is!” said Toto, as they drove over the Seine. He was -echoing Célestin’s eternal sentiment without knowing it. “What a lovely -world it is, and how little we see of it! We snore in our beds during -the best part of the day, and live the rest of our time by lamplight.” - -“The world,” said Gaillard, “always reminds me of a poem written by a -shopkeeper to advertise his stale wares, unpunctuated and filled with -printer’s errors; that is why we read it by a dim light. It ought to -have been burnt; it was unfortunately published and given to us to -read. No one can make out what it is driving at; we have been spelling -at it now a million years; we began when we were apes, and we will end, -perhaps, when we are donkeys. I am sick of it; I would jump into the -Seine, only that such an act would delight De Brie.” - -The cab stopped at the doorway of Célestin’s house, and the concierge, -Mme. Liard, greeted Toto effusively. Her heart was touched by the youth -of the lovers and the fact of Toto being an artist; that he should take -Célestin under his protection seemed to her as natural as the mating of -sparrows, and a piece of very good fortune for Célestin. - -Her trunk stood in the passage, and on the trunk the parrot cage, -covered with green baize. From the cage came the occasional flirting -sound of wings, the occasional tinkle of the swinging ring—sounds that -bespoke uneasiness in the mind of Dodor. - -Then Célestin came down the steep stairs, blushing, and Gaillard had -to admit that, even if the world were an ill-written poem, it had at -least some very beautiful passages; for Célestin had made for herself a -hat which was an amorous dream, and a girl friend, some lower Célestin -of the Rue St. Honoré, had, in a fit of sentiment, confected for her -a gown such as an angel in half-mourning need not have been ashamed -of. Toto had bought her a new pair of shoes, and she wore openwork -stockings. Toto kissed her before everyone; this was their only -marriage service. - -“It makes me feel young again!” cried Mme. Liard as she carried the -parrot cage out, whilst the driver carried the trunk. “And I will come -and see you in your new home; and oh, monsieur,”—to Gaillard,—“she -ought to be careful, for her chest is not what it should be; it was -what killed her mother.” - -“I will see that she wears a muffler,” replied Gaillard, whilst -Célestin got into the carriage, weeping from grief and happiness, and -kissing her hand to Mme. Liard. - -Then the vehicle drove away, Gaillard on the front seat, the lovers -facing him, and Dodor’s cage beside the coachman. - - - - -Part III. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -GARNIER. - - -The _rapin_ of Paris is the sparrow of the artistic temple, but he is -much more besides. For one thing, he is sometimes an eagle in disguise. -He laughs as he paints, and plays dominoes with fantastic gravity. He -is generally ugly, but he loves Beauty, and draws her in all postures, -even immodest ones. Sometimes he becomes literary, and publishes a -journal the size of a prayer-book, in which he has written nonsense and -which lives for three months. In this way, I suppose, he takes a vague -sort of revenge for all the nonsense that has been written about him. - -I do not think you will find in Europe a more foul-minded person than -the _rapin_, or a more joyous, or a more lovable, or a more pitiable. -And though he is certainly the most consequential creature in the -world, he is the greatest knocker-down of pedestals. Delacroix declared -he could smell corruption in the air of Paris. I think he must have -smelt the _rapin_. Yet out of this dung spring the fairest flowers of -art. - -Toto, forsaking his world for a space, had cast in his lot with this -creation, and Célestin, like an angel made blind by love, followed him. -Dodor had no voice in the matter, yet he endeavored to put it in as he -swung in his cage from the nail in the wall. - -“Oh!” sighed Célestin next morning as she sat beside Toto on the couch -opposite the stove. “Am I on earth still, or can it be that we are in -heaven?” - -In one day she had become a woman without ceasing to be an angel, and -Dodor sang as if to assure her of the fact, whilst Toto kissed her, and -a beam of sun through the top light touched the tulip. - -That was their morning, spent amidst the great flowers of the -chintz-covered couch, whilst time passed over them like a butterfly -with blue wings, and Paris grumbled through the top light like a -jealous monster. - -In the afternoon Toto, in his blouse, settled his painting things and -rearranged drapery, whilst his companion, whose fingers could not be -still, turned the morning, gone now forever, into a hat. She murmured -to the hat as she made it, telling it of her happiness—a most adorable -soliloquy lost to the world forever, for Toto was too busy to note it -down. Then, when the structure was finished, she held it out on her -finger-tip for admiration. It blushed there as if ashamed of its beauty -and happiness. And Toto said “It is beautiful,” in an abstracted voice, -for he was hunting for a palette-knife. - -They dined at a little restaurant near the Palais Bourbon, and spent -their evening at the Porte St. Martin Theater, where a bloody drama was -enacted, which caused Célestin to weep deliciously and shiver. - -This was their honeymoon, for next day work began in earnest, and -Toto started for Melmenotte’s studio, a large bleak room filled with -canvases and diligent students, a naked woman, large and solid and -sitting on a throne, in their midst. - -They hazed him at first, but he did not lose his temper, so they left -him alone; besides, he showed no talent, therefore created no envy, -hatred, or malice. - -But Garnier, the man who worked on his right, took an interest in him -just, perhaps, because the others voted him uninteresting and his work -hopeless. It was Garnier’s way; he was a friend of failures, and took -an interest in the forlorn. Sparrows, stray cats, or people like Toto -appealed to him strangely. - -He was an immense fellow, with Southern blood in his veins and hopes -of humanity, and his secret ambition in life was to be a politician -and set the world to rights. Nature, however, the sworn foe of secret -ambitions, had placed all his talents in his eyes and fingers, -insisting that this wayward child should be no politician, but a divine -artist. - -He had a great reputation as a scamp. He swore terrifically, and could -out-talk a washerwoman. He was always borrowing, and spending, and -lending, and giving, and he boasted that he kept a mistress. No one -ever saw her; he kept her jealously hid, for she was eighty. He had, -in fact, met her one day on one of the bridges crossing the Seine, and -pensioned her forthwith because she reminded him of his mother, whom he -had never beheld. - -He was a love-child, it seems, and certainly a most terrible mixture -as far as mind and morals were concerned, for his ideals were always -very high, and his ideas often very low, and his language very often -pornographic. To complete himself, he always stank of garlic, and his -pockets were generally stuffed with cheap cigarettes and sweets, which -he dispensed open-handed to his friends. - -“Thanks,” said Toto, taking a cigarette from a dozen held out by -Garnier. - -It was the third morning of his attendance at the studio, and he was -feeling depressed; he was also putting away his things, for it was -Saturday, and work stopped at twelve. - -“I,” said Garnier, “am going to enjoy myself, but the question is, How? -Shall I go home and go to bed and read Eugène Sue, or shall I go to -the Tobacco-Pot and play dominoes? Jolly, have you any money?” - -“None,” answered a lank-haired and evil-faced youth, darting out of the -room, and clattering away down the stairs after the others. - -“I have,” said Toto. - -“How much?” inquired Garnier, with the air of a judge. - -“Ten francs.” - -“That settles it. We will go to the Tobacco-Pot. Ten francs, and this -is Saturday! _Mon Dieu_, what a Rothschild you must be! Where did you -get your money from?” - -“My father.” - -“What is he?” - -“He keeps a shop.” - -“Happy for you. You can paint away, and the old bird feeds you. Oh, -I should like a shop—a little shop, where I would sell sweets and -cigarettes, and live in my shirt-sleeves, and read the _Ami du Peuple_ -and kick my heels.” - -“What do you think of my work?” asked Toto, glancing at the mediocre -drawing upon his canvas. - -“It’s capital,” said Garnier, his mind running on his little shop, -where children would toddle in with their sou for sugar-sticks, and old -women totter in for hap’orths of snuff: for, though Garnier loved all -humanity, he perhaps loved the two extremes, childhood and old age, -most. - -“What made Melmenotte turn up his nose at it the way he did this -morning when he came round?” - -“He never praises anyone—he’s a fossil. Come, let us be off to the -Tobacco-Pot. Annette will be here in a moment to clear up.” - -“Come home with me and have some _déjeuner_; that will be better than -the Tobacco Pot,” said Toto, as they went down the stairs. - -“To your father’s place?” - -“Oh, no; my atelier—Rue de Perpignan. I will introduce you to my—wife.” - -“_You_ married!” cried Garnier, stopping in astonishment, and clutching -Toto’s arm. “Why, you are scarcely out of the egg!” - -“I am twenty-two.” - -“_Mon Dieu!_ well, why not? it is the happiest life. Oh, I should like -to have a wife and twelve little children all three years old. That is -the age of all others; they talk like birds, and sentences from heaven -slip into their conversation; and tumble on their noses, and pull one’s -beard. I have always seen myself as I ought to be some day, with a big -stomach, sitting in an armchair, the children pulling my watch-chain, -and mamma plying her needle, whilst the cat purred on the hearth: and -here are you, three years younger than I am, and you have it all. What -an eye the Germans have for children! how they draw them! _Mon Dieu!_ -I can almost forgive them Sédan for the sake of those adorable little -Fritzes and Gretchens one sees in their funny little books.” - -They reached the Rue de Perpignan at last, and found _déjeuner_ -waiting. There was a little salad, some stewed beef, and a bottle of -white wine, also some fruit on a plate. - -As Toto and Célestin embraced, Garnier looked around him with a sigh. -His room was an attic, yet I doubt if he would have exchanged his -attic, where he lay abed on Sunday reading the “Mysteries of Paris” -and imagining himself Prince Rudolph, and of a week-day night reading -the _Intransigèant_ by the light of a tallow candle and imagining -himself Henri Rochefort, for this atelier, even were Célestin thrown -in—at least, at present. - -Not that he undervalued Célestin, even at the first glance; far from -it. The great, noisy Garnier was silent and quelled for quite ten -minutes. He had never met Célestin before amidst all the women he had -met, and he seemed undecided for a while as to whether an angel or a -child was dispensing the cold stewed beef and the salad. Then he made -up his mind, evidently, that it was a child, and began to play with -her. He told stories, really droll little stories, that a child or a -man might laugh over, and stainless as the white roads of Provence. And -he mimicked old men and women without malice, and in such a way that -Célestin wept from laughing. - -After _déjeuner_ he taught his hostess how to make cat’s cradles, and -Dodor’s history was told to him whilst he sat on the couch and nursed -his knee and smoked his villainous cigarettes of Caporal. - -The guitar was taken down from the wall, and he played _café-chantant_ -songs, things with the ghost of an air moving in a whirl of sound, -and sang the “Girls of Avignon” with tears in his eyes, that seemed -to behold the whirl of the farandole, the white road to Arles, the -moonlight, the fireflies, and the orange trees shivering in the mistral. - -Altogether it was a most enjoyable afternoon, and the excitement and -laughter left Célestin quite spent. A fit of coughing seized her when -the time came for them to go out to dinner, and she declared that she -must lie down. So she lay down on her bed, and Toto covered her up with -a shawl, and gave her one of the lozenges Mme. Liard had placed in her -trunk to suck. - -Then he went out with Garnier, and they dined at a little café for two -francs each, wine included. - -“I found this little café only three months ago,” said Garnier. “It is -a wizard café. I dine here as often as I can, for some day I expect to -find it vanished. Those whom the gods love die young, and I am sure the -gods must love this little café. I cannot tell how they give one such -a dinner for two francs, including a bottle of Maconolais. That hare -soup was a miracle. I suspect the miracle to be cats. But no matter; -the taste was right. I save up on week-days, and dine here on Sundays.” - -“How long have you been working at art?” - -“Five years.” - -Toto felt rather aghast. - -“Have you been working at Melmenotte’s atelier all that time?” - -“Oh, no; for the last two years I have been in his private studio; it -is being altered just now, so I just come to herd with the rest to keep -my hand in. I must be doing something.” - -“Have you exhibited yet?” - -“No; Melmenotte will not let me. I am to next year; I shall have a -picture in the Salon next year.” - -“How sure he is of himself!” thought Toto. “And how dull he must be to -have worked five years without exhibiting!” Then to Garnier: “One of -the fellows told me one could live by selling pot-boilers.” - -“Yes; one could live by house-painting, for the matter of that. Who was -it told you?” - -“That young fellow with the long hair—Jolly you called him, I think.” - -“He is an awful wretch, that man, but a fine artist. Beware of him; -do not ask him to your home. I never speak bad of people; but Jolly -is not a person: he is a genius who will die in a jail or a lunatic -asylum. I’ve told him so often. It would not do for him to make the -acquaintance of Mlle. Célestin.” - -Garnier gave a little sigh as he ate a lark on toast, which he declared -he suspected of being a rat. He seemed thinking a great deal of -Célestin. The talk wandered over a number of topics, but somehow always -back to or near Célestin. - -Then Toto paid the score, and produced so much money that Garnier -borrowed a napoleon in as natural a manner as that of a bee taking a -suck at a flower. He then, as they walked away smoking Trabucos, bought -a copy of the _Intransigèant_, and wandered home to read it, reminding -Toto as they parted to give his regards to Célestin. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE SORROWS OF GAILLARD. - - -A week passed, making in all ten days of the new life, and still the -novelty of it had not palled; but five hundred francs of the three -thousand were gone. Where were they gone to? Toto scratched his head. -Célestin helped him in his accounts, casting her beautiful eyes up as -if for her angels to help her; but they were very bad mathematicians, -these angels, though perfect milliners. - -Garnier, in his big way, had declared to the studio that Toto was the -best of good fellows when one got to know him. Jolly had pricked his -ears at this, and instantly borrowed twenty-five francs from the new -man, to send to his brother in the country; several others had done -likewise, but this only accounted for eighty francs or so. True, they -had paid the restaurateur and the washwoman; and they had gone the -Sunday before to the Buttes Chaumont, so they finished making up their -accounts with a kiss, and declared they must be more careful in the -future. - -“I will sell some hats,” said Célestin, “and, oh, I know: we will get -a money-box. It is wonderful, a money-box. Dodor has quite a fortune -since I started his. Money seems to grow in a money-box. Kiss me again, -Désiré.” - -Sometimes Toto thought of the world he had left. What were they all -doing? Sometimes he felt slightly uneasy at the great absence of -Gaillard. The poet had promised to call in three or four days, and, lo! -ten had passed. His friends thought him in Corsica, but what was his -mother doing? He had entered into a compromise with her not to bother -him, and Helen Powers had promised to use her influence that he might -be left alone to follow his art. Still, he felt nervous that some day -Mme. la Princesse might break her word and arrive on the scene. She did -not know his address, it is true; but, still, she had a way of finding -things out. - -He had worked fairly hard during these ten days, all things considered, -and Garnier had dropped in to visit them now and then, bringing -presents of sweets for Célestin. - -Toto in the eyes of Garnier seemed a very enviable person. His -father had a shop, and all shopkeepers, in the eyes of Garnier, were -desperately rich; besides, the little _ménage_ in the Rue de Perpignan -did his heart good. The lovers seemed so young and innocent, their -way of life so ideal, and their conversation so charming, especially -Célestin’s. - -It was on the twelfth day that Gaillard burst in upon them. Célestin -was out marketing, Toto was at home smoking cigarettes, for it was the -day Melmenotte came round,—that is to say, Saturday,—and Toto had taken -a dislike to the great painter: he was not a gentleman. - -Gaillard had a debauched air, and three books under his arm; and Toto, -who had somehow been very much in the blues, felt an unholy joy at the -sight of the poet. - -“_Pantin_ is out,” said Gaillard, collapsing into a chair and flinging -all his books on the floor. He produced a heavy and respectable-looking -journal from his back pocket and cast it to the painter. - -Toto scarcely glanced at it. - -“Where have you been all this time?” - -“Ah, my God! you may well ask me that. I have been at the beck and -call of Pelisson. It is cruel; I have done all the work, and De Nani -is getting all the praise; everyone is talking of De Nani—his jokes, -his witticisms, his women, his wealth. And the old fool has not three -ideas in his head, nor three sous in his pocket; no woman would look at -him twice, and he never made a _bonmot_ in his life. My ‘Fall of the -Damned’ came out the day before yesterday; no one is speaking of it, -everyone is talking of De Nani. He has killed my little book, he and -_Pantin_. It is all Pelisson’s fault. He is only using De Nani as an -advertisement. Struve was right: this old man is a goat; he smells like -one, faugh! and he paints his face. Struve is the only man of sense of -the lot. I always said so. Give me an absinthe, Toto; my nerves are -gone.” - -“But how did Pelisson get his paper out so quickly?” asked Toto, -helping the poet to a glass of vermouth, and feeling a dim sort of -pleasure at his trouble. - -“He has been working like a mole for months. You know the _Trumpet_; -it came to grief last month; he has bought the plant and offices for -a song. They are situated near the offices of the _Figaro_ in the Rue -Drouot. Oh, you should see that villain of a De Nani; he has bought a -white hat, or got it on credit. He dines every day with Pelisson in a -_cabinet particulier_ at the Anglaise. No one is admitted, for fear -they would find out the fraud, and the fact that he has no brains. -Pelisson makes him drunk and sends him off in a cab to Auteuil, and -then goes about telling people all the quaint things he has said. He is -absorbing all Pelisson’s money. Pierre has never a sou now to lend to a -friend, and one can’t dine with him, for he dines alone with De Nani. -Conceive my feelings: this old beast has killed my book, cut off my -supplies, and to crown all, wherever I go I hear nothing but De Nani, -De Nani, De Nani! My God, I will go mad! Give me another vermouth.” - -“What are those books?” asked Toto, handing the glass. - -“Those? They are insult added to an injury—books for review, and such -books! See here Fourrier’s ‘Social Economy’; I am to write a trenchant -quarter-column review of it, and abuse it, for that will please the -bourgeoisie. I know nothing of social economy, so how can I abuse it? -I could praise it, for then Fourrier, whoever he is, would not reply; -besides, one can praise a book with one’s eyes shut—bah! See here, a -brochure on the American sugar trust. _Mon Dieu!_ does Pelisson take -me for a grocer? And here, again, a drama called ‘Henri Quatre,’ by -some silly beast called Chauveau; all the lines limp, it is written in -five-footed hexameters; and I am to praise it with discretion. With -discretion, mind you! I wrote him a little poem for his abominable -_Pantin_; it was called ‘Carmine-Rouge.’ You know I scarcely ever touch -color in poetry; but I made an exception for once. He would not publish -it; it was indecent, forsooth, and would bring the blush to the cheek -of the bourgeoisie. Between the bourgeoisie on one hand and De Nani on -the other, I feel as if I were in a terrible nightmare.” - -“Have you heard anyone speak of me?” - -“No one; they think you are in Corsica. But I have seen Mme. la -Princesse; she sent for me to inquire after your health, and how you -were progressing.” - -“And you said——” - -“Oh, I said ‘Admirably’; it was the best thing to say. I promised to -call again and inform her of your progress; she entreated me to implore -you not to discard your woolen vests. There was also a message about an -overcoat, which I have forgotten; it was either to wear one or not wear -one, but I cannot tell which: you know a mother’s ways. Toto, I feel -hungry; have you anything to eat in this atelier of yours?” - -Toto got together some bread and butter, half a cold tongue, and a -bottle of wine. Gaillard turned up his nose at the feast provided for -him, but began to eat. - -“Toto, how much longer are you going to remain in this wretched Rue de -Perpignan? Everywhere I go the cry is ‘Where is Toto?’ or ‘When will -Toto be back?’” - -“Why, you said a moment ago nobody asked for me.” - -“Neither do they, but they speak of you, nevertheless; they do not -ask for you because they imagine you in Corsica, but they mourn your -absence.” - -“Oh, bother them—let them mourn!” said Toto in a gruff voice, chewing -his cigarette in an irritable manner. - -“And how is Art going on?” asked Gaillard, casting his eyes about as if -he were looking for her. - -“All right; don’t bother me. I’m sick of talking art; tell me, How is -Struve?” - -“Struve is very well, though he declares that De Nani makes him sick.” - -He finished the wine in the bottle, and proceeded to the question of a -loan. - -“But,” said Toto in horror, “you surely have not spent all that three -thousand francs I gave you?” - -Gaillard laughed harshly. - -“Do I ever spend money? I spend my life paying it out, it seems to me; -but how much do I spend on myself, how much have I for pleasure? Not a -denier. I assure you, Toto, if I have three francs in my pocket people -seem to smell it. No sooner had I got home the other day than Mme. Plon -appeared with a bill, which I had imagined paid. Then Brevoart attached -me for seven hundred and fifty. It was my fault for dealing with a -German tailor; he got an order against me, and would have attached my -royalties had I not paid. People think you are in Corsica, and so they -make raids on me—then there is Angélique.” - -“But, see here: I am very hard up myself. You know I determined to do -on three thousand; well, I have spent over five hundred in a fortnight.” - -“Only five hundred!” - -“But think what that means; if I go on at this rate, in a couple of -months I shall have nothing.” - -“Toto,” said Gaillard earnestly, “I speak to you as a friend: Why -pursue this course? Were I an enemy of yours I would urge you on, and -then, when you came to grief, laugh at your sufferings. I am your -friend, and I say stop. You are a fine artist, and for that very reason -you must fail in this course. Genius was never intended to buffet with -the world, to pay rent and fight with tradespeople; it is always allied -to a fine nature, and I predict the most horrible sufferings for you -should you continue this fictitious and insane battle with the world. -It is only the duffers and the dullards who succeed in this game; -they have blunt noses, and they do not feel blows. Look at De Nani, a -miserable wreck without an idea, of whom all Paris is talking. Look -at me. Could I tell you one-half the hardships I have undergone in my -struggle for art, you would stop your ears. Well, then, I say desist; -you can only live once: why make a hell of life? Come back to us; you -have made an experiment in life. It is like a curious philosophical -experiment that dirties one’s hands; well, then, let us wash our hands, -and turn down our cuffs again.” - -“Even if I wanted to stop this life, which I do not,” said Toto, -playing with Gaillard’s bait, “I couldn’t—sooner do anything than that.” - -“Nobody knows; it’s a matter between you and your conscience; _I_ will -never speak. You come back from Corsica in a hurry; well, what of that? -it is a whim, and admirably in keeping with your character. Do, for -Heaven’s sake, Toto, consider your position; and mine, for I feel that -I am in some sort responsible for this act of yours, but I have been at -least discreet, and, as I said before, nobody knows.” - -“My mother knows.” - -“What is a mother, if not a confidante of our little eccentricities?” - -“And the American girl knows.” - -“What! that American girl—would you give her a second thought? -_Mon Dieu!_ this is very funny. Oh, _mon Dieu!_ this will kill me. -An American pork butcheress; you told me yourself she was a pork -butcheress. You are afraid of the jeers of this tripe-seller’s -daughter. I passed to-day three American women in green veils; they -were promenading the Rue St. Honoré, and screaming through their noses; -they had alpenstocks, or at least little sticks, adorned with horn -handles and branded ‘Rigi Kulm,’ ‘Rigi Scheideck.’ They had ascended -the Rigi, and were announcing the fact to the Rue St. Honoré; that is -your American woman. They had faces like dollars, and for people like -these you would inconvenience yourself.” - -“I tell you I don’t want to go back. I am perfectly happy, perfectly -contented. Don’t talk any more about it. And I wish you would not call -me Toto.” - -Gaillard turned the conversation to his own immediate wants, and the -process of extraction was resumed till he had salved five hundred -francs from this derelict, promising upon his honor to pay it back in -three weeks. And scarcely had the money changed hands than Célestin -entered, her arms full of parcels, and accompanied by Garnier. He had -met her shopping, and accompanied her home, it being Saturday. - -Then the poet took his departure, chuckling to himself about Garnier -and the obvious worship of the big Provençal for the pretty Célestin; -but for all that, he felt desperately uneasy about Toto. This -foolishness might linger on for months like typhoid, and the best part -of the year was coming on. At Christmas Toto had talked of hiring a -steam yacht for the summer, and now this wretched Célestin and this -vile art craze had spoiled it all. He could have wept as he walked -hurriedly down the Rue de Perpignan looking for a cab to bear him to -civilization, and after an absinthe, which acted on his trouble as -stimulants on an abscess, heightening the inflammation and bringing it -to a head, he sought Struve out in his rooms. - -Struve was working in his shirt-sleeves at that book of his which made -such a sensation a year later, “The Saint in Art.” - -“I am very uneasy about Toto.” - -“What’s wrong with him? Has he been butted by a moufflon?” - -“Toto is not in Corsica; Toto is in Paris.” - -“Oh, he’s come back, is he?” - -“Do attend to me, Struve. Toto is in an attic.” - -“What is he doing in an attic?” - -“He is painting pictures.” - -“Has he gone mad?” - -“No, he is not mad; but I fear he will make a very great fool of -himself.” - -“I always said he would do that,” granted Struve, examining attentively -a tiny colored picture of St. Cecilia that was destined to adorn “The -Saint in Art.” - -“I fear, if he is not stopped, he will make a very great mess of -himself. He has taken only three thousand francs of his patrimony, and -he swears that if he does not succeed on it he will cut his throat.” - -“You don’t mean to say he has gone on with that foolishness?” asked -Struve, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands in his pockets. - -“I do indeed. It is a great piece of madness; but what is to be done?” - -“Leave him alone.” - -“But he will starve to death.” - -“A little starvation will do him a lot of good; he has too much kick in -him. The man is tired of playing the devil. He has tried everything, -and now he is trying work. He will be back in a fortnight, a greater -devil than ever. I like Toto. He is such a fool; but it’s rather a -pity. You see, he is a moon, and he wants to be a sun. He is tired of -shining by the reflected glory of his fortune, and he wants to shine by -his own light. He hasn’t any to shine by, and there you are.” - -“He has certainly no genius, but he is a very facile painter.” - -“Facile rubbish! He can’t paint.” - -“Do you not think, Otto, if you were to call upon him, and speak to -him, and explain——” - -“_Gott im Himmel!_ what do you think my time is made for? Here am I -behindhand with my book, and Flammarion like a caged tiger waiting for -it. Go and tell his mother, go and tell his aunt, go to the devil, go -anywhere, but don’t bother me about it. I have no time to be running -after Totos; I am not a wet-nurse. Go and get a perambulator and wheel -him home. How is _Pantin_?” - -“_Pantin_ is very well. Has not Pelisson offered you the art -criticisms?” - -“Yes; but I am too busy to be bothered by _Pantins_.” - -“You are right. Pelisson makes a rotten editor; he gives out books for -review as if they were clothes for wash. And De Nani——” - -“I know; he is an old fool. But do leave me now, like a good fellow,” -lisped Struve. “My head is so full of saints, it has no room for De -Nanis.” - -Gaillard went off in a huff, but at the entresol returned to borrow a -few cigarettes, for Struve’s cigarettes were a dream. - -“I forgot to tell you,” said Gaillard as he lighted one, “not to say a -word to anyone about Toto and his attic; he made me swear to tell no -one.” - -“Then why did you tell me, you infernal idiot!” cried Struve, half -laughing, yet nearly weeping at all these interruptions to his work. - -“I quite forgot,” said Gaillard, running off to confide his troubles to -someone else, whilst the critic locked his door and bolted it. - -The poet turned into the offices of _Pantin_ in the Rue Drouot. - -Since the birth of the new journal Pelisson had been pestered with a -rain of old friends whom he had not seen for years, and some of whom he -had never seen before. They all wanted employment, or, failing that, a -loan. Gaillard’s long-suffering creditors, hearing that he was on the -staff, all appeared seeking for their money—a procession as infinite as -the Leonids, and on a business as apparently futile. The unfortunate -Pelisson had also to supervise his leader writers, write leaders -himself, and, worst of all, select the subjects. For this purpose he -had to keep one eye fixed steadily upon the whole world—that is to say, -Paris. The other eye was fully occupied by De Nani, who had caught on -most amazingly. Everyone was craving to see De Nani. They saw glimpses -only of him, and that made them crave to see more. De Nani’s white hat -loomed mysteriously above _Pantin_; his caustic and cutting witticisms -circulated in salon and club. Quite a number of old gentlemen took to -wearing white hats and making cutting remarks about their wives, and -in the Rue St. Honoré one might see De Nani waistcoats by the score. -Kuhn’s window in the Rue de Rivoli exposed his portrait, the white hat -tilted to one side above the fiendish old face. It was bought by the -hundred, and Gaillard, like a periodic comet, turned up at this window -daily to grit his teeth with anguish and envy and walk on with rage in -his heart. - -Pelisson was right. He had caught an old wether and belled it, and -the crowd followed like the proverbial sheep. But the bell-wether -required incessant watching; besides, De Nani during the last forty -years had improved borrowing into one of the fine arts, and he was -taking a thousand francs a day out of _Pantin_ in various legitimate -and illegitimate ways. He tapped Pelisson, he tapped the staff, he had -established a credit at three cafés, he tapped the proprietors. He came -east every morning from Auteuil as an American farmer comes to his -maple trees, or a physician to a hospital for dropsy. He patronized -three tailors, and bundles of clothes were constantly being left at -the offices of _Pantin_; in fact, he seemed to be laying in a store of -clothes, not only for this life, but for the next. - -“I wonder he does not get a coffin as well to complete the outfit,” -said Gaillard once, viciously. - -No doubt he would if he could have got a silver one to melt. He made -up for his abstinence, however, in this respect by jewelry, scent, -cosmetics, cigars, knickknacks. China mandarins, and varnished boots. -It was not altogether his fault, for the tradesmen rushed upon him. - -Pelisson did not much care what he got on credit, for he was editor -only in name. If he lasted over the season it would be quite enough, -for _Pantin_ would then be well rooted, and any fiasco of bankruptcy -would only make _Pantin_ bloom the more. One might fancy that the -bankruptcy of the editor would shake the paper in the eyes of the -bourgeoisie, but the wise Pelisson knew better. “There is nothing,” -said he, “that a tradesman enjoys more than seeing another tradesman -let in.” - -_Pantin_, be it observed, was now read, not only by the shopkeepers, -but by the _beau monde_. Through its starch people observed a secret -spirit at work. Its heavy sledge-hammer articles were supposed to be -molding a crown. The journal was evidently a hit at the existing state -of things; it was also strangely well informed, and the Ministry felt -somewhat as a master might feel who suspected his butler of being a -rogue, but could not prove the fact. - -Amidst De Nani’s other vagaries, affairs with women figured chief, -so you may imagine Pierre Pelisson had his hands full, and no ears -for Gaillard’s tale of tribulation about Toto. But De Nani had; he -was sitting in a room adjoining the inner office, and heard the whole -story—everything, in fact, but Toto’s address. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE SORROWS OF ART. - - -Like Pelisson, the atelier in the Rue de Perpignan had its limitations; -like Pelisson, it was also at times noisy. From the Gare de Sceaux at -night and in the early morning came the sounds of shunting and the -plaintive “toot-toot” of locomotives, whilst the top light seemed the -chosen rendezvous of all the cats of the neighborhood who were in love. - -“Those frightful cats!” would murmur Célestin, trembling beside Toto -lest his sleep should be broken. - -There were also draughts not specified in the lease, and the sink had -a habit of getting stopped up at least once a day; then there was -sometimes a smell of cooking from the rooms below. - -Toto grumbled a little sometimes, but not much at first. The new life -was so entirely different from the life he had led heretofore, so free, -and withal so joyous, that for a little while he did not trouble -himself as to the morrow. The only rose leaf that disturbed his rest -during the first fortnight was the atelier of Melmenotte—art, in short. - -Melmenotte had the air and aspect of a _vieux sabreur_. He inspected -a picture as an infantry colonel inspects a regiment of the line, -generally with a frown, sometimes with a few cutting words, sometimes -with dead silence. He had inspected Toto’s attempts with a damnatory -sniff and passed on. - -For this reason Toto avoided the atelier on the days when Melmenotte -went round; for this reason, though he had dwelt now with art only a -fortnight, he had, when Gaillard made his proposition of return, almost -nibbled at it. Melmenotte and his crew had somewhat disillusioned him. -They were such a coarse lot. Their conversation was generally silly, -sometimes absolutely vile; they pelted him with bits of bread when -Garnier was not looking, and even the little loans he made to them did -not buy him much esteem. It leaked out that his father had a shop; not -that that fact would have influenced the students much one way or the -other had he possessed talent, but, lacking talent, they saw in him an -inevitable counter-jumper, and as a result would have made his life a -misery to him but for Garnier, whose word was law, both on questions of -art and conduct. - -But Célestin knew nothing of these worries. She knew nothing and cared -nothing about anything except Toto; she did not even know his surname, -for, though he had told it to her once, she had forgotten it. - -Neither did she inquire about his past. She knew in a vague sort of -way that he had always lived in Paris, studying art, and being without -guile, as a flower, she never made that hackneyed old inquiry, “Tell -me, have you ever loved a woman before?”—to be answered by that -hackneyed old lie, “Never.” Then, with that instinct which orders -what we might call the good manners of love, she never loved him to -weariness; she knew the psychological moment for a kiss, the right -time for silence, and when to get upon his knee and cheer him up, and -talk to him in the language she used to Dodor. Always pretty, she had -almost in a night become beautiful. Toto had presented her with this -added charm, but he did not perceive it; this extra beauty made up for -the amount she had lost by surrendering herself to him. - -One day Mme. Liard called to see how they were getting on, and brought -a box of Choiseul’s cough lozenges for Célestin as a sort of wedding -gift. The good woman was greatly taken with the atelier, the couch -which she sat on to sample and declared to be a marvel, and the great -empty canvas on one of the easels. - -“That is for his great picture,” said Célestin proudly. “Isn’t it -beautiful? and will it not be large? And see our tulip”—pointing to the -flower in the pot, which had burst into bloom. “Is it not beautiful? -But Dodor is so jealous of it.” - -“Tulips die so soon,” said Mme. Liard, who was a bit of a pessimist. -“Give me a double geranium. But flowers—bless you! I cannot keep them, -for no sooner do I get a flower than Mimi scratches it up.” - -“Ah, Mimi!” said Célestin; “tell me how she is.” - -And Mme. Liard plunged into the inexhaustible subject of her cat. - -Gaillard came down on them now and then like the wolf on the fold, and -ate up a great deal of provisions. In return, he taught them how to -make coffee and told them fairy tales. He also borrowed little sums -at parting, but that goes without saying. He also acted as a sort of -intermediary between Toto and his mamma, and one day he brought them -a ham from that lady, omitting to mention from whence it had come, -presenting it as a gift of his own, in fact, and borrowing an extra -five francs on the strength of it. He also brought to the Rue de -Perpignan all his troubles, including the books for review doled out by -Pelisson, and horrible stories about De Nani. The “Fall of the Damned” -had been furiously attacked by a friend in the columns of the _Libre -Parole_, yet it was far from flourishing. He brought a copy dressed in -a fawn-colored wrapper, and adorned with red devils tumbling head over -heels, and presumably into the pit. - -“The cover,” said Gaillard, “has spoiled the sale a good deal. You -have no idea of the influence of a cover on a book: devils have gone -out of fashion in the last month. It’s all owing to that exposure of -the Satanists—silly fools!—and of course it is just my luck, for I -have a little brochure in proof called ‘Bon Jour, Satan.’ Well, then, -I must change the title, and what does that mean? Why, rewriting the -book. People are turning religious, it seems; that is where art hits -one. The silly public takes a whim into its head; the artist must meet -it or starve. I had a meeting with Chauvin, my publisher, to-day. You -should have seen his face. He declares the market for poetry is dead, -and the silly fool wants me to write him something manly and religious. -We nearly came to words, but we made it up. I am actually like a rat in -a horrible trap. Do, Toto, act as a friend in this matter, and till the -end of the month, when my royalties are due——” - -“It is absolutely disgusting,” Gaillard would murmur to himself as he -made for home after these expeditions. “It is like asking a loan from a -laborer. He takes out a few francs and looks at them as if they were -his last, and that little Célestin, I believe she puts him up to resist -lending; I believe she puts all his spare money into the money-box of -that wretched lark. I believe she is in love with that great fat beast -who smells of garlic, and who always runs away when I come, as if he -feared the presence of a gentleman; that is the lark she is saving up -for. Yes, some day Toto will wake up to find nothing but a smell of -garlic and Célestin flown. It will serve him right.” - -Yet, were Toto out when he called at the atelier, he would lay his -troubles on the back of Célestin, always sure of attention and -commiseration. And smoking his eternal cigarettes, he would pour into -her ear the horrors of life, the futility of Pelisson, the detestable -nature of De Brie, and the villainy of De Nani. Sometimes Toto, -returning after one of these séances had lasted an hour or so, would -find Célestin looking almost old, and with tears in her heavenly eyes. - -“I have been telling her a society fairy tale,” would say Gaillard. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -BOURGEOIS—BANKER—PRINCE. - - -It was now June, and lately Toto had become subject to moods, or, to -speak more correctly, fits of moodiness. He had now for a month or more -been living face to face with Art, and the prolonged interview with -that lady was bearing fruit in his manners and customs. - -Three weeks ago he would not have cared very much had Paris known of -his mode of life and ridiculed him for it. Cocksure, and blinded by the -_fata Morgana_ of success, he would have shaken his palette in the face -of Paris; but Art had changed all that. - -“Art is not a wanton, to be hired for a night,” said Garnier one day in -answer to a remark of Toto’s. “_Mon Dieu!_ no; she is like that woman -in the Bible whose courting took seven years, and then again seven -years, and seven years again. Work, and don’t think, work and don’t -think.” - -Easy advice to give. Toto was now continually thinking. He was in a -worse Bastille than that from which Latude made his escape, for he had -devised his own bondhouse, and the prison a man makes for himself is of -all prisons, perhaps, the most difficult to leave. - -He dreaded now meeting anyone that he knew, and in the street going to -and from the studio glanced about him with the eyes of a frightened -hare. As yet no one knew of his folly but Gaillard, Helen Powers, and -his mother, but, indeed, that audience, together with his self-respect, -were quite enough to keep him performing a little while longer. - -Then there was Célestin. The unutterable contentment and bliss of -Célestin with her new life filled the heart of Toto sometimes now with -a vague sort of terror. She seemed to think that this sort of thing was -to go on forever. Her love for him, expressed in a thousand different -ways, seemed to spring from infinity itself, and love like this is to -the beloved either a blessing beyond all blessings or a curse. To Toto -just now it was not a blessing. - -Of course, by a cab to the Nord, or the L’Ouest, or the Orleans -railway, and a ticket to anywhere, and a few months’ absence, he could -have put everything to rights. Paris, like a cold gray sea, would -have washed over Célestin and Dodor, washed away the furniture of the -atelier, washed away his memory from the _rapins_ at Melmenotte’s, and -obliterated all traces. Paris, whose motto is “I have forgotten,” would -not trouble even to repeat those funereal and final words over this -small escapade. - -But Toto was not the person to leave Célestin and Dodor to the mercies -of Paris. In some unaccountable way Célestin had drawn the better parts -of his nature to herself; to wound her would be to wound himself. If -he thought Célestin were weeping alone in some attic, it would have -taken the pleasure from life, and spoiled his digestion, and filled his -nights with nightmares, for his better parts would have been weeping -with her. In short, though capable of a foolish action, he was as yet -incapable of a ruffianly, and as a result he was unhappy. A perfectly -happy fool must always, I think, be a ruffian. - -One day Garnier, who called frequently now as a friend of the family, -found Célestin on the verge of tears. The tulip in the red-tile pot had -died, and she was inconsolable. She declared that she would never keep -another when Garnier offered to replace it. - -“Never mind,” said the painter; “I will procure you a flower that will -not die.” - -A juggler who had lodged once in the same house had instructed him -in the manufacture of roses that never die, immortal tulips, and -decay-defying camellias. They were made from turnips cunningly carved -and dyed in cochineal. Camellias were the easiest to make, roses more -difficult, whilst tulips, strange to say, were the most difficult of -all. The tulip had first to be blocked out roughly from the succulent -root; then the exterior had to be carved, and lastly, the whole thing -hollowed neatly. - -So Garnier took a day off, and procured a turnip and a knife, some -cochineal, and all the other necessary paraphernalia, and, with his -work cut out before him, locked his door. This room of Garnier’s was -close to the roof, and from its window one could see the spires of -Notre Dame by standing on a chair. A desperate-looking cat lived here, -whose life had been saved by the artist one morning as he was starting -to work. It had repaid him lately by kittening under his bed. In one -corner of the room lay a pile of newspapers, on the chimney-piece some -books—Rousseau’s “Nouvelle Héloïse” in paper covers; a little book of -German fairy tales, which he could not read, but which he treasured -because of the delightful pictures; “The Mysteries of Paris,” which he -had read four times; and a few others. - -On this floor also there was a large atelier kept up by three young men -from the South, who did their own cooking, so that the place was always -filled with the sound of frying and the smell of garlic. They did their -own washing, too, and so defied the laundress; they also at times -defied the landlord when he threatened to turn them out. They had got -an old banjo from somewhere, and, needless to say, they played on it. -Garnier worked in this atelier when he was not working elsewhere. He -loved its discords, and never painted better than when Castanet was -playing the banjo, Lorillard accompanying him on a comb, and Floquet -frying things over the stove, for then he imagined himself back in -Provence, and the atelier became flooded with the light that never was -in Paris except on the canvas of a Diaz or a Garnier. - -Floquet had a sweetheart, who sat to him for love, and of course also -to his friends. She darned Castanet’s stockings, for he wore them out -in some miraculous way quicker than anyone else. As for Lorillard, he -never wore stockings—at least, in summer—and laughed at people who did. - -Altogether they were as disreputable a colony as one could find in the -whole quarter, but as good-hearted as they were jolly. Castanet, be it -observed, was a law student; he lived with the others just as the owl -lives with the prairie-dogs, because he liked them. - -All these people noticed a change that had come over Garnier during the -last fortnight. He was abstracted, he sighed, he laughed at nothing, -burst out laughing sometimes as he painted, in a happy manner, as if -a child had performed some antic for his amusement, and then a few -minutes later he would give a little groan. He no longer cast his -brushes joyously aside when Floquet turned the shrieking and fizzing -pan of fish stewed in garlic onto a dish; his appetite had diminished. - -The fact was, the great Garnier was miraculously in love. When an -elephant falls into a pit he does it in a whole-hearted manner; so fell -Garnier into this passion. Célestin had been for him that dangerous -thing—a revelation. She had eclipsed the _Intransigèant_, and robbed -Henri Rochefort of his power; she had touched Prince Rudolph, and he -had slunk back into his impossible mysteries; she had taken the charm -from garlic, and even the wizard café lost its fascination. - -Yet for all this he was not in love with Célestin in the ordinary -acceptation of the term. He never dreamt of marriage with her, simply -because during the last twelve days he had become miraculously married -to her. She dwelt with him always now in that atelier he called his -head. There she made her hats, trimming them with sunbeams, and turning -to him for admiration with her celestial smile. - -She was the wife of his soul. Never was there a purer passion begotten -of man and woman; yet, strangely enough, it did not purify him. He -talked of women in the same old free-and-easy way, and the jokes of -Castanet, Lorillard, Floquet & Co. did not shock him. - -Had Célestin lived in a romance, she would doubtless have cast her -light on womanhood. She would have elevated Garnier, and he certainly -would have been none the worse for that. In reality, however, her -effulgence showed him nothing but herself. - -She had such pretty ways. Her slightest movement had a deeply artistic -meaning. She interpreted unspoken sentences with a motion of her hands. -A poppy swaying in the wind had not the grace of Célestin crossing the -floor to put the little kettle on the stove. Her talk seemed a strange -sister of Dodor’s song. And then the way she had of casting her eyes up -to heaven! Her gaze always seemed to return bluer from that journey, -and filled with light gathered from the ghostly distance. - -She was all those twelve children he had longed for rolled into one, -and much more besides. She was one of those delightful little cherubs -over the fonts in the Church of St. Germain l’Auxerrois; she was the -wind that waved the trees at Barbizon, the flowers that blew to the -wind, and the sparrows that flew in the street; she was Mistigris, the -cat who lived under his bed, and each of Mistigris’s six kittens. For -all of these things that he loved when he thought of, beheld, or felt -them, reminded him of Célestin. - -He labored away over his tulip, carving at it with infinite care. -Castanet came and kicked at his door, and asked him what he was doing, -and then he felt the eye of Castanet peering through the key-hole, and -heard his voice informing Floquet that Garnier was writing a letter to -his sweetheart. Then the banjo struck up, and the doleful sound of -the comb laboring out “Partant pour la Syrie” mixed with the sound of -Lorillard washing his shirt and beating it between his hands as a sort -of accompaniment to the music. - -Then the flower was at last accomplished—a bit too thick in the petal, -perhaps, but still a fairly accurate representation. He dyed it with -the cochineal, and mounted it on a little green stick he had prepared -to do duty for a stalk. It was a poor child for so great an artist to -produce, yet he smiled at it in a satisfied manner, for it reminded him -of Célestin. - -He then went to the atelier of Castanet & Co. to see if he could get a -piece of fish for Mistigris, who had come out from under the bed with a -kitten in her mouth, as if to remind him that she was the mother of a -family and required sustaining. And when he had fed her, he darted off -with the tulip in his hand, making for the Rue de Perpignan, regardless -of the ribaldry of his compatriots, who were watching him from their -window away up near the roof. He hurried along like a man pursuing -fortune, or as if fearful that the tulip would wither. Toto was out, -but Célestin was at home mending a glove. - -“Ah, _ciel_!” cried Célestin, as she held the tulip out between finger -and thumb. “What a marvelous thing! You made it, and from a turnip! It -is a miracle!” - -“We will plant it!” cried Garnier, running about with the red-tile pot -in his hand, and looking for some place in which to throw the dead -flower. There was a sink outside the door; he cast it there. - -Then they planted the new tulip, pressing the mold tightly around the -base of the stick, and hardly was the thing accomplished when Toto -entered, looking worried, and as if he had been walking in a hurry. - -“Yes, it is very nice,” said Toto in the manner of an absent-minded -parent as they called upon him to admire their handiwork. - -He kissed Célestin without fervor, and then, pulling Garnier aside by -the arm, invited him to come outside for a moment and have a glass of -beer, and give his advice about a picture. - -“I have had a row at the studio,” said Toto, when they were in the -street. - -“Eh! what? with Melmenotte?” - -“No, that fool Jolly. I knocked him down.” - -“What! you did that? _Boufre!_ but it will do him a lot of good, that -same Jolly. I have often wished to do so myself, but I am too big, and -he is too small. You are more of his size. And why did you knock him -down?” - -“He told me I wasn’t able to paint, that any _demi-mondaine_ had more -art in painting her face than I had in painting a picture.” - -“But that is nothing; we all tell each other things like that.” - -“Yes, but he meant it; and, he said it in such an insulting manner, -and, besides, he only said it because I had refused to lend him more -money.” - -“So you knocked him down!” cried Garnier, breaking into a roar of -laughter. “_Mon Dieu!_ and I missed it! I would have given five francs -to have been there.” - -They entered a little café, and Toto called for two bocks. - -“I am very unhappy,” said Toto as he sipped his beer. - -“What! about that rascal Jolly?” - -“Oh, no; it is not that. I am unhappy about a lot of things. I wish I -had never come to the Rue de Perpignan.” - -“Oh!” - -“Yes, tell me something seriously. How long do you think it will be -before I am able to exhibit?” - -Garnier shifted about in his seat. He did not know exactly what to -say; he had never considered Toto’s art seriously. His father had a -shop, and the son, after dabbling a while with art, would doubtless end -happily behind the counter. He was having his _Wanderjahr_ now. Even at -the worst he might become a great artist. Who could tell? And who was -Garnier that he should throw water on another man’s aspirations? - -“Five years,” said Garnier. “You see, you are only beginning. The -great thing in art is time; nothing is done without time and patience. -Another thing: one must not think. Work away and don’t think. Don’t -ask ‘How am I getting on?’ or, at least, only on New Year’s Day. Then, -enjoy yourself, and keep your eyes open. Paris is a big atelier. An -artist wants to study movement as well as the nude. I never walk down -the street but I pick up something; it all comes in handy. If you want -to paint life, you must dip your brush in everything, even mud. Those -old men who spent their lives painting pots and pans and saints leave -me cold. I would like to clap the Rue St. Honoré into a canvas—will, -too, some day. I don’t think there is anything more fine in nature than -a fire-engine going full speed to a fire, except, maybe, a dragon-fly.” - -Garnier buried his nose in his glass, and Toto put his chin on his -palm, his elbow on the table, and stared before him, as if gazing at a -cheerless view. - -“Or a girl flinging up her arms to yawn,” continued Garnier. “Girls are -all art—that is why they make such rotten artists; but they are natural -when they are flinging up their arms to yawn, or stooping to tie their -garters, because then they think no one is looking at them, or they -don’t care.” - -He held out a handful of cigarettes, and Toto took one. - -“I have never seen Célestin yawn,” said Toto in a meditative voice, as -he lit the cigarette. - -“Heavens! no,” said Garnier. - -“Why not?” - -“The gift of weariness is not given to her. Have you ever seen a -butterfly yawn, or a happy child?” - -“She _is_ happy!” said Toto in a half-regretful voice. - -“She is happiness, you mean. _Mon Dieu!_ yes, she is happiness; as -for me, when I see her I always feel ten years younger, twenty years -younger when she speaks, thirty years younger when she smiles.” - -“You are only twenty-five.” - -“Oh, yes; so you see, Mlle. Célestin’s smile puts me back to five years -before my birth. I was then an angel, a fat little angel in the cherub -cage; there I would have been still had not the Father Eternal put in -his hand and taken me out, and flung me to the blue, crying ‘Try your -wings.’ That is how the business is managed: the world is pursued by a -flock of cherubs in search of a roost; when they overtake the world, -they take it by storm, people want to marry, and that makes spring; -when the world outstrips them that makes winter. I have never begotten -a child, so I have never given a perch to one of those sparrow angels, -worse luck!” and Garnier sighed and called for more beer. - -“Shall I tell you something?” asked Toto, who had been slowly making up -his mind as the painter prattled. - -“Why, yes!” - -“Well, you remember, when I met you first, you asked me what my father -was. I said he had a shop. Well, I told you a lie.” - -“_Ma foi!_ why not? What do I care what your father is?—you are a good -fellow. That is enough for me. We all boast a bit, we artists.” - -“I was not exactly boasting,” said Toto, knocking the ash off his -cigarette in a nervous manner. “My father made all his money out of a -bank.” - -“You don’t mean to say he is a banker!” said Garnier, opening his eyes -in astonishment, for a banker to Garnier was a much more extraordinary -person than even one of those cherubs he talked about. - -“No; not exactly a banker: he was a partner in a great bank. He was -always awfully ashamed of the bank. He is dead, you know.” - -“Ashamed of being a banker!” gasped Garnier. “What sort of man was he?” - -“He was an awfully funny old fellow. I can just remember him. He -scarcely ever spoke to me; he was very stiff and straight, and he used -to paint his face and wear stays.” - -“He was mad, then?” said Garnier. - -“Not he; he was as sane as I am—saner; for I believe I am cracked. No -matter, it’s not my fault; I did not make myself.” - -“Paint his face and wear stays and ashamed of being a banker,” murmured -Garnier. “You are not making an April fish of me? No, you can’t be, for -it is the second of June.” - -“No, I wish I was; but I have a lot more to tell. You know I came down -here to paint and live in the Rue de Perpignan a little more than a -month ago. Well, I thought I was going to be a great artist. No, worse -than that: I thought I was a great artist.” - -“So do we all, till we find out the right side of our palettes,” said -Garnier. - -“Well, I am only a dauber; don’t say no—I have been finding it out in -the last week. I didn’t want that fellow Jolly to tell me; that’s what -made me so angry, I suppose, for I knew he was telling me the truth. -Well, I am sick of it all; the pleasure is all gone from my life. I -have a lot of anxieties; it is like being in prison. When I go out on -the street, even here in this quarter, where I am not likely to come -across anyone, I have to be always on the watch for fear of meeting -anyone I know; I always look down a street before I walk down it.” - -“Ah, yes! I know that feeling. There are three streets forbidden to me -just at present; they are barricaded by creditors.” - -“Oh, it is not creditors I fear.” - -“What then?” - -“Friends.” - -“_Mon Dieu!_ what a funny man you are! What is there pleasanter to meet -than a friend?” - -“Yes; but don’t you understand? I don’t want my friends to know that I -am an artist.” - -“And, for Heaven’s sake, why not?” - -“Well, for one thing, they would laugh at me.” - -“Laugh at you for being an artist! Sacred Heaven! what a funny man you -are, and what funny friends you must have! And why should they laugh at -you for being an artist?” - -“Well, you see, they don’t know anything about art, for one thing.” - -“Ah, I can see those friends of yours!” said Garnier, with an inspired -air. “Old religious ladies, aunts, and what not,—they drive in -carriages with pug dogs,—and old gentlemen with the Legion of Honor.” - -“Not at all; my friends are quite young.” - -“Who are they, then?” - -“Well, there is Eugène Valfray, son of the railway man.” - -“Never heard of him.” - -“Then there is the Prince de Harnac—Gustave.” - -“What, you know a Prince!” - -“Why, man, I am a Prince.” - -“You are a what?” - -“I am a Prince,” said Toto shamefacedly. - -“Ah, _mon Dieu!_ what a droll you are!” cried Garnier, breaking into a -laugh. “First you are a bourgeois, then you are a banker, then you are -a Prince.” - -“I am not joking; I am what I say.” - -“But,” cried Garnier, sobered by the serious face of Toto, “you a -Prince, sitting here at the Trois Frères with me! Come now! a joke is -all very well up to a certain point; beyond that it makes one feel -giddy. Besides, you are not like a Prince.” - -“For Heaven’s sake, what _is_ a Prince like?” asked Toto, half -laughing, half vexed. “I have never seen a Prince that was different -from anyone else; they are generally more stupid, perhaps, but that is -all.” - -“But what are you Prince of?” cried the painter, belief and disbelief -battling in his mind. - -“My father was a prince of the Roman Empire. I am the same, of course, -now that he is dead.” - -“But, my dear child!” cried the Provençal, to whom a Prince was a -Prince, no matter what empire he belonged to, “what made you come -amongst us at Melmenotte’s? it is like what one reads in a romance, -all this. I could not have believed it. And what made you come to live -in the Rue de Perpignan? And Célestin! Ah, _ciel!_ I see it all now: -she is a Princess; that is what makes her different from other people. -A Princess! she has made me coffee, whilst I have talked to her as to -a child. I have carved for her a tulip out of a turnip, and I never -guessed who she was, when it was plain before me written all over her——” - -“You are wrong,” said Toto in a troubled voice. “She is not a Princess; -I wish she were. Listen, my friend, and I will tell you all. I want -your advice.” - -He told the little story of his meeting with Célestin, everything; he -sketched rapidly a portrait of his mother; then he paused to let the -tale sink in, and Garnier rubbed his chin. - -“But what made you do all this?” asked the painter at last. “You could -have painted at home.” - -“I don’t know; I was so sick of it all. I wanted a change, I wanted to -do for myself; it seemed so jolly to have an atelier, and live in a -blouse and work; then, besides—I can’t explain exactly, but I felt as -if I wanted to grow: a lot of people had deceived me. They did not mean -it, I suppose, but they praised my work; besides, I felt that they were -laughing at me behind my back.” - -He told the story of De Nani, and the truth that had escaped from him -in drink; he felt no shame in confiding his troubles to Garnier. All -great-minded people have this in common. They resemble priests; we -confess to them openly what we would not whisper to little minds. - -“Ah, well,” said Garnier, “there are rogues in every trade, and that -old man is a rogue. _Mon Dieu!_ I am not straitlaced; but there are -two things I cannot stand by and see: an old man drunk, and an old man -following a woman. Do not think of him, but tell me now, what does it -feel like to be a Prince? Oh, I should like to be a Prince just for an -hour! I would dress myself in ermine and walk down the Rue de Rivoli. -Ah! you are laughing, but I would. I would call my servants and give -them orders, just to hear them call me M. le Prince. I would call at -Melmenotte’s, and walk about the atelier trailing my skirts. _Mon -Dieu!_ yes, I should like to be a Prince just for an hour.” - -“And then?” - -“Oh, I would kick off my togs and come back and be an artist. Just as -you will kick off your togs and go back to be a Prince; one always -returns to one’s trade.” - -“You think I will go back to be a Prince?” - -“Why, of course.” - -“Would you advise me to?” - -“Why, of course, when you are tired of your atelier you will put on -your crown.” - -“I have no crown,” said Toto; “but I will no doubt return and put on a -tall hat. What troubles me is Célestin.” - -“Ah! Célestin!” - -“She does not know who I am.” - -Garnier frowned slightly. - -“She would not have loved me, I think, if I had told her, poor child! -She has a great awe of titled people; she makes hats for them. She will -never do that again, anyhow.” - -“Still,” said Garnier, “you ought to have told her.” - -“Why? I don’t see why.” - -“You have told me, yet you would hide what I know from that angel of -light. That is not as it should be. Take it as a man. How would you -like Mlle. Célestin to deceive you? The thing is impossible, but, -still——” - -“Perhaps you are right; and I wish I had never met her.” - -Garnier frowned again. - -“You do not love her, then?” - -“Oh, yes; I do. It is not that, but my mother, and all the people I -know. Not that I care a button—not a button; let them all go to the -devil.” - -“Ah, now you speak like a man! And will you tell Célestin all that you -have told to me?” - -“I will. I will tell her this evening.” - -But when evening came, and he sat alone with Célestin on the couch in -the lamplight, and when he took her hand saying “I want to tell you -something; I ought to have told it to you before,” the words dried up; -he could not tell her of his position in the world; besides, he knew -her inevitable answer, “What matter, so long as we love each other?” It -always came when difficulties arose—if the beef was understewed or the -wine sour, if the cats kept them awake or if the door of Dodor’s cage -got jammed. - -“Célestin, I ought to have told you before; but do you know that, -though we live here in this atelier and are happy enough, God knows—do -you know that I am—awfully poor?” - -“What matter? What does anything matter, so long as we love each -other?” sighed Célestin. - -“I will tell you all about myself some day,” said Toto. “I have not -told you I have a mother.” - -“Ah, how I would love to see her! How happy, that is, to have a mother! -As for me, I never had a mother.” - -“Perhaps it is just as well you had not.” - -“I will tell you,” said Célestin: “we will share your mother. I will -take one-half of her heart, and you will have the other, like those -ogres in that fairy tale of dear M. Gaillard’s.” - -“Thanks,” said Toto; “you may have it all.” - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -THE SHOWER. - - -“Dodor, we are very poor,” said Célestin next morning. She had taken -the lark from its cage, and was holding the little warm, brown body to -her breast. - -Toto had gone out to slink about the streets in a miserable state of -mind. He was deadly tired of his atelier—Art had pulled his ears; yet -he was ashamed to go home. Besides, how about Célestin? - -He felt like a child who had stolen a fiddle, unable to play on it, -tired of it, afraid to return it, and wavering for a moment ere he -throws it into the nearest ditch. It was ten o’clock in the morning. - -“So,” continued Célestin, putting the lark back in its cage, “I am -going to make some money.” - -Her head was full of echoes begotten of Toto’s words last night, “I am -very poor,” and plans begotten of the echoes. She had all her life -been well-to-do; by some special provision of God’s, instead of her -seeking work, work had always stolen to seek her fingers; the winds -had blown tulle and artificial roses across her path; Mme. Hümmel had -supplied her with foundations, and art had done the rest. - -So it was a new sensation to hear the wolf scratch at the door, rather -fearful, yet almost pleasurable: for was not Toto with her, and so long -as they loved each other what did anything matter? - -She had three hats finished—four, in fact, but only three for sale. For -the fourth was the one she had made that morning,—the morning of the -honeymoon,—and it was not for sale. She could not think of allowing -another woman to wear it, so she put it on her head, determining to -wear it herself. - -She had on a dress of lilac-colored nun’s cloth. She made the three -hats up in a parcel, and then drew on a pair of lilac-colored gloves. - -“How grand Mme. Hümmel will think I have become!” said Célestin, as she -departed. - -Even the old Rue de Perpignan looked young this morning. It was a -blissful and dreamy day; heavy showers had fallen in the early morning, -leaving a perfume in the air, faint, as if from the gardens of Paradise. - -She reached Verral’s in the Rue St. Honoré without any surprising -adventure, and entered by the side door that leads to the workrooms. -These lay behind the showrooms, the buzz and murmur of which penetrated -the thin partitions dividing the one from the other. The atmosphere was -warm and filled with that oppressive smell which comes from millinery -in a mass. Size, varnish, and glue contributed their odors, whilst the -air vibrated with the whir of sewing machines from the rooms above. - -“Ah, the little Célestin!” cried Mme. Hümmel, a stout Alsatian in black -silk, and with a good-natured face. - -“I sent a girl to the Rue de Babylone only last week to see if you were -dead, and they said you were married. Bad child not to have told me! I -was frightened. I could not sleep at night, saying to myself, ‘Where -is that Célestin?’ So you have brought me some hats?” - -She led the way to her private room, and looked at the hats, and -praised them a little: for it does not do to lavish praise on -employees; they are apt to wax fat on it and kick for higher prices, as -Mme. Hümmel had learnt in the course of her experience. - -Then she ran away to get some money, and Célestin stood by the table, -on which lay feathers, patterns of silk, and those _pompons_ which, -according to Gaillard, were the mainstay and support of the mysterious -Angélique. - -“This is for the work,” said Mme. Hümmel, paying the stipulated amount, -“and this is for yourself. It is a wedding gift. Poor child! are you -happy?” - -“Oh, very happy!” said Célestin, putting the napoleon just given to her -for a wedding gift into her glove, and the six francs into her purse. -“Happier than I can tell. How good it is of you! A whole napoleon! I -never thought—I——” - -“No, do not thank me. You are a good child, and I am sure you will make -him happy. You must bring him to see me some Saturday. I will lecture -him for you. And is he dark or fair? and what is his name?” - -“He is dark, and his name is Désiré.” - -“And his other name?” - -“I don’t know,” said Célestin. “He told me once, and I have forgotten. -How stupid it is of me!” - -Mme. Hümmel smothered a little laugh. - -“So you do not know his surname? _Mon Dieu!_ what a droll child you -are!” - -“I don’t remember it. My head will not hold names; it is like a sieve. -I am very silly.” And Célestin, blushing and shaking the good woman by -the hand, departed, whilst Madame cried after her, “Be sure and bring -him some Saturday for me to lecture him,” little thinking that this -young man with the forgettable surname was Toto, son of Verral’s best -customer, Mme. la Princesse de Cammora. - -Célestin walked away, so lost in her napoleon that she did not notice -the clouds hurrying up from the southwest. Like everything fortunate, -the napoleon was a gift from the good God. Toto was one of these -gifts, or, rather, the chief of them; and as she made her way along the -busy street, she cast her eyes up several times as if returning thanks -through the brim of her hat to those favored angels, her guardians. - -A thought had crossed her mind. She would get a money-box for Toto and -save up for him, for what would happen if she were to die, and he were -left like the artist in that terrible play at the Porte St. Martin? -Already, in fancy, she was supporting him by her hats whilst he pursued -his beautiful art to fame. - -But if she were to die? Her lips trembled. Those two children of -hers, Toto and Dodor! They crossed her imagination together, feckless -creatures, one so like the other in character, either jumping about -on their perches, or moping, irresponsible, and terribly in need of -someone to tidy their cages, talk to them, and love them. - -She was passing a frightful criticism on Toto, but she did not know it. -Perhaps the only people who criticise us justly are the people who love -us, for our perfections and imperfections are to them all one country, -and of that country perhaps our imperfections are the fairest part. - -Just as she reached the middle of the Place de la Concorde the clouds -burst. It was like a huge shower bath, of which the string had suddenly -been pulled. In a second the Madeleine and Rue Royale on one hand, and -the big letters announcing the Chamber of Deputies on the other, were -veiled by sheets of rain. - -Célestin awoke suddenly from her painful, half-pleasurable reverie, -to find herself drenched. She had no umbrella, and her friends the -omnibuses were not near, so she ran through sheets of rain, till her -hat was ruined, and then she hid in a doorway, panting, and with her -hand to her breast. The shower spent itself in ten minutes, and the -day smiled out again brighter than ever. So she pursued her way to -the Rue de Perpignan, wet to the skin, and rejecting the idea of an -omnibus because of the expense for one thing, and, besides, she was wet -already, and it was safer to walk and keep warm. - -When she reached the atelier she found Toto carefully drying himself at -the stove. He, too, had been caught by the rain, but not so badly. - -She insisted upon his taking off his coat, and whilst it was drying she -talked to him and laughed to cheer him up. Then she spread the cloth -on the table, for it was time for _déjeuner_, and lastly she went to -the bedroom, like a prudent person, and changed her things. But the -beautiful hat was ruined beyond redemption, and as she gazed at it she -gave a little shiver. - -That evening, when the lamp was lit, she told Toto all about Mme. -Hümmel, the selling of the hats, the gift of the napoleon, and the -desire of the forewoman to see him and lecture him. - -Toto listened half unconsciously. He was already revolving in his mind -plans of escape from his cage. He had fixed upon Gaillard as the man of -all others to help him, but he had not seen Gaillard now for four days. - -As Célestin finished her story—she was sitting upon the floor, her head -resting against Toto’s knee—a shudder ran through her, and her teeth -chattered. - -“Why,” cried Toto, “what is this? What makes you shiver so?” - -“I don’t know,” said Célestin, half laughing. “I did not do it on -purpose;” and again the rigor seized her, as if someone were shaking -her by the shoulder. “I will go to bed,” she said, rising to her feet. -“My head swims.” - -“I hope she is not going to be ill,” thought the Prince to himself. -“And I do wish Gaillard would come. What can have happened to him?” - - - - -Part IV. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -ADAM FROISSART. - - -Nothing in particular had happened to Gaillard, yet the poet was in -tribulation. To begin with, all his friends were too busy to attend -to or amuse themselves with him. Struve was writing his book, or, -rather, correcting the proof sheets, an employment that kept him short -of temper and time; Pelisson had only one idea—_Pantin_; Toto was -crabbedly finding out his own stupidity in the Rue de Perpignan; whilst -De Brie had turned very acid over his connection with the new journal, -and flung him commissions for little articles or volumes for review as -if they were bones to a dog. - -Then his publisher had informed him, with a very long face, that only -three hundred copies of “The Fall of the Damned” had sold in three -weeks, whereas three thousand of “Satanitie” had gone off in the same -time. - -To make matters worse, Papillard had stopped working; De Nani had -frozen him. De Nani he felt to be the cause of all his misfortunes, and -he only continued to exist—so he told himself—that he might witness De -Nani’s downfall. - -You may imagine, then, how pleased he felt when, on the morning after -the same showery day that drenched Célestin, Pelisson appeared in his -rooms before eight o’clock, and pulled up his blinds. - -“Wake up! I want Adam Froissart’s address,” cried Pelisson, standing -over the poet, and poking him with his stick to rouse him. - -“Froissart!” cried Gaillard, rubbing his eyes. “He is not in Paris.” - -“Where is he, then?” - -“He is in—Amiens,” said Gaillard. - -Froissart was a spiteful genius who possessed the unsavory humor -of Papillard. No one had ever seen him, and his sole title to -consideration lay in three malevolent articles leveled against De Brie -and his political tendencies. They had been submitted to Pelisson by -Gaillard, and so had found their way into the _Débats_. Pelisson, -who noted down everything, had made a memorandum of this gentleman’s -abilities. De Brie had done likewise, and though he hated this unknown -journalist, he would have given a good deal to secure him as a member -of his staff. He had expressed the desire in the hearing of Gaillard, -and he might have obtained his wish, only that Froissart’s genius for -malevolence was useless when expended against anyone else than De Brie. - -Needless to say, there was no Froissart. He belonged to the shadowy -band that included Fanfoullard, Mirmillard, Papillard, Églantine, and -Angélique. - -“This is a great nuisance,” grumbled Pelisson, rubbing his chin. - -“What do you want of Froissart?” - -“I am going to sack De Nani, and I want a man to take his place.” - -Gaillard’s countenance became glorified. - -“But, my dear Pierre, why seek for Froissart? Are there not plenty of -men of ability in Paris to take the place of this silly old villain of -a De Nani?” - -“Hundreds, but no use to me. I don’t want one of your bright diamonds—I -want a man in the rough; I don’t want an editor—I want a creature, -a clever one, too, now: for, upon my soul, I am becoming exhausted -between keeping _Pantin_ and De Nani going at the same time. You said -this Froissart was poor.” - -“Frightfully.” - -“That’s just what I want.” - -“But I believe he has an aunt who is very rich, and I heard she was -dying some little time ago. I would not seek Froissart, Pierre; believe -me, he is a very acid man, and quite unfit for an editor. If you want -the sort of person you say you want, why not try me? I will do whatever -you wish, and write whatever you wish.” - -“No, no!” cried Pelisson hastily; “it would not do. You are a -poet—stick to your last. Besides, I have been bombarded with your -creditors; I’ve had enough of that. That is one of the reasons I am -sacking De Nani. The old fool has burst the bladder. Someone went to -Auteuil to make inquiries, and found he was living in three rooms, -and owed money to his laundress. You can fancy how the news has flown -amongst his creditors. Next thing someone will find out that he is a -fool.” - -“But why not edit the thing yourself?” - -“So I do; but I want a shield. _Pantin_ will begin to bellow soon. -Well, no matter; I am off for Amiens. I won’t be back till to-morrow. -What’s this man’s address?” - -“He lives in a cottage near the railway station; you will easily find -it—there are roses on the porch. But, see here; who’s taking charge -till you return?” - -“De Nani, nominally; he cannot do any harm in one day. Besides, I have -left everything cut and dried.” - -“Does he know he is getting the sack?” - -“I should think so. He and I have been at the office all night talking -things over. He is quite resigned—going to cut and run. I left him -asleep on the sofa. Now good-by. The cottage near the railway station, -you say. _Mon Dieu!_ I will scarcely have time to catch the train.” - -He darted off, and Gaillard sank down again in bed filled with the -bliss of satisfied hatred. De Nani was down at last; the little world -of æsthetic people who required “Satanities” and “Falls of the Damned” -would now, perhaps, give their Gaillard undivided attention. He never -once thought of Pelisson gone off on a wild-goose chase to Amiens, -and soon he forgot even De Nani, immersed in visions of an impossible -Gaillard worshiped by an impossible world. - -Mme. Plon came in and placed _Pantin_ on the foot of his bed, and a -letter in a blue envelope. The letter looked like a bill, so he left -it whilst he glanced at the journal with languid interest. Then he -picked up the letter, which had been left by a messenger, and, to his -surprise, found that it was from De Nani. - - “My Dear M. Gaillard [said De Nani]: May I ask you to call upon me - immediately on receipt of this? It is of the utmost importance that - I should see you without a moment’s delay.” - -It was written upon the office paper, bearing the stamp “_Pantin_, No. -——, Rue Drouot. Rédacteur, M. le Marquis de Nani. Cable and telegraphic -address: ‘Pouf.’ Telephone: No. 1654320.” Over all, the motto and -watchword of the journal: “_Qui vive?_” - -“Now, what can he want?” murmured Gaillard. “It is like his -impertinence to send for me as if I were his footboy. I shall not go.” - -And he turned over on his side. But no mongoose was ever of a more -inquisitive nature than our friend Gaillard. What could De Nani want, -and without a moment’s delay? He tried to imagine and failed, and then -arose and dressed. - -M. le Marquis de Nani was in the inner office. Since the night of -Toto’s dinner-party at the Grand Café he had grown fat, or, at least, -decidedly fatter. His raiment was superb; he had adorned his stomach -with a gold and platinum watch-chain. He wore a shawl waistcoat, and -his cuff-links, of dull gold, were enameled with pictures of tiny -champagne bottles and opera dancers. - -He was standing before the indifferent looking-glass that adorned the -mantel, examining his face and informing Scribe, the cashier, that -_Pantin_ had given him ten new wrinkles. A café near by had just sent -in _déjeuner_ for two and a bottle of Pommery. - -“I am expecting M. Gaillard to breakfast,” explained De Nani. “A most -promising young man, whose interests I have at heart.” - -Scribe bowed and left the room. He was a shock-headed man, with musical -instincts and a genius for figures; he held the Marquis in great -reverence, and had an implicit faith in him that somewhat troubled -Pelisson. Yet what could Pelisson do? You cannot tell the cashier to -beware of the editor? This implicit faith of Scribe’s was perhaps one -factor in the sacking of De Nani, although goodness knows there were -others enough. - -“You sent for me, I believe,” said Gaillard rather stiffly, as he -entered the inner office and made a little bow to his editor, whilst -he glanced at the nice little _déjeuner_ on the table. - -“_Ma foi_, yes; I trust you will excuse the _brusquerie_ of my note, -my dear M. Gaillard. Will you not join me at breakfast? That is right. -I will explain myself as we eat; we shall not be interrupted, for -Pelisson has gone off somewhere for the day.” - -“Pelisson will not be back till to-morrow,” said Gaillard, thawing -visibly as he flung a bundle of papers off a chair and took his seat at -the table. “He has gone to Amiens.” - -De Nani hid his satisfaction at this remark, as he unwired the -champagne. Then the two, hobnobbing across the table, shared a Perigord -pie, and conversation became general; it swiftly became indelicate, and -then confidential. - -“You are right,” said the Marquis, in answer to a remark dropped by his -_vis-à-vis_. “Pelisson has his limitations—ahu!” - -“Pelisson is a journalist, a recorder of this ill-written tragedy which -we are condemned to act in, and which we call, for want of a better -name, ‘life.’ Oh, this life that they are always prating about! A -scoundrel only the other day accused me of insincerity to life. Could -he have paid me a higher compliment?” - -“No, egad. Ha! the infernal scamp said that, did he? What will you -have?—they must have ‘copy’; that is the watchword of this villainous -world, that stinks of printer’s ink. ‘Copy, copy’—I will give them some -copy. A word in your ear, M. Gaillard.” - -“I am all attention.” - -“I feel safe in admitting you into my little secret, for you are a man -of honor. I feel safe in admitting you into the secret of my little -surprise, inasmuch as it concerns Pelisson, who is not your friend, M. -Gaillard.” - -“Have you heard him saying things about me?” asked Gaillard, who was -under the fixed belief that one half of the world spent its existence -in slandering his works to the other half.” - -“I have heard him say——” - -“Yes?” - -“No matter; what is the use of repeating the words of a man like -Pelisson—ahu! They are like the crackling of thorns under a pot, as -that delightfully humorous book, the Bible, has it. I should not have -mentioned the chattering of this magpie. Fill your glass, M. Gaillard.” - -“But, my dear Marquis, I implore you to tell me what this Pelisson has -been uttering about me; it is always well to know one’s friends.” - -“Well, egad, he said so much I have forgotten half of it. One day—it -was last week—he said, ‘This Gaillard thinks himself a poet.’ Harmless -words, but it was the tone of his voice that set all the office -laughing. I did not laugh, it was bad form; but there is no form -in this journalistic world. I am leaving it, I have had words with -Pelisson; and before I take my departure it is my humble ambition to -make Pierre Pelisson dance.” - -“He ought to be dancing on an organ,” said Gaillard in a bitter voice. -“It is all he is fit for.” - -“He ought to be dancing on an organ, as you very truly remark; but I -will endeavor to find a broader platform from whence to amuse Paris. -And he will not dance a waltz, M. Gaillard, nor yet will he indulge -his limbs in the graceful movements of the mazurka. He will dance the -can-can, will Pierre Pelisson—ahu!” - -“You are going to play a practical joke on him?” - -“Oh, no! I am only going to make him dance for my amusement; but to do -so, I want Prince Toto’s address. He is in Paris?” - -“He is living at No. 10, Rue de Perpignan,” said Gaillard, finishing -the champagne. “But I doubt if he will help you.” - -“I don’t want him to,” said De Nani, entering the address in his -tablets. “I only want the number of the house and the name of the -street.” - -“I ought not to have told you!” cried Gaillard, suddenly remembering -his promise to Toto. - -“Why not?” - -“He made me promise to tell no one where he is living, nor about -Célestin.” - -“Ah, have no fear!” said De Nani, making another entry in his tablets. -“Toto will not object to my knowing his address; he knows that I am a -safe man, a man to be trusted—ahu, _ventre St. Gris_! Could I tell you, -M. Maillard——” - -“Gaillard.” - -“Paillard,” continued De Nani, who, now that he had obtained all or -nearly all the information he wanted, began to put on frills and forget -names. “Could I tell you, M. Paillard, how I love this dear Toto, you -might with your genius make from it a little poem; it transcends the -love of David for Jonathan, this affection of mine for Toto. He is so -joyous, he is so young, he is such a charming host. You remember that -delightful dinner where we first made acquaintance; I feel I can never -repay Toto for that piece of hospitality. But I will try, as far as in -me lies—I will try.” - -“I tell you what,” said Gaillard, putting on his hat and lighting a -cigarette: “you would do Toto a great service if you could induce him -to leave that wretched hole he is in, and give up art and all that -nonsense.” - -“And Célestin?” - -“Yes; she is worse than art. Between you and me, I don’t know how he -can stand it, living with an illiterate woman like that; she has not -two ideas in her head. I don’t believe she can read, and, what is -worse, I don’t believe she wants to. They do their own cooking. Imagine -a man of Toto’s position in the world—faugh! it makes me ill.” - -This was an untruth—cooking was rarely done in the atelier of Toto, for -Célestin was the worst cook in the world, excepting perhaps Toto; but -it was true enough for De Nani. - -“And this Célestin—what was she before Toto took her from the mud?” - -“She was a hat-maker—she is still. Trims hats and that sort of thing.” - -“Whilst Toto paints those delightful pictures of his?” - -“Yes. But the worst is, he cannot sell them,—I know by his face,—and he -is frightfully hard up.” - -“Soon,” said De Nani, with a horrid leer, “our friend Toto will cast -his brushes aside, and live upon the diligence of this pretty Célestin. -It is what all these artists do when unsuccessful. We must save him -from this.” - -“I wish you would.” - -“Before to-morrow evening,” said De Nani, “I hope to cure this charming -Toto of his fever for fame and his hunger for art. Who is this? Why, it -is M. Wolf. I must bid you now good-day, M. Gaillard, as I have some -matters of importance to transact with M. Wolf.” - -Wolf came in, hat in hand and spectacles gleaming, as Gaillard went -out. De Nani removed the remains of the _déjeuner_ from the table onto -the floor, and greeted the newcomer. - -“You are just the man I want,” said the Marquis. “I have an interview -to write, and I want you to assist me. I have all the facts. That is -right, take a seat and a pen.” - -Gaillard went off feeling rather huffed at the summary manner in -which De Nani had dismissed him. His hatred of the old man, which -had vanished before the champagne and the knowledge of his downfall, -returned somewhat. He determined, having nothing better to do, to -betake himself to Toto’s atelier, and spend the afternoon smoking -cigarettes and talking to Célestin about his poems. Célestin made -an admirable audience for a minor poet, even although she was an -illiterate woman and scarcely knew how to read. She had the power -of sympathy, and she listened to Gaillard just as she listened to -Dodor and Toto. When Gaillard would spout a sonnet, and then abuse -it, declaring that it was too full of color, or too sharp in sound, -or destitute of perfume, and that he wished he had never written it, -Célestin, raising her eyes from her work, would cry, “Oh, but I am sure -it is beautiful. It could not be more beautiful. I seem to see those -roses you speak of. And how sad, the roses were unhappy! That seems so -dreadful, does it not, Désiré?” And then Toto, if he were busy, would -give a grunt, and Gaillard would repeat again the sonnet, and declare -that the roses were glad now because Célestin had pitied them. - -But she would gladden no roses to-day. - -“She has a cold,” said Toto, pointing to the closed bedroom door. “She -got her feet wet yesterday. How glad I am that you have come!” - -He was sitting near the stove, and he rose and put on his hat. Someone -had a fit of coughing in the bedroom, and Gaillard stood staring at the -tulip manufactured by Gamier as though it were a dragon. - -“Surely, my dear Désiré, you have not descended to things like these!” -He touched the pot warily with the point of his stick, as if fearful of -infection. - -“Oh, that!” said Toto carelessly. “It is not mine; it is Célestin’s. Do -not touch it; she is awfully proud of it. Come out with me; I want to -talk to you.” In the street Toto took Gaillard’s arm. “I am so glad you -have come. I am in need of a friend. I am in a state of misery. What -shall I do with that girl?” - -“Why, has she been troubling you? _Mon Dieu!_ Désiré, tell me, what is -this?” - -“No,” said Toto, “she has not been troubling me. I only wish she had, I -only wish she had. That woman—pah! she is not a woman, she is an angel.” - -“So are all women till you find them out. But go on, Désiré. Why all -this terrible excitement?” - -“Why? My God! it is very easy for you to talk. She loves me. Well, -then, what am I to do? I have been nearly mad these last few days, and -not a soul to speak to. You don’t care. You have been off to the Moulin -Rouge and Heaven knows where every night!” - -“I swear, Désiré,” cried Gaillard, “I have been in a worse condition -than you. I have been on the edge of suicide. Moulin Rouge! I have -not been to the Moulin Rouge. I took to my bed three days ago to read -‘Aucassin and Nicolete’ and try to forget that I was alive. I have not -eaten—morphia and cigarettes alone have passed my lips during the last -forty-eight hours. Then I thought of you; then I came, and for reward I -am accused like this! No matter.” - -“If she were an ordinary girl,” said Toto, disregarding Gaillard’s -fantasies, “I would give her five thousand francs and set her up in -business, and there would be an end of it.” - -“Ah, Désiré! ah, Désiré!” gasped Gaillard, like a man trying to speak -in a shower bath. “Can it be that at last you are going to return to -us? Can——” - -“Call me Toto,” cried the Prince. “I hate that vile name Désiré. I put -it on with this foolishness—this rotten art business. Don’t mind me, -my dear fellow; let me rave. I have had no one to talk to for days but -Garnier and Célestin. They do not understand me.” - -“Go on, go on,” said Gaillard, as if Toto had swallowed poison and he -was urging him to vomit. “Speak away, it will do you good; relieve your -mind—it will save you perhaps from madness. Ah, I can understand—I -can understand what you must have suffered, my poor Toto! I have been -through it all myself.” - -“Come in here,” said Toto, stopping at a small café; “we can sit down -and talk.” - -“Yes, let us enter,” said Gaillard. “No, do not touch absinthe in a -place like this; if you wish to die, choose an easier poison. Beer? -Yes, let us have some beer. And now, Toto, continue your troubles.” - -“I have only one trouble,” said Toto, “and that is Célestin.” - -“Ah, _mon Dieu!_ that is a trouble easily got rid of.” - -“How?” - -“Leave Célestin to me.” - -“What would you do with her?” - -“I?—nothing. I would simply say, ‘Mlle. Célestin, M. Désiré has been -called away to the death-bed of an aunt in the country. She will leave -him her entire fortune if he marries at once and according to her -desires.’ Then I would say, ‘The girl upon whom his aunt has fixed——’” - -“Oh, rubbish! I could do that myself. Do you think if I wanted to I -could not kick Célestin over in half an hour? You do not understand. -She is like no one else. She is like a child. I cannot hurt her. She -would haunt me forever, she and that lark. Oh, why did I ever meet her? -But for her I would have been back days ago out of this abominable Rue -de Perpignan. If it had not been for her, I would never have come here -at all. She drove me on to this stupidity, I don’t know why.” - -“If,” said Gaillard rather stiffly, “you still love this girl so much——” - -“But I don’t. I mean this: I thought I was in love with her, and, -somehow, now everything seems to have gone to pieces all at once; the -pleasure went out of my life all at once. I am lingering on in this -infernal part of the town like a thing with a broken back. I don’t know -what I am to do.” - -“I know,” said Gaillard. - -“What?” - -“Take a little cottage in the country and put your Célestin there with -her lark.” - -“Yes, I might do that; only I will have to go there every day or live -there.” - -“In the name of Heaven, why?” - -“Because it will break her heart if I leave her. I tell you you do not -know her. She has wound herself round me.” - -“Well, unwind her.” - -“She lives for me—I can see it. I did not know that there were such -women in the world, and, of course, it is my luck to meet one of them -and get myself in this tangle with her. It is very easy for you to sip -your beer and say ‘Unwind her.’ Suppose a child were to run up to you -and put its arms round you, could you box its ears? And, besides, I -have wound myself a bit round her. I have an affection for her, though -I am weary of this love business. I do love her as a child, but then -one does not want to spend one’s life in the nursery.” - -“Take a little cottage,” reiterated Gaillard; “place her in it. We -will go down together, you and I, each day for a fortnight. Then we -will drop a day by degrees, and wean her, so to speak. It will take -you the whole summer. Well, it is an idealistic way of spending the -warm weather. We will have a cottage with clematis on the porch, and a -garden filled with old-fashioned flowers. There she will, so to speak, -gain her legs, and when she is able to run alone, trust her, she will -find a playmate.” - -“The first thing to be done,” said Toto thoughtfully, “is to get away -from this part of the town before anyone finds out I am here. I do not -want this affair advertised all over Paris. You are certain that no one -knows about it. You have hinted it to no one?” - -“Absolutely certain—no one. You are in Corsica; that is enough.” - -“Have you seen my mother lately?” - -“I dined with her only yesterday.” - -“Why, I thought you said you had been in bed for the last four days.” - -“So I have; but I got up yesterday evening and called upon Mme. la -Princesse in reply to a summons. She detained me to dinner.” - -“What did she want?” - -“Only to make inquiries as to you.” - -“And you said?” - -“Oh, I said you were progressing charmingly.” - -“I hope no one else was there?” - -“No, we dined _tête-à-tête_.” - -“Well, I think it is the best thing I can do.” - -“What?” - -“That idea of yours about the country. I could take rooms for a while -somewhere. The only thing is, Célestin cannot be moved till this cold -is better. Isn’t it vile luck? It will mean several days before I can -get away from this place.” - -“Could you not move her in a cab?” - -“No, she is not strong, and if she got another cold on top of this one -it might kill her.” - -“Have you given her any medicine?” - -“I gave her some lozenges, and Garnier brought her some sugar-candy.” - -“Who is Garnier?” - -“He is a painter.” - -“Oh, one of these wretched _rapins_. Take my advice, Toto, and have a -doctor in; he will cure her more quickly than if she were left alone.” - -“I wanted to, but she implored me not. She has a horror of doctors and -medicine.” - -“Have you put poultices on her chest?” - -“Mercy, no!” - -“You ought to poultice her. I frequently suffer from colds in the early -spring, and Mme. Plon declares that I would not be alive but for her -poultices. It will cut it short. Have you a bronchitis kettle?” - -“No; she hasn’t got bronchitis; she has only got a cough and a pain in -the side.” - -“No matter; it would stop her from getting bronchitis. You ought also -to give her sweet spirits of niter. I assure you, Toto, you never can -tell what a cold turns to; and this girl, should she get really ill, -may keep her bed for a month, and then where would you be? In cases -like this, we ought to act on the principle of the firemen, who play on -unconsumed buildings in order to prevent them from catching fire. If I -were you, I would insist on a doctor. Well, well, I do not press the -point—she is not mine. Let us talk on other things. Have you heard that -Pelisson has cut De Nani adrift? No, of course you have not.” - -“How can I know what is going on in this place?” - -“True; but, even so, it only occurred last night. De Nani seems quite -resigned, but I would not wonder if he played some trick upon our -friend Pelisson. He wanted your address.” - -“Pelisson?” - -“No, De Nani,” said Gaillard, who almost bit his tongue for letting -this cat out of its bag. - -“I hope you did not give it to him.” - -Gaillard shrugged his shoulders. - -“For that old man is my evil star. I do not believe I would have been -here now but for his insult that night. You remember? Well, I am going -back to the atelier.” - -“How much money have you left, Toto?” - -“I have only five hundred francs.” - -“You had better let me bring you some more. Give me a check. You have -not your check-book? Well, write one out for five hundred francs on a -piece of paper, and I will take it and cash it for you, and bring you -the money to-morrow.” - -“You will not turn up again if I let you have all that.” - -“Toto!” - -“I know you so well. See here, what time will you promise to turn up, -if I give you my check?” - -Gaillard debated with himself. - -“I will be at your atelier at one o’clock, punctually.” - -“You promise?” - -“I promise.” - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE STORY OF FANTOFF AND BASTICHE. - - -They went back to the atelier, and Toto, who had not breakfasted, got -together some wine and bread and cold stewed beef. Gaillard sat down -to table also, to keep him company. Then the poet ventured into the -bedroom to talk to the sick girl and cheer her up. - -Célestin was lying on her side, facing the door, with very bright eyes -and flushed cheeks. On the wall over the bed hung a colored print -of our Lord Jesus carrying a lamb; she had brought it with her from -her room near the Rue de Babylone. An orange lay on the quilt, one -of six brought by Garnier that morning; she had eaten the other five -and swallowed the pulp, an act which would have caused a physician to -shudder. On a rush-bottomed chair near by lay the lozenges given to her -by Mme. Liard,—redoubtable lozenges, according to the label on the -box,—also the sugar candy of Garnier. - -Gaillard sat down beside the bed; he took the sick girl’s hand, and, -stroking it like a mother, called her his _pauvre petite_ Célestin. She -quite touched his heart—her sickness, her pitiable air of helplessness; -the orange on the quilt, and the picture of the Lord Jesus watching -over her. - -She had been in great pain all the morning,—a cruel pain, like a -hot-iron, in her right lung,—but she was better of the pain now and the -cough; she told him so in a mutter, and then asked for a fairy tale. - -Toto looked in, munching a biscuit; he nodded his head as if satisfied -and withdrew, whilst Gaillard in a fit of genius improvised a fairy -tale. It was about a green giant called Fantoff. He was quite green, -his hair was grass, and his feet were like roots uprooted in some -terrible upheaval; his fingers were like carrots, and he turned brown -every autumn with the leaves, the larks in spring mistaking his head -for a field built on it; so that in this happy season of the year -wherever he walked larks sang above him, and whenever he scratched -his head a dozen nests were destroyed. At this Célestin, with Dodor in -her mind, said “No, no.” So the poet passed on to the cat Mizar and -the dwarf Blizzard, whom the giant had, one day in a fit of idleness, -carved from a forked carrot; and Célestin, remembering Garnier’s tulip, -believed that this might possibly be true. - -Blizzard, forgetful of the debt of creation, dared to fall in love -with the lady beloved by Fantoff, whose name was Primavera, and whose -abode was the Castle of Flowers. A hundred thousand tulips defended -this castle from behind a holly hedge. They were divided into five -armies—red, white, yellow, chocolate, and striped; and Célestin in a -half-dream beheld the valiant host whilst Gaillard rambled on. - -The gardener generalissimo of this army was blind,—he had been blinded -by the beauty of Primavera,—and one day as he was wheeling back to the -castle a barrow full of roses, who had gone out to fight the camellias -and had been badly beaten. Blizzard the dwarf slipped into it under -the roses, intent on gaining an entrance to the castle at all hazards, -there to declare his love. What happened? Simply this: Algebar, the -bird of Paradise, flapped its sapphire wings and shrieked out, “Beware! -A carrot is trying to enter the Castle of Flowers. Beware, beware!” and -before the faithful bird could call it thrice the door opened, and out -came Bastiche, the porter. - -Bastiche was a giant, who had once been a clothes basket; he was seven -hundred feet high, and creaked as he walked. Primavera in a fit of -foolishness had endowed him with life, and as he stood on the castle -steps he opened his lid and shut it again. He also quite forgot the -warning of Algebar, for at that moment rose up from behind the holly -hedge the great green head of Fantoff, the larks singing above it -merrily. - -Fantoff, be it observed, was quite unconscious of the scheme of -Blizzard. He had determined to raid the castle that day on his own -account, just as Blizzard had determined to sneak in. Well, listen. -There stood Fantoff in all his glory. The tulips shuddered at the -sight, and the blind gardener put down his barrow, for he felt in some -manner that something was about to happen; and there stood Bastiche, -creaking with anger, whilst little Blizzard in the barrow shook the -dead roses with laughter. Fantoff and Bastiche stared at each other, -Fantoff with derision, Bastiche with envy and hate, whilst Algebar flew -through the garden and screamed. - -Bastiche, then, as if oblivious of the presence of a foe, gazed up at -the clouds and sniffed, and asked the sky where could the smell of -manure be coming from; whilst Fantoff inquired of the tulips whether -this was the washing-day at the castle? This allusion to his birth -quite upset the calm of Bastiche, who descended the steps, opened the -garden gate, and like a fool left the protection of the tulip army and -holly hedge. - -Then, on the plain before the Castle of Flowers, ensued a battle such -as never before was witnessed in Fairyland. The mushrooms formed a -ring seven miles in diameter, and in this ring the heroes struggled; -the sound filled the air for many miles, mixed with the sounds of many -things hastening to see the fight. At the end of an hour the plain was -strewn with unwashed clothes, and the battle was with Fantoff. He tore -the lid off Bastiche, and, not content with this, what must he do but -insert his great green head into the yawning opening, to tear the heart -of his enemy out with his teeth. But Bastiche had no heart, and here -lies one of the morals of the story. For Fantoff had no knowledge of -anatomy and he did not know the impossibility of slaying a man without -a heart—a critic for instance, or a Bastiche. What did he do? Burrowing -deeper and deeper to find his heart, he got his shoulders implicated -in the creaking body of Bastiche, and burrowing deeper still he was -implicated to the loins. - -“He creaks,” cried Fantoff, “so he is still alive!” and went deeper -till he was in to the knees. Then he found that he could not get out, -for Bastiche had in death taken upon him the revenge of a clothes -basket. The fairies tried to pull him out, and also the cat Mizar, -but it was of no avail; so they wheeled him away, and the cat Mizar -followed to the grave. - -In the Castle of Flowers the Lady Primavera turned from watching the -fight and its miserable conclusion; she saw an object at her feet. It -was Blizzard the dwarf; he had left the barrow during the fight, and, -entering the castle by the scullery door, sneaked upstairs, and now -upon one knee was declaring his love; and she returned his passion, it -seems. But their bliss was of short duration. For one day, chancing to -fall asleep in the kitchen, the cook, who was short of vegetables, cut -him up and put him in the pot, and the Lady Primavera ate him in her -soup, and so there was an end of Blizzard. - -For Fantoff read genius; Primavera, fame; Bastiche, the spiteful -critics; Blizzard, the popular author, whose books sell by the ton; -Mizar, the faithful few. The story also as told by Gaillard had several -immoral meanings quite Greek to Célestin. It was, in fact, the work of -Papillard, for the downfall of De Nani had thawed that humorist in his -cell. - -“That is all,” said Gaillard. “To-morrow, if you are better, I will -tell you of the adventures of the cat Mizar, and of all that happened -when he saw his reflection in the looking-glass of the wizard Fantoum. -Fantoum had a blue face; he was half-brother to Fantoff, and his enemy -was the giant Boum-Boum, whose children under the spell of the wizard -were turned into drums before the age of twenty; that is to say, the -boys—the girls turned into drumsticks. I will tell you a story each -day, my little Célestin, and then we will print them all in a pretty -volume bound in butterfly-blue vellum, and call them ‘Tales Told to -Célestin.’ With the money from its sale we will buy a cottage at -Montmorency and keep bees; we will support ourselves on bees and fairy -tales. And now I must say adieu, and run away until to-morrow.” - -“Ah, Montmorency!” murmured Célestin, as Gaillard’s high collar and -frock-coat vanished and the door closed on them, leaving her alone. - -Toto gave the poet his check, imploring him to wait a little longer and -keep him company. - -But Gaillard had now the check in his pocket, and the vision of -Pleasure was kicking her skirts before his eyes, a box of cigars in one -hand, a bottle of champagne in the other. So he took the opportunity -of Garnier’s entrance to make his exit, swearing to return on the -morrow at noon, and ran down the Rue de Perpignan, making for the right -side of the Seine just as a thirsty animal makes for water. - -Then Garnier, like the poet, came in to see the patient; his pockets -were bulging with things, and he held in his hands a square paper -parcel; it was a little picture he had painted for Célestin—a droll -little picture of a Cupid with a cold, an ominous little picture, -perhaps, for, as Gaillard truly said, who can tell what a cold may turn -to? - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE REVENGE OF M. DE NANI. - - -That night Célestin, it would seem, grew worse. Toto, who had made his -bed on the couch in the atelier, slept so soundly that he did not hear -her delirious and rambling conversation. - -Gaillard’s fairy people visited her, and Bastiche and Fantoff commanded -her terrified attention as they did battle once more on the greensward -in front of the Castle of Flowers, whilst Fantoum watched them across -the holly hedge. Then the battle scene vanished, and Mizar the cat -came and took his seat upon her chest. His eyes were pale blue, and -flickered like spirit lamps in a draught; she implored of him to give -her water to drink, and for answer he changed into Gaillard. - -Through all these fancies ran the form of an old man. It was De Nani, -whom she had seen once for a moment as he talked to Toto at the Gare -du Nord: his lascivious and painted face peeped at her here and there -from behind hedges and trees in this phantom land, whilst over all flew -Algebar, the paradisiacal bird, rending the attenuated air with the -constant mournful cry, “Beware! beware! A carrot is trying to enter the -Castle of Flowers.” - -With daylight all these strange fancies vanished, and at seven o’clock, -when Toto entered her room to inquire how she felt, she answered that -she was quite well, but had been dreaming terrible things. She implored -him in her husky whisper to bring in Dodor, and having placed the cage -close to the bed and removed the green cover, he made some coffee and -brought her some with half a buttered roll. - -She drank the coffee, and when he was gone she hid the buttered roll -so that he might think she had eaten it. At all hazards she must keep -up the appearance of not being “very bad,” for if Toto were alarmed he -would, without doubt, send for a doctor, and that meant spending money. -Fully five hundred times had Mme. Liard recounted to her the frightful -expense M. Liard had put her to in his last illness; she always spoke -of the doctor’s bill with hands outstretched a yard wide. - -“Pills—a little box not bigger than a thimble, three francs—three -francs, as I am an honest woman! and plasters a yard wide that did -nothing, as far as I could see, but put the good man in pain; and not -only plasters, but bottles of stuff, sometimes twice a day, red and -brown and yellow, and always changing till one grew giddy; and then -when he had killed him wanted to cut him open to see what he died of. -May I never reach heaven if I tell a lie! That is what doctors are!” - -No wonder Célestin dreaded the craft, and much preferred Choiseul’s -lozenges and Garnier’s sugar candy to the ruinous bottles and the pills -at three francs a thimbleful, and the chance of being cut open “to see -what she died of.” - -Cough lozenges and sugar candy are not perhaps the most effective -remedies for acute pneumonia, especially when the patient has only one -lung; but perhaps, taking that fact into consideration, they were as -serviceable as any others. - -At nine o’clock the concierge, a stolid woman, deaf as a stone, -came up to settle the bedroom and see to the patient. She brought up -with her a newspaper that had just been left in by a little boy. The -wrapper was addressed in a crabbed hand to “M. Cammora, No. 10, Rue de -Perpignan,” and Toto wondered whose the handwriting could be, for he -had never seen the scrawl of M. le Marquis de Nani. - -It was a copy of that morning’s _Pantin_. The first page was occupied -with foreign news and a heavy leading article by Pelisson on the -prospects of beet sugar turning foreign sugars out of the market, and -ending with a regret that the Minister of Agriculture had let several -chances slip for the betterment of the prospects of France. - -Toto turned to the second page and came upon a long article marked -with pencil. He thought at the first glance that it was the review of -a novel, for it was headed “Painter and Prince.” Then after six lines -he discovered it was an interview, after twelve lines that it was an -interview with himself. - -The interviewer, it seems, had discovered that a certain illustrious -young Prince whom the whole world had imagined to be in Corsica -stalking the nimble moufflon, was in fact in Paris, stalking -art—working, in fact, like any child of the people in an attic, Rue de -Perpignan, No. 10. And as Toto saw his address thus publicly proclaimed -the hair of his head stood on end. - -The interview was written in Wolf’s chatty manner. Wolf had three -manners: the worshipful manner, which he applied to geniuses, great -statesmen, and successful tradesmen, when those gentry fell into his -hands; the cut-and-dried, for strike leaders, members of the chamber, -people whose houses had caught fire suspiciously; and the chatty, for -actresses, successful clowns, prominent divorcees, etc. The chatty -interview generally began on the stairs, with a short description of -first impressions. - -The stairs of Toto’s house, it seems, gave one the impression of abject -poverty. - -“When we reached the first floor,” said this mouthpiece of De Nani, -“we inquired of a charwoman for the young Prince ——. She declared her -ignorance of such a person, no Prince to her knowledge having ever -inhabited the house. - -“The interviewer, thus left to his own resources, pursued his quest -through this frightful house, which recalled nothing so much as the -Maison Corbeau of Victor Hugo. On the fourth floor, a hissing sound -rewarded his ear, and knocking at a door, a well-known voice desired -him to enter. Here he found a picture that would have gladdened the -heart of Jean Jacques Rousseau. - -“By the window of a poverty-stricken room sat a girl trimming hats—a -girl of the people, exquisitely pretty, and possessing that innate -refinement common to all Parisiennes, no matter how humble their -origin. By the little stove stood a handsome young man, preparing the -modest meal they were evidently to share together. - -“It was the Prince, who laughed joyously, and placed the little pan -upon the floor, whilst he shook the interviewer warmly by the hand.” - -The whole thing had a most horribly actual air. The teeming brain of -Wolf had supplied little details impossible, one would say, to be -false. The foolish lovers who had renounced, one her home, the other -his world, for the sake of art and love in an attic, stood before one -in the flesh. Wolf, inspired by champagne and the dictation of his -editor, had worked with the fervor and insight of a poet; and one -almost wept over the struggling pair, till one remembered that the -Prince was worth half a million of money, and then one laughed till -one’s sides ached. - -“We are very happy,” said the Prince, at the conclusion of this weird -interview. “Tell all my friends to come and see me, now that you have -found me out. Tell them also that there is only one true happiness—to -be young and poor, and mated to the woman one loves.” - -“That last line,” had murmured De Nani to himself, “will, I have no -doubt, vastly amuse Mme. la Princesse and Mlle. Powhair.” - -Toto let _Pantin_ drop, and turned his white face to the window, as -if he expected to see all Paris looking in and laughing. He knew, -as indeed was the fact, that men were tumbling out of bed bursting -with laughter, and running into their wives’ bedrooms _Pantin_ in -hand; that starch-faced valets were shaking under their starch, as -they handed _Pantin_ to their masters on silver salvers with cups of -chocolate; that young De Harnac, who was more English than his own -bulldog, was crying “My Gawd!” and kicking his legs about in bed with -delight as he read _Pantin_; that Mme. la Princesse was prostrated, -and Mlle. Powhair—he could not imagine what Helen Powers was saying or -thinking. The thought of her was somehow the worst part of all this -trouble. - -His lips were dry, and they felt as if they never could become moist -again. He was quite calm, but this calmness of Toto’s would have -frightened his mother to behold. He neither shrieked nor tore his -hair; but, indeed, the latter feat would have been impossible, for a -fortnight ago he had had it cropped to the bone in imitation of Garnier. - -The hilt of this dagger was the ingratitude of Pelisson, Gaillard & -Co.—the men who had been his guests, to whom he had lent money, and -who had now stabbed him in this cruel manner before all Paris. Little -did he know of the raving Pelisson, who, having sought vainly for -Froissart, had returned by the night mail, which stops at Amiens and -arrives in Paris at seven in the morning, only to find this horrible -snake curled in _Pantin_. Pelisson at this moment was dragging the -terrified Gaillard out of bed, who was protesting that he knew nothing -of the matter, just as Scribe ten minutes ago had protested that -eighteen thousand francs were missing from the safe, he could not tell -how; and as Saxe, the German foreman, had declared that the usual big -edition of _Pantin_ was out, and could not be got back, not if God came -out of Himmel, and that it was not Saxe’s fault that this _schweinhund_ -article had crawled into print—whilst Struve, whose practical joke -had long ago laid the seeds of all this mischief, was the only man -unconcerned by it as he lay asleep after a hard night’s work, and -dreaming of stained-glass windows and saints who had strayed into art. - -But Toto knew nothing of all this: he thought this cruel and spiteful -trick the work of his friends. He had always liked Pelisson, and he had -liked Gaillard. Gaillard had been, in fact, a kind of necessity to -him—a sort of dry-nurse, who wiped his nose and said “There, there!” -when he was fretful, and listened to his secrets, and told him tales, -and put him up to resist his mother. - -A man of the world would have seen at once that some trick had been -played on _Pantin_. Pelisson, of all men in the world, was the last to -let such an article appear in his paper; especially as it was leveled -against a man who was virtually part proprietor. Gaillard, too, was -entirely out of court. But Toto was not a man of the world, and the -bitterest thing to him in this severe humiliation was the supposed -authorship. - -He took up _Pantin_, folded it, and hid it under one of the cushions of -the couch. The act, performed on the impulse of a moment, revealed to -him in a dramatic manner his position. Of what use was the hiding of -one copy of _Pantin_ under a cushion when fifty thousand _Pantins_ were -bellowing his shame all over Paris? So he snatched it out and flung -it open on the table as if for everyone to read—a useless act, for -everyone was reading it. - -Then he smoked a cigarette. In an hour of semi-delirium he smoked -ten. The thing was so immensely vile, so wanton, such bad form, that -the very enormity of it calmed him. A man who learns that the bank -has smashed, that his wife has eloped, and that his house is burnt to -the ground all at the same moment, ten to one receives the news with -calmness—the blow stuns him. He feels that Fate and Death and other -heroic personages have condescended to turn their undivided attention -for a moment to his affairs—he is almost a hero, in fact. - -So Toto turned from blank horror to the heroic mood. The whole world -was against him; well, he would stick to his guns. He almost felt glad -that all this had happened, and lit another cigarette just as Garnier -entered, bearing in his hand a huge bunch of black grapes for Célestin. -They were muscatels, and must have cost him a little fortune, unless he -stole them, or, what is more probable, obtained them on credit. - -“Garnier,” said Toto, his cheeks flushing slightly, “see here,” and he -pointed his cigarette with a wave at _Pantin_ lying open on the table. - -“And she?” asked Garnier, as he made a sign towards the closed door of -Célestin’s room, laying his grapes down on the table and taking up the -paper all at the same time. - -“She is better.” - -“Ah, this which is marked with crosses?” - -“Yes, read it.” - -Garnier began to read, standing under the top-light and holding the -paper at full length before him. In a moment he folded the sheet in -a more comfortable manner and continued reading calmly and without -any sign of astonishment. At one place he frowned slightly, where -Célestin’s name appeared, then when he had finished he laid _Pantin_ -back on the table beside the grapes. - -“Well?” inquired Toto. - -“I do not think that is in very good taste,” said Garnier dryly. - -“What! is that all you have to say—not in very good taste?” - -“My friend,” said Garnier, “it is no affair of mine; but it makes my -fingers tingle none the less. Were it an affair of mine, I would make -you eat that journal and all it contains—_vé_! I have spoken.” - -“Ah, stupid!” cried Toto, uncrossing his legs and moving his arms -about. “You think _I_ have written that!” and the corners of his mouth -went up in a very mirthless rictus. - -“But surely——” - -“I? Why, cannot you see that it is a hoax? No one came here to see me—I -was not frying things over the stove. Do you think for a moment I would -expose myself like that, and give my address? It was done to make fun -of me—everyone will be laughing at me. Can’t you see?” - -“Oh, my friend,” said Garnier, “forgive me, forgive me! How could I -have been so stupid and so blind? Ah, owl that you are!” and he gave -his great chest a thump with his great fist, and then came to the -couch and sat by Toto, and rested his hand on his knee, and poured out -consolation in the language of Arles, punctuated with explosive oaths. - -“Oh, it does not matter. Do you think that I care? I do in a way, for -it shows me the villainy of the world.” - -“Ah, you are right; this villain of a world—it is a beast! But _tenez_! -my dear friend, I hear the little Célestin coughing. I will give her a -grape.” - -He ran into Célestin’s room with the bunch of grapes, and Toto heard -his voice murmuring to her, mixed with Dodor’s voice trying over a few -bars of a song in a despondent sort of manner; for Célestin’s illness -seemed to have put him out of heart during the last couple of days. -Then Garnier came back, closing the door softly behind him, and raising -up his hands at Célestin’s weakness. - -“Say, my dear friend,” said Garnier, “do you not think a doctor ought -to see her? As for me, I do not believe in them, but still—but still——” - -He stopped speaking, and followed the direction of Toto’s frozen stare. - -At the door of the atelier, just pushed open, appeared the -semi-hysterical figure of Gaillard, his hat tilted back, his long -frock-coat hanging loose, and his necktie hastily put on. He had -evidently dressed in a hurry, for he wore odd boots—one patent leather -and the other plain kid. - -“Do you see that man?” said Toto, clutching Garnier’s arm. “Do you see -that man?” - -“_Mais oui._” - -“Then you see the biggest scoundrel in Paris,” said Toto, and he struck -a match and lit a cigarette to show his coolness, averting his eyes at -the same time from the apparition at the door. - -Gaillard raised up his two hands like one of Struve’s stained-glass -saints, and then dropped them with a flop. He did not cross the -threshold, for he was perhaps afraid of being kicked out. - -“Do not be afraid to come in,” said Toto; “I will not assault you. I -am too utterly lost in admiration of your charming insolence—it is a -masterpiece.” - -“Afraid!” said Gaillard, coming in very slowly. “Afraid—afraid of -what? I have no fear left; Toto, Désiré, my friend, we are all ruined. -Pelisson is in despair; Wolf is committing suicide—I saw him myself -being held down by four men. That villain—that villain—that villain of -a De Nani, the cause of it all, has vanished. All the money is gone -from the safe; Scribe is in a state of dementia. I escape from this -inferno and rush to you for sympathy, and I am greeted as a scoundrel!” - -“What do I care about De Nani?” inquired Toto. “Look at that.” - -“Yes,” said Gaillard, “look at that; but I have no need to look at -that—it is burnt into my brain. I could have slain Wolf with my two -hands when he confessed an hour ago, but, _ma foi!_ he was too much -slain already; besides, it was not his fault. Whose fault? Why, De -Nani’s. Pelisson left him in charge; did I not tell you so yesterday?” - -“De Nani?” - -“Yes. Wolf has confessed he wrote the article under the inspiration of -that scoundrel. The old man dictated it word for word; it was a parting -shot at Pelisson. My back feels broken. Why, who is this?” - -A sound of cackling laughter came from outside, and the foolish and -foppish form of young De Harnac appeared at the door, followed by the -figure of Valfray, his little black mustache twisted up at the ends -and his eyeglass in his eye. - -They saw Toto seated on the chintz-covered couch beside Gaillard, a -momentary vision ere they found themselves being led like two naughty -children across the dusty landing towards the stairs by a huge man with -a Provençal accent. - -“It is not good to laugh at one’s friends when they are in trouble,” -said Garnier in his large way, and with a perfume of garlic. “You -will go, please, immediately, and call another day. These are the -stairs—yes, _if_ you please.” - -“Oh, what have you done?” said Toto, when he came back. “Those two -fools will run all over Paris telling lies about me now—no matter! -Gaillard, my dear friend, come with me into the street; I must speak to -you alone. Garnier, my friend, you will see to Célestin till I return, -will you not?” - -He ran into her room for a moment. She tried to hold up her arms to -him, and he kissed her, but he did not see her face; her sunken eyes, -the blueness of her lips, all those signs which spoke of that terrible -pneumonia which kills like the dagger of an unskillful assassin—with -great pain, but none the less surely. He saw only the smooth head of De -Harnac, the black mustache and glittering monocle of Valfray, and the -broad back of Garnier interposing. - -“I am going out for a little; I will not be long, and Garnier will see -that you want nothing till my return.” - -“Oh, Désiré, do not leave me! I am very ill—not so very ill, but -still—— Oh, what will become of you should I die—and Dodor? Is he in -the cage? I have not heard him move.” - -“I will be back soon,” said Toto, “and Dodor is all right.” - -“But I have not heard him move.” - -He lifted the parrot cage, and held it up to show that the bird was -safe, and Dodor spread his wings like a little eagle, as if indignant -that anyone should touch his house but Célestin. She glanced at him as -if satisfied. - -“Does it rain?” - -“No.” - -“I hear the sound of rain—do not get wet. You will return?” - -“Very soon.” - -He did not know what he was saying; it was like a conversation in a -dream. Then he left her and took his hat, and left the atelier leaning -on Gaillard’s arm, whilst Garnier sat on the couch and mused. - -“I must leave Paris at once—I must leave Paris at once!” burst out -Toto when they were in the Rue de Perpignan. “I must leave it forever; -nothing like this ever happened to anyone before. My God! I am going -mad. It is like one of those dreams when we seem to be walking about -the streets naked. Did you see that fool De Harnac’s face, and Valfray -looking all round with his eyeglass?” - -“It is all dreadful,” said Gaillard. “Let us, for Heaven’s sake, sit -down somewhere and think—let us, in the name of Heaven, get some brandy -somewhere. I was drunk last night,—I confess it without shame,—and my -nerves are in pieces. Look at my hand—is that the hand of a person -who ought to be troubled? Suppose a fit were to overtake me? Well, -then—yes, let us leave Paris. Oh, my God, I have odd boots on! Did you -see that woman?—she laughed at them. I must have been absolutely insane -all this morning not to have noticed them before. I have been walking -about all the morning like this.” - -“Yes, I must leave Paris at once. Come in here and sit down. _Garçon_, -brandy, a decanter, and some Apollinaris water.” - -“It is the first warning—I knew it was coming; ataxia always begins -like this. My dear Toto, you know nothing about it; I have read -the whole subject up in the Bibliothèque Nationale. It begins with -forgetfulness in little things; one finds one’s self walking down the -street in slippers, or forgetting how to spell one’s name, and one dies -like a raving maniac. Then, one has tremor of the hand—look at my hand.” - -“Drink some brandy,” said Toto, rousing up a bit from his own misery. -“You will be all right; I have often been like that myself.” - -“No matter; if I die, Pelisson will have killed me. He burst into -my room absolutely like a tiger; you can fancy the shock to one in -my condition. I was absolutely dragged from my bed—threatened with -violence if I did not divulge all that I knew about this infamous -article.” - -“Don’t _speak_ of it!” cried Toto, “don’t, don’t! I want to get to some -quiet place where I know no one. Come, I am going to Struve’s rooms; I -must see him and ask him to take some money to this girl. I will write -you a check at his rooms and you can go and cash it; then I will go to -some country place. You will come with me, will you not? You are the -only friend I have.” - -“To the ends of the earth,” answered Gaillard. “This brandy has saved -my reason if not my life; I will finish what is in the little decanter -if you will not.” - -He finished the brandy, and then, rising, took Toto’s arm. - -It was half-past eleven now, and the day promised to be very warm—a -perfect summer’s day with scarcely a breeze or cloud. The narrow street -was black in the shadow, gold in the sunshine, and a barrel-organ was -playing “Santa Lucia.” - -“Yes, I am better now; the world is not so distinctly horrible as it -was a moment ago. But, Toto, if you are intent on going to Struve’s -rooms, how are we to get there? We are sure to meet people we know.” - -“We must take a carriage. Curse it! I wish it were winter; there are no -closed carriages. You can get a brougham to take me to the station when -we reach Struve’s, but how are we to get there? I can’t parade myself -before Paris. I know,—it is the only thing we can do,—we will take an -omnibus from the Boul’ Miche. We shall meet no one that we know in an -omnibus.” - -In the Boul’ Miche they were fortunate enough to find an omnibus just -stopped and disgorging some passengers—one, moreover, that would drop -them actually at Struve’s door; but they had to wait whilst three other -passengers got in before them. There was a girl in a summer hat that -would have brought tears to Célestin’s eyes, a priest, and a fat lady -bearing a lobster tied to a string; then they found that there was -only one inside place left. - -“You must go outside,” said Toto. - -“But, Désiré, think for a moment. I cannot possibly do this; everyone -will see me. Let us wait and take the next.” - -“Struve may be out if we delay,” said Toto, getting into the vehicle -wearily, and, as it was starting, Gaillard was forced to mount on the -outside, where he sat with his handkerchief to his face as if his nose -were bleeding and his hat tilted over his eyes. Fortunately, no one saw -him, though he imagined in his agony that all Paris was watching him -from the sky, the housetops, the windows, and the street. - -Struve was at breakfast. He had evidently been reading _Pantin_, for -it was open before him, and he put a dish of kidneys over the damnable -article in a pathetic attempt to hide it as the poet and the painter -entered his room, with all the dejection of a couple of cats that have -just been washed. - -“We are going away,” said Gaillard. - -“Sit down,” lisped Struve, jumping up. “Toto, I am very glad to see -you—have a cigar, have a cigarette? Now what is all this nonsense I -have heard? Gaillard, for goodness’ sake put your head straight; you -are not a lily. Pelisson has been here—I know all this cursed nonsense; -he has been let in by old De Nani. I always told him he would; everyone -is cursing poor old Pelisson for a fool. Well, then, what matter? it -will soon blow over.” - -“We are going away,” said Toto, taking up Gaillard’s whine; “at least, -I am—forever!” - -“So,” said Struve, lighting a cigarette, “you are going away forever; -and when are you coming back? Toto, for goodness’ sake, don’t think -that I am joking. I know what Paris is, and for Heaven’s sake don’t go -about with that long face! Laugh, laugh, and you are clad in triple -brass; no one ever laughs at a man who is laughing—they always laugh -with him. Laugh at Pelisson, laugh at De Nani, do as they do at the -carnival ball; a jester strikes me with his bauble, I strike Jules, -Jules Alphonse, and so it goes on. Don’t take this thing seriously.” - -“I cannot laugh,” said Toto, looking at his boots with the air of a -martyr. - -“Well, then, smoke.” - -“Thanks, yes, I will take a cigarette. I want to speak to you; but -first I want Auguste to do something for me.” - -He sat down at the writing table and made out a holograph check for ten -thousand francs, and dispatched Gaillard with it to the bank. - -“Go to Porcheron’s and get a brougham, and come back in it, my dear -fellow.” - -“But your luggage?” - -“Oh, I will buy things wherever I go.” - -Gaillard departed, and Toto resumed his seat. - -“I want to tell you all,” he said. “There is a girl; she brought this -mischief upon me, though it was not entirely her fault.” - -“Oh, these girls!” murmured Struve. - -“I know they are frightful, but, still, I must do something for this -girl.” - -“Pah! Give her five hundred francs—I know what girls are—and forget -her.” - -“Oh, for the matter of that, she is not—she loves me, I think, in her -way—of course she does not know all the mischief she has done: how -could she? No matter. I want you to call this afternoon and explain -that I am gone away for a while.” - -“I say, you know,” said Struve, who did not relish the idea of acting -as ambassador between Toto and some hussy, who would probably pull his -hair for his pains, “would it not be better for you to write? There is -something much more final about a letter left in by a postman than a -message taken by a friend.” - -“I could not write to her, and I want you to give her some money. -Gaillard is bringing ten thousand francs back; I will give her three. -Of course I will provide for her afterwards. Do, my dear fellow, help -me in this, and I will be forever grateful; besides, you will never see -me again.” - -“All right,” said Struve; “I will do as you ask.” - -The three thousand francs decided him. There were few women of this -kind who would pull the hair of a messenger armed with the consolation -of a three-thousand-franc note; besides, he felt a sympathy for the -unfortunate Toto, this sparrow who had built too high. They sat for -half an hour smoking. - -“Of course,” said Toto, “the affair does not end here between De Nani -and me. When I have time to breathe I will find him out.” - -“What for?” - -“To make him fight.” - -The idea of a duel between Toto and De Nani was almost too much for -Struve’s gravity. However, he did not laugh. - -“You will not find De Nani; he has vanished. Pelisson says the safe -has been cleaned out. It was that fool Scribe, the cashier; he lent De -Nani the keys for a moment the day before yesterday, and the old fellow -must have taken an impression of them in wax. The worst of it is, -Pelisson cannot prosecute—the old fellow knows too much about the inner -workings of _Pantin_. And yet Pelisson always thought him a fool. No, -you will not find De Nani; and if you did, he would not fight. It is my -impression that he is a very deep card, this Marquis. You see, Pelisson -thought him only a drunken old man who would be wax in his hands. Who -is this?” - -Gaillard appeared. - -“I have a brougham at the door,” said Gaillard in a mournful voice, -“and here is the money, dear Toto, partly in notes, partly in gold.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -ENVOY. - - -Meanwhile, Garnier, left alone in the atelier, sat musing on the -strangeness of things, and waiting for Toto’s return. Ten minutes -passed by, and half an hour. Through the top-light, which was pulled -a bit open, he could hear the sparrows bickering on the roof, and the -voice of a hawker in the Rue de Perpignan crying “Strawberries!” whilst -a broad dash of sunlight, falling upon the lower part of the wall -opposite to him, lit the place with an effulgence of its own, like a -great lamp radiating sunbeams. - -It seemed such a pity that Célestin should be ill this glorious -weather. Presently he heard her voice calling for Désiré in a muffled -manner. - -“He will be back very soon, my little Célestin,” said Garnier, as he -stood beside the bed, smiling down upon the patient. “_Mon Dieu!_ my -poor child, how blue your lips have become, even within so short a -time. Say to me, Célestin, how you feel.” - -“I feel choking,” murmured Célestin, with a terrible look of appeal, -as though she had but that moment recognized the extent of her illness -with the fact that Toto had gone out. - -Garnier made a little dramatic back-step, which he corrected by folding -his hands loosely in front of him and rubbing them slightly one upon -the other as if nothing was the matter. The frightful truth suddenly -broke upon him that Célestin, his little Célestin, was terribly ill. - -“I feel choking—it is terrible—my friend.” - -“Oh, yes,” said Garnier, dropping beside her on his knees. “What is it? -You frighten me. Have you pain? Speak, Célestin, and tell me.” - -“Oh, no pain, but I cannot breathe. Stay, I am better now—the weight -has gone a bit; but it will come back. I am afraid to die; what will -he do? I would have worked for him; but it is no use—I cannot if I am -dead. And he was in trouble; I could see it on his face. We are so -poor, you know.” - -Garnier felt horrified, paralyzed in the knees and unable to move. - -“What is this you say? what is this you say?” he murmured. - -“Is it raining?” - -“Oh, no, it is very fine. What is this I hear you say, Célestin? Are -you very ill? It is bright sunshine outside; there is no rain.” - -“I hear the sound of rain.” - -“It does not rain,” said Garnier in a heart-broken voice as he watched -her eyes wandering about the room as if pursuing some fugitive vision. -“Can you not see the sun shining at the window?” - -Célestin sighed. - -“Désiré has gone out. When did he go? Ah, yes, I remember now; he would -not be a moment, he said.” - -“He will not be a moment,” said Garnier, stumbling to his feet. “I will -run and see if I can fetch him. I will not be absent one little moment.” - -He stole out of the bedroom, through the atelier, and rushed down the -stairs, hatless and as if the top of the house were on fire. There was, -fortunately, a doctor in the street; he lived but a few doors away, -and by good luck had just returned from his round of morning visits. - -He was a depressed-looking young man with a pointed beard, somewhat -like Gaillard in face, but not nearly so well dressed. He came at once -with Garnier, and as he took his seat beside Célestin he laid his -polished silk hat, crown downwards, upon the floor. - -Garnier stood at the end of the bed looking on. He suddenly felt a -strong belief in doctors. Dr. Fénélon seemed to him a god; his manner -was so assured, and he had the air of one who knew, coupled with the -gravity of a judge. He noticed that the doctor wore a bone stud in -his white shirt front, and every little detail of his dress, to the -patent-leather toecaps of his dull kid boots. - -The doctor spoke to Célestin, just a few words by way of introducing -himself, and then drew out a watch to assist him in feeling her -pulse. The watch had a large spider hand which went hopping along, -making sixty hops to the minute. This spider hand deepened Garnier’s -confidence, as did the binaural stethoscope which the doctor drew out -of his breast pocket and swung about his neck. - -Garnier turned his face away whilst the physician unbuttoned Célestin’s -nightdress at the neck. A moment he paused, as if undecided as to -stripping her to the waist, Hôtel Dieu fashion, then shook his head, -and, slipping the ear-pieces in his ears, began his auscultation. - -Garnier, standing with his face averted, heard the sparrows on the roof -and an occasional pr-rt, pr-rt from Dodor’s cage, as the lark changed -his perch, also a piano-organ, the thinnest of sounds fluctuating on -the faint breeze blowing from the direction of the Seine. - -Sometimes Dr. Fénélon cleared his throat, or said “Pardon.” Then he -began to percuss, and the little blows sounded as if against something -solid. - -Garnier turned; the examination was over, and the doctor, the -stethoscope swinging still from his neck, was buttoning the top button -of the nightdress. This accomplished, he stood just for a second with -hands folded, overlooking the patient from head to feet; one might -almost have imagined him measuring her with his eye. - -Célestin, whose eyes had been half closed, suddenly opened them, and -muttered something in an alarmed manner. - -“What is it?” - -“Fantoum,” she muttered, shrinking slightly as if from some vision in -the air. - -The doctor led Garnier into the atelier, and by the way he closed the -bedroom door Garnier knew that it was all up. - -“Your wife?” asked the doctor, removing the instrument from his neck -and placing it folded in his breast-pocket. - -“Oh, no, the wife of a friend—simply that. Ah, my God! I fear she is -worse than we thought.” - -“So then I can speak: she is moribund. I can absolutely do nothing. -You understand? What can I do? One lung is gone. Well, then, the other -is greatly touched at the apex—absolutely solid with pneumonia at the -base. She is living by a piece of lung not so large as my hand. We -cannot change all that.” - -“Can nothing be done?” - -“My dear friend, she is to all intents and purposes dead. She has been -dying some time—probably since yesterday.” - -“Ah, I hear you say all that; you say she is dead. I have never heard -a thing like that before so frightful. I have heard of doctors keeping -people alive. Well, then, look: it is not the question of payment; it -is not a question of one, two, three napoleons, but thousands! You are -not speaking to a fool; I am a great painter. I have only to close my -hands on the money, and half of what I earn is yours. I am Gustave -Garnier; I never told a lie. Ask Melmenotte what I can do.” - -“My dear friend,” sighed Dr. Fénélon, “I would save her for nothing, -but I am not God.” - -“Nothing can be done?” - -“Nothing.” - -“Brandy?” - -“I would not trouble her with brandy—it might even put the flame out; -she is just trembling;” and he held out his hand, imitating the motion -of a butterfly poised. - -“How long?” - -“Perhaps not for hours, possibly a day; perhaps in half an hour—a few -minutes. Were she to sit up in bed, she would expire as if shot.” - -“Ah, well, we must face it. You will come in again? Oh, my God!” - -“I will come in this evening. My dear child,” continued the doctor, -taking the great arm of Garnier in his thin hand, “I would stay if I -could be of use; I can only leave her to you. No, I would not trouble -her with a priest; she is, I am afraid, delirious.” - -Garnier returned to the bedroom, a look of terrible perplexity on his -face. He could not grasp the facts. Full of life and strength, he had -never troubled to think of death, it was all so remote; and here it was -grasping Célestin. - -She was semi-conscious again, and the one word kept repeating itself on -her lips, “Désiré, Désiré!” It was like a person crying for water. - -“Oh, why does he not come?” murmured Garnier, remembering again of a -sudden the existence of Toto and his long absence. - -“He is coming,” he murmured, holding her hand; “he will be here in a -little while. Oh, my dear little Célestin, what can I give you—what can -I do for you?” - -He saw the bunch of grapes, and plucked one off and held it to her -lips. She sucked it feebly, and then cast her eyes up to heaven in the -old familiar way, an action that tore Garnier’s heart as if a knife had -ripped it up. Then she seemed to forget Toto, for she lay still, and -the man beside her prayed God to send him quickly, for nothing could be -more frightful than her reiterated request for this man who had gone -away. - -He did not feel jealous; it was all one now. She wanted Toto. It was as -if she had wanted water to drink; he would not have felt jealous of the -water, so why should he feel jealous of Toto? He would have given his -whole prospects in life for the return of the Prince. - -As if in answer to his prayer came the sounds of footsteps in the -atelier, and Dodor moved restlessly in his cage as the door was -cautiously opened. It was a priest whom the deaf concierge had sent -for after inquiring of Dr. Fénélon the state of his patient. - -He was an elderly man with a large stomach and a kind, sweet face. -Garnier glanced at him, and threw up his eyes, as if to say “No use,” -but he felt glad of the presence of the holy man. - -The priest took a chair on the opposite side of the bed, as if to rest -his stomach for a moment, and breathed hard and pursed out his lips; -then he knelt by the chair to pray. Garnier, kneeling by his side of -the bed, was as still as the effigy of the Lord Jesus which hung above. -And so the time went on, Célestin rousing herself occasionally to call -for Toto, and relapsing into stupor. Once she cast her eyes at the bird -moping in its cage, and moved her lips at it, as if trying to tell it -of her trouble. - -It was now late in the afternoon. To Garnier it seemed a very long -time since, stopping near the Panthéon, he had bought the grapes for -his little Célestin, and brought them so joyously to the atelier. -His hearing, strained to the utmost for the footsteps of Toto, was -rewarded by all sorts of futile sounds, far away and near. - -At five Dr. Fénélon looked in again, and found his patient unconscious. -He shook his head and vanished, for Garnier did not attempt to detain -him; he had lost all faith in doctors. - -“But who is this Désiré she has been calling for?” whispered the good -priest, leaning towards Garnier. “Could we not send for him?” - -Garnier shook his head. He had gone out with Gaillard—where he could -not tell. - -Towards six, Célestin, still unconscious, gave a little shiver, as if -at the coldness of her lover, and Dodor in the cage fluttered his wings -as if in fear. - -The priest, who had been standing patiently, fell upon his knees, and -prayed with fervor for the passing soul. - - * * * * * - -Struve told me most of this story as we sat one day before a café on -the boulevards. - -“That is the man,” he said, indicating a good-looking young fellow on a -coal-black horse, who was riding by, accompanied by a girl with auburn -hair, mounted on a magnificent gray; “that is Toto.” - -“But the girl?” - -“His wife, the Princesse; she was Helen Powers.” - -“But surely—is she married to him?” - -“Very much so. He confessed all his sins, and she gave him absolution. -No woman, you see, can withstand a confession of folly; you see, it is -a far more genuine thing than a confession of love—with ordinary men.” - -“You do not think Toto an ordinary man?” - -“I have never thought of him as a man. Come, it is five o’clock; I am -tired of sitting still.” - -“A moment. Where has old De Nani gone to?” - -“He is living at Monte Carlo. He lost a hundred thousand francs there, -and they have pensioned him; they give him sixty francs a week, I -believe.” - -“Pelisson did not prosecute him?” - -“Oh, no! all that did _Pantin_ a lot of good.” - -“If I had been Toto, I would have made him fight.” - -“Thank goodness we were saved from that! A duel between Toto and De -Nani was the only thing wanted to cap the business and kill everyone -outright.” - -“Kill them?” - -“With laughter.” - -“And about Garnier?” - -“Ah, Garnier—he only wanted one thing before he met Célestin.” - -“What was that?” - -“Célestin—she has made him. Célestin is not dead; she will never die -so long as men have eyes and Garnier’s pictures exist. She might have -lived with Toto and produced little Totos; she lives instead with -Garnier, and through him will live forever.” - -“A moment. What of Gaillard?” - -“He has grown very fat. You know, Toto shook him off when he married, -Pelisson forsook him, De Brie gave him the cold shoulder; and what did -he do? He sat down and wrote ‘Poum-Poum,’ and turned all the minor -poets into ridicule, and sold a hundred thousand copies in a month, and -‘slew art,’ to use his own expression, because it tried to slay him. He -is making eighty thousand francs a year, if he is making a sou. I am -glad of it; he is not a bad sort—Gaillard.” - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rapin, by Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAPIN *** - -***** This file should be named 54483-0.txt or 54483-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/4/8/54483/ - -Produced by Roger Frank, Brian Wilcox and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from images made available by the -HathiTrust Digital Library.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Rapin - -Author: Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -Release Date: April 3, 2017 [EBook #54483] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAPIN *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank, Brian Wilcox and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from images made available by the -HathiTrust Digital Library.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="transnote covernote"> - <p>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p> -</div> - -<h1 class="padb2">THE RAPIN</h1> - -<h2><span class="smaller">BY</span><br /> - -HENRY DE VERE STACPOOLE<br /> - -<span class="smaller smcap">Author of “Pierrot”</span></h2> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/i_001.jpg" width="61" height="75" alt="colophon" /> -</div> - -<p class="center noindent"><span class="small">NEW YORK</span><br /> - -<span class="large">HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY</span><br /> - -<span class="small">1899</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="center padb2"><em>This book is not for sale outside of the United States -and Canada.</em></p> - -<p class="center padb2"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1899,<br /> - -BY<br /> - -HENRY HOLT & CO.</p> - -<p class="center">THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,<br /> -RAHWAY, N. J.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">iii</a></span></p> - -<h2 class="chapter" id="FOREWORD">FOREWORD.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the rooms of my friend Otto Struve there hangs a parrot cage -containing a somewhat dejected-looking lark. It was given to him by -Gustave Garnier, the man who took the Prix de Rome last year—or was -it the year before?—and whose picture of a girl was bought by the -state for I do not know how many thousand francs before it had hung a -fortnight in the Salon. A story connects the painter and the picture -and the bird—a story whose name ought to have been “Célestin” but for -that eternal unfitness of things which makes the comedy of real life an -inverted image of the comedy of romance and demands for the story of -Célestin the title of “Toto,” or, if it please you better, “The Rapin.”</p> - -<p class="right10">H. de V. S.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">v</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="center"> -<table class="my90" border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="toc"> -<tr> -<th class="tdc normal" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Part I.</span></th> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl" colspan="2">CHAPTER</td> -<td class="tdr">PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">I.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Toto</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Part_I_CHAPTER_I">1</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">II.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Good Advice of M. de Nani</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">III.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Fag End of a Night and the Beginning of -a Morning</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">IV.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Poetry of Hats</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">V.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Gaillard the Comforter</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">VI.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Fanfoullard, Mirmillard, and Papillard</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc normal" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Part II.</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">I.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">It Is Not Always May</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">II.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Fête Champêtre</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">III.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Genesis of “Pantin”</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">IV.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Receipt for Stuffing a Marquis</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">V.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Angélique</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">VI.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Departure</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc normal" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Part III.</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">I.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Garnier</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">II.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Sorrows of Gaillard</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">III.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Sorrows of Art</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">IV.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Bourgeois—Banker—Prince</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_192">192</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">V.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Shower</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc normal" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Part IV.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">vi</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">I.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Adam Froissart</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">II.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Story of Fantoff and Bastiche</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_253">253</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">III.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Revenge of M. de Nani</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_262">262</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr vertt padr2">IV.</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Envoy</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td> -</tr></table></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter padb2"><p class="center noindent"><span class="largest">THE RAPIN.</span></p></div> - -<h2 class="no-break padb2" id="Part_I"><b>Part I.</b></h2> - -<h3 class="no-break" id="Part_I_CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.<br /> -<br /><span class="smaller">TOTO.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> room was filled with an odor of Nice violets, fur, and the faint -scent of caravan tea. A number of candles burning under rose-colored -shades lit the place subduedly, whilst through the great windows the -broad white expanse of the Boulevard Haussmann reflected the cold light -of the April evening with a suggestion of snow.</p> - -<p>The Princesse de Cammora’s “Five-o’clock” was exhausting itself, -Madeline Frémont of the Comédie Française having just departed, also -the Duchesse M—— de M——, the wheels of whose barouche had a moment ago -rumbled away round the corner of the Rue de Courcelles.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">2</a></span></p> - -<p>Nothing was left now but for the remaining few to take their departure. -There was nothing to keep them, yet they clung after the fashion of -grounds to the bottom of a coffee-cup.</p> - -<p>There were three ancient dames and an old Marquis, all relics of the -Empire, all boring each other to death, and lingering on in the dim -hope of being asked to dinner. A pretty girl in furs and picture hat -stood at one of the windows, her furs thrown open, and her eyes fixed -meditatively upon the street. M. le Marquis Sobrahon de Nani was -explaining to two old Empire women the difference between the Comédie -Française now and “then,” whilst the Princesse de Cammora sat near -the tea-table with its little cups and dishes of <em>petits fours</em> and -what-nots, conversing volubly with another Princesse, painted, after -the fashion of her hostess, with the roses of eighteen on the parchment -of fifty.</p> - -<p>“I should never have called him Toto,” wailed the Princesse de Cammora, -whilst the girl at the window pricked her ears beneath her picture hat, -and seemed more than ever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span> absorbed by the Boulevard Haussmann. “It -was the wretched <em>Nounou’s</em> fault; she came from Tarbes. Really, if -I had known the worry of nurses, I would never have had a child. She -stole everything she could lay her hands upon—my bracelets, my rings, -the drops off the grand chandelier; everything was found in her box; -it was like the nest of a magpie. She spoke as if she held pins in her -mouth, and she could never pronounce the name Désiré, so she called him -Toto. Her husband was an Italian from Ventimiglia, and he was called -Toto, and so it pleased the good God that my child should receive this -outrageous nickname. Everyone calls him Toto now, and the wretched boy, -when I accuse him of his wildnesses, throws the name in my teeth, and -asks me how he can live seriously with such a pug-dog name attached to -him. I assure you, my dear Mathilde, the amounts I have paid during the -last month would horrify you—<em>bills</em> that he has run up! Oh, no, never -give a child a thoughtless name! I assure you, in this world <em>things -often begin in jest which end very much in earnest</em>. If you could only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span> -guess one-half of this mad boy’s wickedness and absurd”—here the other -Princesse made a grimace at Helen Powers, the American millionairess -in the picture hat, as if to say, “She is listening”—“and absurd -good-nature!” resumed the mother of Toto, snapping her scent-bottle -lid—“wickednesses without a particle of real wickedness in them, but -none the less annoying to a mother for that. Only the other night he -came home without any money. It seems he had met a poor old woman near -the Madeleine, and for a freak upset the basket of apples she was -carrying; then, to pay her for her apples, what must he do but empty -all the money in his pocket—some seventeen napoleons, as I afterwards -learnt—into her lap! That is the sort of wickedness my Toto indulges -in.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” moaned the other, shaking a crumb off her muff, “such -wickednesses are enough to open the gates of heaven. And this poor old -woman?”</p> - -<p>“She has retired into the country to live on this bounty. Toto, I -believe, went to-day to see her and carry her some more assistance. -<em>Mon Dieu!</em>”</p> - -<p>Someone who had slipped into the room, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span> who had been standing -unobserved behind the heavy curtains of the door listening to the lies -in the air, slipped out now like a hound freed from the leash, and -embraced the Princesse de Cammora, nearly dislocating her neck, and -brushing the bloom off her right cheek. It was Toto.</p> - -<p>Never was created a more debonair or devil-may-care-looking person -than Toto; the name fitted him like a glove, at least now, as he stood -helping himself to sweets from the table and laughing at his mother. He -looked about eighteen; his real age, however, was twenty-two, and he -possessed that brightness of eye and vivacity of manner which sometimes -indicates genius, and sometimes excellent health, combined with a -highly strung nervous temperament. Affecting Longchamps and art, the -society of pugilists and men of letters, shining here as a <em>flâneur</em>, -there as the patron of little poets, and lately—somewhat in secret—as -a painter of pictures painted all by himself, he presented a queer -variety of that always amusing insect, the “child of the age.”</p> - -<p>“Where the devil can Toto have come from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span>?” asked Otto Struve, the art -critic, one day, tilting his hat back in momentary astonishment. “His -father, on his own showing, was a miser; his mother never laughed. -They marry, and live for ten years unproductive as a pair of icebergs, -and then produce Toto, who only stops smiling when he laughs or yawns, -and spending money when he sleeps; whose head produces the most -extraordinary ideas in Paris; whom God constructed with one eye on -the gingerbread fair, and whom the devil made a prince of—a prince of -twenty, with the ideas of ten and the vices of sixty!”</p> - -<p>“I am a changeling,” had replied Toto, bonneting Otto Struve’s hat in -such a manner that it had to be cut off with scissors.</p> - -<p>Now he saluted everyone at once—Helen Powers, and his mother, and the -old Princesse de Harnac. The Empire decadents came out of their corner -like lizards towards sunshine, and he promptly invited them to stay to -dinner, knowing that his mother hated them, and that he would be dining -out himself.</p> - -<p>“I have been to a cock-fight at Chantilly,” he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span> explained, glancing -down at the suit of tweed in which he was dressed. “The police broke it -up, and we had to run; but they wired, and the police stopped me at the -Nord. They let me go when I gave my address; then I took a cab from the -Nord, and coming downhill we ran over a dog—nothing but accidents.”</p> - -<p>The old Marquis de Nani lifted up his hands in pretended horror to -please his hostess, and lowered them again and took a pinch of snuff -when that lady frowned slightly.</p> - -<p>“I do not see any particular harm in cock-fighting,” said Toto’s -mother, appealing to the company generally, and Helen Powers in -particular. “I know it sounds cruel, but, then, they say the cocks -enjoy it.”</p> - -<p>“That must be so,” said the Marquis, replacing his snuff-box in his -pocket, “or else they would not fight.”</p> - -<p>“But——” said Miss Powers, and stopped. Her eyes had met Toto’s eyes. -He was standing almost behind his mother and making grimaces, as if -to say, “For goodness’ sake don’t begin an argument,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span> or we shall -never get away.” “But,” said Miss Powers, shamelessly turning the -conversation in the wished-for direction, “you promised me, M. le -Prince, to show me those pictures on which you were engaged.”</p> - -<p>“That is why I came back in such a hurry,” replied Toto. “And if you -will accompany me now to my studio, come on, and M. le Marquis also, -for he is a connoisseur. No one else; my bashfulness will not hold more -than two comfortably.”</p> - -<p>He led the way, laughing, out of the room and up the great staircase, -Helen Powers following and the old Marquis de Nani toiling after, -his Empire legs unaccustomed to such unstately swiftness. On the top -landing Prince Toto opened a door and switched on the electric light, -exposing to view a large square studio.</p> - -<p>One could see at a glance that this was the atelier of no dilettante. -Work was written on the place from the top light to the boarded -floor. Several massive easels stood about with the air of willing -laborers awaiting their jobs; there was a throne and some drapery; a -painting-jacket hung<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span> suspended from a nail in the wall, along which -a number of canvases stood with their backs to the room like children -undergoing punishment.</p> - -<p>Helen Powers felt utterly astonished. She had known Toto some time, -and she liked him more, perhaps, than she had ever liked another man; -but she was alive to his faults, his irresponsibility, his childish -wildnesses. Here, then, was a revelation of honest hard work more -amazing than a jewel in a toad’s head.</p> - -<p>“I know the place is rather bare,” said Toto apologetically, “but it’s -good enough to work in. It’s a bit cold now, but I light a fire when I -am working at the nude, and then it is like a furnace. Here’s a thing.”</p> - -<p>He took one of the canvases in Coventry and placed it upon an easel.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my God, how beautiful!” said the old Marquis de Nani, -putting on his pince-nez as the electric light fell full upon the -indifferent-looking daub exposed so ruthlessly to view.</p> - -<p>“Everyone says that,” said Toto, so innocently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span> and so frankly that the -tears almost rose to Helen Powers’ eyes.</p> - -<p>“I have never seen a picture quite like that,” continued the Marquis. -“There is an air about it, a something indefinable about it. Those -bulrushes”—it was a naked nymph trying to screen herself behind -bulrushes—“those bulrushes seem to quiver in the wind.”</p> - -<p>“Otto Struve said Ingres might have painted it,” said Toto, with a -smile that made him look like an angel by Raphael. He had several -smiles at his command, and most of them made him look like a -good-humored devil. “But they turned it away from the Salon, though I’d -had half of the hanging committee to dinner the night before and made -them jolly. Otto said the other half were jealous. I’ll have the whole -lot next time if I can get them. Here’s a John the Baptist. What do you -think of that?”</p> - -<p>John the Baptist was brought forth, and a Sisera and Jael, all treated -in the old original manner, with a difference due to want of skill. A -lamentable Holofernes appeared and vanished.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span></p> - -<p>“Those are all classical,” said the author after De Nani had almost -bleated himself hoarse in their praise, revolving in his own mind the -while a project which had for aim the borrowing of five hundred francs -from this illustrious artist. “But this is original, or, at least, I -think so.”</p> - -<p>He exposed a blind beggar and his daughter, filled with a mawkish -sentimentality strangely at variance with the known character of the -Prince.</p> - -<p>Helen Powers looked on. Her liking for Toto had rapidly altered. This -art show had supplied the crystallizing thread for her feelings to -seize upon. She was now mournfully in love with him. It was as if he -had suddenly become maimed and needful of her pity. Her mind became -filled with anger against Otto Struve and old De Nani and all the other -sycophants or sneerers who had belauded this poor boy and his works. -She felt a kindness for cock-fighting as she gazed upon the blind -beggar and his whining yellow-ocher daughter, a strange emotion in the -breast of a delicately nurtured girl, and, so to speak, one of the -minor miracles wrought by art.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span></p> - -<p>Toto, as anxious for praise as a baby for milk, looked at her with dark -expectant eyes.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what to say,” said the poor girl. “I know nothing about -art, but I think I like Jael the best; but don’t take my opinion, -please, for I am an utter ignoramus. What a time it must have taken you -to paint all these!”</p> - -<p>“That’s just what it didn’t,” replied the artist joyously, as if he had -outwitted art by some clever trick. “I paint like lightning. You see, I -haven’t much time to spare; but I love it, and give all the time I can. -I have often thought of throwing everything else over and giving all my -time to art.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, do!” said Helen earnestly.</p> - -<p>“Do what?” asked the lightning artist.</p> - -<p>“Give up all your time to it, be in earnest over it. Nothing is done in -this world without earnestness of purpose. I am sure you would be—would -be—a great artist if you worked. Give up cock-fighting and all that, -and take seriously to art.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know,” said Prince Toto, putting the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span> blind beggar away, “I -have often thought of kicking the world over. I’ve seen everything and -done everything worth doing, and I feel as old as the hills.”</p> - -<p>“He, he, he!” bleated the Marquis de Nani.</p> - -<p>“Then why not begin at once?” said Helen. “If you are only in earnest -and have purpose, you will succeed, for I am sure you have genius.”</p> - -<p>The unlucky little word had escaped unweighed by the speaker. Toto -nodded reflectively, as if to some thought that had just left the -shelter of his curly head to take visible form.</p> - -<p>“I am sure that M. le Prince has more genius in that head of his than -resides in all those palette-scrapers one sees in the Louvre,” declared -the Marquis de Nani, taking a pinch of snuff and making a little -old-fashioned bow, as if to the observation that had just escaped from -him. He held out his box, and the amateur genius took a pinch and -sneezed frightfully.</p> - -<p>“And genius,” continued the old gentleman reflectively, adding on -two hundred and fifty francs to the intended loan, “it seems to me, -never has a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span> more charming home than with a man of birth; birth comes -out even in a picture. That blind beggar and his little daughter. -Ah, my God! cannot one see the sympathy of the well-born for the -poor illuminating it? I never praise—old age has made a wreck of my -enthusiasm; but my heart rekindles when I see art thus wrested from the -hands of the hateful <em>canaille</em> by one of <em>us</em>.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed!” said Helen Powers, whose father had been a pig-slaughterer.</p> - -<p>“Indeed yes, mademoiselle!” replied the old man, winking and blinking -like a delirious goat, whilst Toto looked on with a grin. “I have left -all my ambition behind me, buried beneath the ruins of the Empire, else -would I wish to be young like M. le Prince, and gifted like the painter -of these treasures.”</p> - -<p>“Now I must be going,” said Helen Powers.</p> - -<p>“And I,” said Toto; “I have a dinner on at the Grand Café.”</p> - -<p>“Why,” cried the Marquis, seeing his seven hundred and fifty francs -vanishing, “I thought you were going to dine here, at home<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span>!”</p> - -<p>“Not I indeed!” said Toto; “I am giving a little dinner of my own.”</p> - -<p>“Alas!” moaned the old man, “I had counted upon your pleasant company. -I am desolated.”</p> - -<p>“Well, bring your desolation to my feast.”</p> - -<p>“But——” said M. le Marquis, glancing down at his frock-coat.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s nothing,” replied Toto; “I am going to dine in these.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” said the other, “I will go down and make my excuses to the -Princesse. Pardon me, mademoiselle.”</p> - -<p>“With pleasure,” answered Helen Powers, and he tripped away like a boy.</p> - -<p>“Toto,” said the girl,—she called him Toto sometimes when no one was -by,—“beware of that old man and all these people who praise you; -there’s nothing so bad for an artist as praise. Art,” she continued, -gazing at him and speaking as if she knew all about it, “is always -capable of improvement. I mean the artist is. Don’t mind what he says -about the <em>canaille</em>—remember Millet;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span> go and get a blouse like a -common man, work like a common man. All people are common in art till -they have made princes of themselves like Raphael and Michael Angelo.”</p> - -<p>“That is what I have been thinking lately,” said the unhappy Toto, -imbibing this lesson greedily because it fitted in with his whim, and -whims with Toto sometimes lasted for months—Mlle. Dumaresque lasted -for three, and cost him sixty thousand francs. “Just what I have been -thinking: what is the use of all this life? I’m sick of it. If one -could invent a new way of spending money or something new to eat—but -it’s just the same old round. I’ve thought of committing suicide, -sometimes.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t, Toto—don’t speak like that!”</p> - -<p>“I won’t; besides, I didn’t think of it seriously.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me, Toto,” said Helen, in the voice of a mother speaking to a -child, “do you ever think seriously of anything?”</p> - -<p>“I think I do,” said Toto, rubbing his cheek against a corner of her -sealskin jacket, because it was soft and gratified his sensual nature. -“I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span> thought seriously of running away from here, and living by my -painting—seriously.”</p> - -<p>A look came into his face that astonished her, a look of iron -determination or leaden obstinacy, she could not tell which; but it -made her feel sure that if he ever did commit such a folly he would -adhere to it till he was famous or, a more probable eventuality, dead.</p> - -<p>“For” said Toto, “I have got a queer sort of feeling lately: it’s -money-hate. It’s awfully funny, for it’s not exactly money-hate, but -it’s a want to make money and not spend it. It’s like a man that wants -to dig.”</p> - -<p>Helen looked at him proudly.</p> - -<p>“Here,” thought she, “is the <em>man</em> breaking out; the boy is dying away. -Toto will be a great man yet.” Alas for Helen’s thoughts! What woman -can ever understand a man? what woman could ever have understood Toto? -Otto Struve alone got him in a true focus, but of that anon.</p> - -<p>“Besides,” said Toto, still rubbing his cheek softly against the -fur, a caress which Helen took to herself, “I feel that I—I want to -protect someone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span> to feed them and work for them, and I haven’t anyone -to—protect, for everyone I know is so rich.”</p> - -<p>Helen’s eyes became dim. She was just about to say something hopeful in -reply, when the old Marquis entered the room, jubilant like a schoolboy -going to a treat.</p> - -<p>“Now good-by,” said Helen, pressing Toto’s hand. “No, don’t come with -me; I’ll find my way. Good-by, M. le Marquis;” and she vanished to say -good-by to her hostess and find her coachman, who for the last two -hours had been outside shivering in the cold April evening.</p> - -<p>As Toto and his companion passed the drawing-room door, the Princesse -appeared for a moment and drew the old fellow aside.</p> - -<p>“Be sure and take care of my boy, Marquis, and give him good advice.”</p> - -<p>“Princesse, be assured,” replied the gentleman of the old school, -placing his hand upon his heart, “<em>I</em> will give him good advice; and,” -he whispered, “it is all right in that quarter. She called him a -genius, and that tickles a young man’s vanity, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span> I am almost sure -kisses passed between them during my absence from the room. I am not a -bad judge of these affairs, and I predict——”</p> - -<p>He nodded mysteriously, and the Princesse de Cammora smiled under her -paint and powder the smile of the happy mother.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_I_CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE GOOD ADVICE OF M. DE NANI.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">“Tell</span> me, my dear boy,” bleated old De Nani, who wanted to get the -affair over and done with before dinner, “could you till the end -of next month, when my rents from Normandy will be due—could you -accommodate me with a little loan?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, rather,” said Toto. “How much?”</p> - -<p>“Seven hundred and fifty francs would save me the necessity of -approaching a money-lender,” said the old fellow, trembling in his -shoes at the amount for which he was asking. “But——”</p> - -<p>Toto stopped under the lamp at the corner of the Rue de Courcelles -where it cuts the Boulevard Haussmann. He took a note-case from his -pocket.</p> - -<p>“Here’s a note for a thousand. You can let me have it some time. I -haven’t anything smaller.”</p> - -<p>“A million million thanks!” cried De Nani, grabbing the note and -gritting his false teeth to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span> think that he might have asked for two -thousand and obtained it just as easily—“a million thanks! Why, my dear -boy, what a doleful yawn! One might fancy you bored.”</p> - -<p>“I am, to death.”</p> - -<p>“May I make you a little prescription?” inquired the old man, in whom -the prospect of the coming dinner operated like an elixir of youth.</p> - -<p>“A prescription for ennui? Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Get married.”</p> - -<p>“I have been thinking that myself.”</p> - -<p>“She is a very charming girl.”</p> - -<p>“Who?”</p> - -<p>“Mlle.—what do you call her?—Powhair?”</p> - -<p>“Bah!” said Toto. “I’d as soon think of marrying the Bank of France.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Parbleu!</em>” murmured De Nani. “What an extraordinary remark! But -everything that comes from Prince Toto is extraordinary, even his -pictures.”</p> - -<p>He had the bank-note safe in his pocket, and could allow himself the -luxury of a little irony in the guise of praise.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span></p> - -<p>“Firstly,” said Toto, “she’s too rich; and secondly, my mother wants me -to marry her.”</p> - -<p>“True,” said De Nani. “She is also <em>gauche</em>, and speaks through her -beautiful nose like a trumpet.”</p> - -<p>“She is good enough as a girl,” said the Prince with a frightful yawn -as they turned down the Rue Tronchet.</p> - -<p>“Well, then,” said De Nani, “try a mistress.”</p> - -<p>“I have four,” replied Toto dolorously.</p> - -<p>“Dismiss them.”</p> - -<p>“I have, but they cling on.”</p> - -<p>“Get drunk.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t. I was born drunk, and am beginning to get sober. That is what’s -the matter with me, I think.”</p> - -<p>“Try opium.”</p> - -<p>“Makes me sick.”</p> - -<p>“Ether capsules.”</p> - -<p>“Worse.”</p> - -<p>“Go into the country and make love to a milkmaid.”</p> - -<p>“Never done that,” said Toto reflectively.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span></p> - -<p>“I did once when I was young. <em>Mon Dieu!</em> she followed me to Paris. No, -I would advise you to leave that alone; nothing clings like a milkmaid. -Try, try, try a glass of absinthe.”</p> - -<p>They stopped at a café and had a glass of absinthe, for which Toto paid.</p> - -<p>“I would like to get drunk on absinthe and die in my cups,” said De -Nani, who was a man of original sins, frost-bound by poverty, but -blossoming now under the warm influence of Toto.</p> - -<p>“Let’s,” said the Prince, beginning to laugh.</p> - -<p>“Now I have made you laugh!” cried the old fellow triumphantly. “And -here we are at the Grand Café. No, my Toto, we will not die just -yet, while there are Grand Cafés, and good dinners, and pretty girls -adorning the world. Tu, tu, tu! how the lights flare!”</p> - -<p>They entered, the old man following Toto and pursing out his hideous -old lips. One could see his stomach working through his face as they -passed first to the lavatory with the frescoed ceilings, where Toto -washed himself vehemently with his coat off, and De Nani looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> on. -Then, led by the assistant head-waiter, they ascended to the private -room where the Prince’s friends were waiting.</p> - -<p>Three men only—Pelisson, of the <em>Journal des Débats</em>; Gaillard, a -mystical poet, pantheistic, melancholic, with no very fixed belief in -anything, save, perhaps, the works of Gaillard; and Otto Struve, the -art critic.</p> - -<p>Pelisson, a powerfully built fellow, singularly like De Blowitz, even -to the pointed whiskers, was of the type of man who pushes the world -aside with his shoulders, whilst he pushes it forward with his head. -Gaillard, who was remarkable for his high collars, pointed beard, and -the childish interest he took in little things unconnected with his -profound art, sat astride a chair watching Pierre Pelisson juggling -with a wine-glass, a fish-knife, and a serviette. By the fireplace -stood Otto Struve, a man with a hatchet-shaped face, who seemed in the -last stages of consumption, and weighed down by the cares of the whole -world, which he bore with suppressed irritation.</p> - -<p>Toto’s entrance was the entrance of money.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span> Everyone forgot everyone -else for a moment; the electric lamps seemed to blaze more brightly; -waiters suddenly appeared, mutes shod with velvet and bearing the <em>hors -d’œuvre</em>.</p> - -<p>“M. le Marquis de Nani,” said Toto, introducing his friend; and they -took their seats.</p> - -<p>Old De Nani ate his oysters, glancing sideways, this way and that -way, at the triumvirate of talent, as if to say, “Who the devil are -you?” and “Who the devil are you?” Pelisson groaned and grunted; he -was writing the beginning of a leading article in that wonderful head -of his, where a clerk always sat taking notes in indelible ink, an -artist beside him taking sketch-portraits of everyone and pictures -of everything. Toto looked bored and the dinner unpromising, till -suddenly Struve broke the ice by choking over his soup. With the -laughter, conversation broke out and babbled. The fish was served, and -one might have fancied twenty people were talking, Toto’s voice raised -shrill against Gaillard’s periods, and the trumpet tones of Pelisson -dominating all like the notes of a sax-horn.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span></p> - -<p>“I don’t believe in God, you say?” said Gaillard, savagely attacking a -fillet of sole. “Well, perhaps not, according to your ideas; according -to mine, I have the pleasure of worshiping a god. He has fifty-three -names. The Chinese call him Fot; benighted Asiatic tribes, Buddha; -Kempfer, by the way, wrote it——”</p> - -<p>“No, no, no!” cried Toto. “No theology, or I’ll turn M. le Marquis de -Nani upon you, and he’ll eat you up, for he’s an atheist.”</p> - -<p>“An atheist!” cried Pelisson, turning his broad face on De Nani. “I -thought they were all dead. M. de Nani, beware! They’ll kill you and -stuff you for the Musée Carnavalet.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll stuff him,” shouted Toto, imagining himself a wit. “What shall it -be, Marquis—bran, sawdust?”</p> - -<p>“Ortolans,” answered De Nani, too busily engaged in stuffing himself to -find passage for more than one word.</p> - -<p>“By my soul, the Marquis is right!” cried the great newspaper man. -“An atheist stuffed with ortolans is all they want to complete -their collection<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> now they have crowned their idiocy by buying ——’s -collection of bronzes.”</p> - -<p>“Talking of crowns,” came the insidious lisp of Struve, “have you heard -the news? Willy Hohenzollern has—guess what.”</p> - -<p>“Written a farce?”</p> - -<p>“Painted his face?”</p> - -<p>“Become a telegraph clerk?”</p> - -<p>“Gone mad,” replied Struve.</p> - -<p>“What’s his madness?” roared Pelisson, glaring at this opposition -newsman.</p> - -<p>“They say he fancies himself an Emperor.”</p> - -<p>“Throw flowers over him to cool him,” cried Toto, snatching a rose out -of a dish and flinging it in Struve’s face as the <em>entrée</em> was brought -in.</p> - -<p>De Nani listened to the random conversation as he ate, or at least -seemed to; a dull flush was apparent under the paint on his face. -Each guest had his own attendant, and the service was conducted with -the precision of mechanism. The glass of the Marquis was always full, -yet he was continually emptying it; like the old gentleman at M. de -Richelieu’s feast, he felt his teeth growing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span> again, and for a little -while, under the influence of the powerful Rhone wines, his youth -seemed to return.</p> - -<p>“Talking of art,” said Gaillard, fingering the stem of his wineglass -delicately and turning to Toto, “a rumor reached me to-day through De -Brie, the editor of the <em>Boulevard</em>—you know De Brie? It was to the -effect that our host——”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“That our host,” continued Gaillard, turning to the others, “wearied by -the incapacity of the two salons to appreciate genius——”</p> - -<p>“To appreciate genius,” echoed Struve.</p> - -<p>“Is about to found an art school.”</p> - -<p>De Nani leaned back in his chair and slipped a button of his waistcoat, -as if to give room for the sycophant to ramp.</p> - -<p>“And who,” said he, “would be fitter to found an art school than our -host—ahu!—who, may I ask, M. Veillard?”</p> - -<p>“Gaillard.”</p> - -<p>“Maillard—than our illustrious host, ahu! I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span> have seen his works, -<em>ventre St. Gris</em>! Ahu! I am not a man of yesterday, M. Baillard; my -memory carries me back to the time before women wore hoops.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed,” murmured Struve, who had placed the rose flung at him by Toto -with its stalk in his glass of champagne, and was staring at it with -the rapt air of a poet.</p> - -<p>“Indeed yes, monsieur, I was born on the edge of the First Empire. I -saw the new Napoleon rise—you, sir, have only seen him vanish.”</p> - -<p>“I have seen many a napoleon vanish,” mourned Struve; “but go on—your -tale charms me. Pelisson, listen.”</p> - -<p>“Go to the devil!” said Pelisson, who was now writing with the speed of -fire and a stylographic pen on a long strip of paper, using the table -for a desk.</p> - -<p>“I have seen the art galleries of Europe,” continued De Nani, now three -parts drunk, and unconscious that he was making a fool of himself -before the first art critic in Europe, “and I unhesitatingly proclaim -M. le Prince’s work to be on a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span> level—allowing of course for youth—on a -level with the best I have seen.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, rot! oh, rubbish!” cried Toto, blushing furiously and flinging -flowers at the great bent head of Pelisson, whilst that journalist, -wallowing in his journalese, only grunted and growled in a far-away -manner and wrote the more quickly. “<em>I</em> can’t paint, <em>I</em> can’t -draw—might if I took to it really. Pelisson, you pig! wake up and eat -your pudding.”</p> - -<p>“I have said what I have said,” concluded De Nani, attacking his -ice-pudding with all the youthful nonchalance of your man who wears -false teeth.</p> - -<p>“And my rose is drunk,” said Struve, as the rose tumbled out of the -glass.</p> - -<p>“<em>I</em> can’t paint,” murmured Toto again with the air of a spoilt child.</p> - -<p>“Toto!” demanded Struve, placing the rose languidly in his coat, “how -much wine have you drunk?”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“Because a lot of truth is escaping from you.”</p> - -<p>Toto laughed; he always believed Struve to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span> jesting when in earnest, -and in earnest when jesting. Then he sat watching De Nani, and -wondering at his capacity for champagne.</p> - -<p>“Cigars, cigars!” cried Pelisson, finishing his article with a dash, -flinging down his pen and bursting out like a sun. “What’s this? -pudding!” He devoured it like a pig, and then roared again for cigars. -Three boxes were swiftly passed in from the outside.</p> - -<p>He placed one before him, sent his article off to the <em>Journal des -Débats</em> office, which lies near by, and, leaning back in his chair with -thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, blew clouds of smoke at the -gilded ceiling, and cried: “Let’s make a noise.”</p> - -<p>“What’s up now?” inquired Toto.</p> - -<p>“The Ministry will be down to-morrow!” cried Pelisson, flapping the -sides of his chest with his turtle-fin hands. “You’ll hear the tumble -of portfolios—flip, flap, flop; and I’ve helped to pull them, ehu! Let -us make a noise; it’s the only thing worth living for. I’d die in a -world where I couldn’t make a noise; you couldn’t make me a worse hell -than a padded room. You, Toto—how<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span> do you live without making a noise? -Gaillard squeaks in the <em>Revue des Deux Mondes</em>, Struve grumbles in the -<em>Temps</em>, I roar in the <em>Débats</em>; you, wretched child! are silent: take -up a pen or a paint-brush and make a noise.”</p> - -<p>“I would if I could,” mourned Toto.</p> - -<p>“You mean you could if you would!” retorted Pelisson. “Write a little -book of poems, and I’ll abuse them; I’ll make your name rattle -like a pea in a bottle. Write an ode to the Pope or paint a modest -picture—there’s two ideas for you gratis, each a fortune. Give me some -coffee.”</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t give a pin for fame unless I earned it,” said Toto, handing -the coffee. “I’d just as soon swing a rattle as have a work of art of -mine”—Struve groaned—“made famous by my friends or my position.”</p> - -<p>“Why,” cried Pelisson, “he’s talking sense, this boy is!”</p> - -<p>“He’s talking nonsense,” said Struve.</p> - -<p>“He’s talking divinity—I mean (hic) divinely,” said Gaillard, who -was finishing his second bottle of champagne, and writing poetry on -his cuffs with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span> the stylographic pen that had just helped in the -destruction of a Ministry.</p> - -<p>De Nani was dumbly digesting; he had filled his pockets with cigars, -and was wishing he had brought a sack. He was also drunk—in fact, to -put it plainly, very drunk.</p> - -<p>“I’m talking <em>sense</em>,” cried Toto with flashing eyes.</p> - -<p>“<em>He</em> can’t paint,” suddenly broke out De Nani, the drunkenness lifting -like a veil and disclosing his true thoughts. “He’s only pretending. -Doesn’t want to paint—’sgot four mistresses.”</p> - -<p>He slipped away from his chair as if sucked down by a whirlpool. A roar -of laughter went up that shook the ceiling, and then, to everyone’s -horror, Toto the debonair, the hero of cock-fights and what not, broke -into tears.</p> - -<p>At this extraordinary sight Gaillard first gazed with a grin, and then -burst out like a firework touched off, wringing his hands and calling -upon God.</p> - -<p>“Devil take that old scoundrel!” cried Pelisson, kicking at the body of -De Nani, which seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span> quite flaccid now that the truth had got out of -it. “Where did you pick him up?—he’s a scamp, he’s a scamp!”</p> - -<p>“Toto, my dear Toto,” lisped Struve, “paint a picture to-morrow, and -I’ll make it famouth for you. So help me God! I will, or my name’s not -Struve.”</p> - -<p>“Alas!” cried Gaillard, drinking off a glass of brandy, “I am touched -at the soul. Toto, my Toto, our Toto, <em>do</em> not grieve. I, too, will -write a little poem, and it will make your picture famous. Where is -that wretch? Kick him, Pelisson!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t let the waiters in,” choked Toto. “It’s only stupidity”—sniff, -sniff—“the old fellow is drunk; don’t kick him, P-P-Pelisson, he’s an -old man. I p-picked him up at my mother’s; he’s only stupid. There, I’m -all right.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, dear me!” sighed Struve; “we are all right now, let us play -baccarat.”</p> - -<p>“I am desolated,” mourned Gaillard, who had now to be comforted. “And -my little poem is spoiled.” He looked at his shirt cuffs and broke into -tears.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_I_CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE FAG END OF A NIGHT AND THE BEGINNING OF A MORNING.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Gaillard was at last comforted and set writing poems in a corner, -the waiters were admitted, the table was cleared, and cards produced.</p> - -<p>“Shall we go to the club?” asked Toto.</p> - -<p>“No, play here,” answered Struve.</p> - -<p>They played loo, and Pelisson kicked the senseless body of De Nani, -which had been pushed right under the table for propriety’s sake, when -luck went against him.</p> - -<p>Toto played furiously, partly to drown the remembrance of his unmanly -tears, partly to be successful. His eyes burned, his cheeks were -like carnations, and his luck was frightful; but he played with the -dogged determination peculiar to him in little things, the pig-headed -obstinacy which, had it been allied with talent and poverty, might have -landed him in the Ministry or Academy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span></p> - -<p>A few men dropped in now and then, glanced at the play, saw that the -stakes were small,—for Pelisson kept them down,—and yawned out again.</p> - -<p>“Toto,” said Struve, as the clock struck twelve, “you’ll be ruined at -this rate; better stop.”</p> - -<p>“Go on! go on!” cried Toto, like a man pursued by wolves. “The luck -will turn.”</p> - -<p>It turned a bit, but not for long, and the play went on till a voice -under the table asked “Where am I?” and then began moaning for a -grilled bone.</p> - -<p>“It’s four o’clock!” cried Pelisson, glancing at the timepiece on the -mantel, as Gaillard, waking in his corner, rubbed his eyes. “It’s four -o’clock, and here comes M. le Marquis de Nani from under the table. -<em>Bon jour</em>, Marquis; I thought there was a dog under the table, and I -have been kicking at him for the last hour.”</p> - -<p>“I dreamt I was being kicked by a mule,” said the Marquis, rising erect -and buttoning his waistcoat. “Who will dispute the truth of dreams -after this?” and he looked at his false teeth in the mirror upon the -wall.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span></p> - -<p>The <em>garçon de nuit</em> entered with the bill—a yard long.</p> - -<p>“I have only a five-franc piece,” said Toto. “Let it stand, and bring -us up some supper, some coffee and some champagne; also cigarettes—I -want a cigarette. <em>Ai de mi!</em> what a duffer I am! I cannot even win at -cards.”</p> - -<p>“He who is unfortunate at cards is fortunate in love,” said De -Nani, fumbling to feel if the thousand-franc note was safe in his -pocket, whilst the waiter respread the table with all sorts of cold -things—oysters, mayonnaise, and galantine.</p> - -<p>“I,” said Gaillard, “am unfortunate at both.”</p> - -<p>He attacked some oysters like a wolf, whilst Struve, with the withered -rose in his coat, whistled a mournful air of Berlioz’ whilst he cut a -sardine in three and put a pinch of pepper on it.</p> - -<p>De Nani was at the champagne again like a leech, whilst he feasted like -a man off a wreck. He looked a horribly wicked old man in the dawn, -which mixed with the electric light; the paint from his cheeks was on -his nose and chin, and his wig<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span> was awry. It was a cheerless party; -Pelisson was half asleep, and Toto as white as a ghost. Gaillard, his -cuff scribbled over with lunatic poetry, cast his mournful eyes at the -dawn peeping in white over the silent Boulevard des Capucines.</p> - -<p>“I was once a youth,” said Gaillard. “That is what the world says to us -in the dawn. The dawn ever fills me with despair—a delicious despair. -I do not know why, but it seems forever linked to that divine forlorn -hope, love. This is the light from which we rebuild old castles and -recall vanished faces. In the faint wind that moves we hear the whisper -of voices. Fair women walk in vanished gardens, and the sound of the -dew recalls their tears.”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” cried De Nani, “is this a harp I hear, or the voice of a mortal -man?”</p> - -<p>“Have you read my little poem,” continued Gaillard, “commencing,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">“O Love, whose every golden tress</div> -<div class="line">The sunshine holds of loveliness,</div> -<div class="line">What tragedy in what dark dawn</div> -<div class="line">Hath lent thine eyes such mournfulness?</div> -<div class="line">O——”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, stop!” said Toto. “Your poetry makes me want to commit suicide.”</p> - -<p>“That,” said Gaillard, “shows but the beauty of it. My ambition is to -write a quatrain that will be as poisonous to hope as strychnine. Hope, -that accursed allurement born of the——Heaven! I am going to be ill; I -have swallowed a bad oyster.” “Run to the window,” commanded Toto.</p> - -<p>“Brandy,” suggested Pelisson.</p> - -<p>“I am better,” declared the poet. “The taste has passed. The question -is, Will it prove poisonous? <em>Mon Dieu!</em> and the proofs of my ‘Fall of -the Damned’ are not corrected.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind,” said Toto gloomily. “You can correct them as you are -falling. Oh, what a wretched world this is! I’m going to drown myself -in the Seine.” He rose, yawning, from his chair. “Who will follow me?”</p> - -<p>“I will as far as the door,” said Struve, rising also. “Pelisson, where -are you for?”</p> - -<p>“Home and go to bed,” said Pelisson, rising also. “M. de Nani—why, he’s -drunk again!”</p> - -<p>M. le Marquis de Nani had risen from his seat,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> and seemed trying to -walk upstairs through the air. It was the back blow of the night.</p> - -<p>“I never saw a man slip into drink, like a girl into her shift, so -swiftly and with such divine simplicity,” lisped Struve. “Do wash his -face, someone; he is painted like a <em>demi-mondaine</em>, and the paint has -broken loose over his nose. Can’t possibly take him into the street -such a disgraceful figure.”</p> - -<p>They washed De Nani’s face with white wine and Toto’s handkerchief, -whilst the old man struggled and resisted like a child. It was a -mournful spectacle, and Toto did not laugh as the others did.</p> - -<p>“That’s what’s the end of all,” he thought. “Eugh! what a beastly thing -life is!”</p> - -<p>“Now put on his hat,” commanded Pelisson, who acted as master of the -ceremonies, “and jam it down—that’s right. I will carry his cane. Drive -him before you, and call a cab,” he cried to the <em>garçon</em>, handing him -a napoleon for <em>pourboire</em>.</p> - -<p>They got the old man into a fiacre, weeping and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span> protesting and -fighting like a lunatic with his keepers.</p> - -<p>“Where shall we send him to?” asked Pelisson.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know where he lives; send him to the Morgue, send him to the -Prefecture, send him anywhere you like,” said Toto.</p> - -<p>“I know,” said Struve. “I have an enemy—he’s a Legitimist; I’ll send -him a drunken Marquis for a present.” And he gave the name and address -of his enemy to the driver, with half a napoleon to pay the fare. “Get -him into the house at any price,” commanded Struve; “he’s the father of -the gentleman who lives there. There goes the old nobility.”</p> - -<p>He finished as the cab drove away, leaving a thin stream of curses on -the morning air. And little did Toto dream where those curses would -come to roost.</p> - -<p>“What a jolly night we have had!” said Gaillard, as they parted at the -corner of the Rue de la Paix.</p> - -<p>“And we have all done something,” said Pelisson. “You have written a -poem,—don’t have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span> that shirt washed, they’ll sell it in strips after -you are dead,—and I have written my article, and Struve has made a -present to his enemy of De Nani, who has made a beast of himself.”</p> - -<p>“And I,” said Toto, “have made a fool of myself.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what you were born for,” said Pelisson. “But never mind, Toto, -you make a most charming fool.”</p> - -<p>Then Toto found himself alone at the corner of the Rue de la Paix.</p> - -<p>Some she-asses were passing, and he stopped the <em>auvergnat</em> driving -them, and had a glass of milk, because that was <em>chic</em>, and when he -had drunk the milk he wished he had not, because there was no one to -look; and, besides, he was tired of being <em>chic</em>. Then, with the asses’ -milk still upon his lips, he came along down the Rue de la Paix in the -direction of the river.</p> - -<p>The change of his five-franc piece the <em>auvergnat</em> had given him mostly -in copper; it bulged out his trousers-pocket, and made a clanking sound -as he walked. Paris was waking up, the lidlike shutters<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span> of the shops -were rising through a thousand streets; and as he passed through the -Place Vendôme several early morning cabs laden with luggage from the -Nord Station tore by.</p> - -<p>In the Rue Castiglione he stopped. What should he do? It was too early -to go home, too late for the club; the world he knew had gone to bed, -the world he dimly knew of was waking up. A world in its shirt-sleeves, -clean, bright, busy, and apparently happy. The dinner, the supper, -the Marquis de Nani, Pelisson’s roaring voice, Struve’s lisp, and -Gaillard’s melancholic poetry, all pursued him like Eumenides of a low -sort, impotent, yet able to tease.</p> - -<p>On the Pont de Solferino he stood to look at the river, and might have -thrown himself in had not the water looked so cold, and had he not -remembered that he was unable to swim.</p> - -<p>Then, turning back, he came along the arcade of the Rue de Rivoli, -walking leisurely and listening to the birds singing in the trees of -the gardens of the Tuileries.</p> - -<p>The Place de la Concorde seemed horribly immense,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> and the far-away -Eiffel Tower looked like a filmy giant straddling his legs, his hands -in his pockets, and wearily waiting for something to do. Crossing the -Place de la Concorde came a solitary girl carrying something in her -hand; following the girl came a man.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_I_CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE POETRY OF HATS.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Toto</span> saw that the man was begging from the girl, and the girl was -walking quickly. The man was a horrible-looking scoundrel.</p> - -<p>“And here,” said Toto, “is something to do.”</p> - -<p>He advanced rapidly and obliquely upon the pursued and pursuer, who, -when he saw that the game was up, called out a vile word and turned to -run. But he had reckoned without Toto.</p> - -<p>It was all over in a minute, and from a distance it looked like a -sparrow-fight, Toto in his brown tweeds, and the Barrier bully in his -antique, rusty, long-tailed coat. The next our bully was running for -his life towards the Pont de la Concorde, bawling and holding his nose, -and the Prince, with his hat on the back of his head, was talking to -the girl.</p> - -<p>“Look!” cried Toto, screaming with laughter. “Three gendarmes are after -him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, monsieur!” murmured the girl,—she had blue eyes and the air of a -fluttered dove,—“how can I thank you for having saved me?”</p> - -<p>“Let us hurry away,” said the Prince. “I see a gendarme shading his -eyes at us over there. Let’s dodge away down the arcade. Look! he’s -coming towards us. Run!”</p> - -<p>They ran down the arcade hand in hand, to the wonder of the boys who -were taking down the shop shutters. There was no earthly occasion for -this flight. But Toto always embroidered upon a position; he could not -behold a cat-fight without mentally suggesting betterments; besides, it -was <em>outré</em>.</p> - -<p>“Now we are safe,” said he, as they turned up a by-street. “Oh, what -fun! Tell me, mademoiselle, may I not carry your little parcel? No? May -I not accompany you, then, to your journey’s end?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes!” said the girl. “My parcel is but a hat I am taking to M. -Verral in the Rue St. Honoré. I do not live there, monsieur; I work -for him at home. I live all alone in a little room near the Rue de -Babylone—I and Dodor;” and she cast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span> up her April-blue eyes as if -through the rim of her hat she saw Dodor in the blue April skies, -together with a vision of angels.</p> - -<p>“Who is Dodor?” inquired Toto in a gruff and almost jealous voice.</p> - -<p>“He is my lark,” said the girl; and Toto brightened.</p> - -<p>“You have a lark?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, monsieur; and if you could hear him sing! He brings the green -fields to Paris in his voice.”</p> - -<p>“You keep him in a cage?” asked Toto, searching for conversation to fit -a lark of this description, and not finding much.</p> - -<p>“I keep him in a very big cage, monsieur. Ah! his cage ought to be the -blue heavens; but, then, how could I hear him sing? I bought him in a -little cage—not so big; but the parrot of Mme. Liard, our concierge, -dying, I bought its cage—one, oh, so big;” and she measured the width -of a wine-tun with hands that fluttered out like white butterflies, for -Toto had wrested from her the parcel; also, she wore no gloves.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span></p> - -<p>“Dear me! how funny! And you call him Dodor. This is Verral’s, is it -not? Now, may I—please don’t think me rude—may I wait for you? I have -nothing to do—I mean, I want to hear more about Dodor. I cannot say -‘mademoiselle’; it sounds so stiff. <em>My</em> name is To—Désiré Cammora.”</p> - -<p>“And mine, monsieur, is Célestin Sabatier. I will run in with the hat. -If I can see the forewoman, Mme. Hümmel, I will not detain you long.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t call me ‘monsieur,’” said Toto; but she had vanished.</p> - -<p>It was an extraordinary find, this—a real live Henri Murger grisette. -She might have stepped out of “The Mysteries of Paris,” without her -cap, of course, but even more charming in a hat. She was “all there,” -even to the lark in the parrot cage. The parrot cage made him certain -that the lark was no trumped-up tale; she would never have thought of -inventing a parrot cage. He remembered with a sort of satisfaction the -poverty and neatness of her dress.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span></p> - -<p>Ten minutes passed, and then she came out again, like April after a -cloud has passed, smiling, and with an air of triumph.</p> - -<p>“Mme. Hümmel is so pleased, and I am so happy!” cried Célestin, as they -walked away down the Rue St. Honoré, all beautiful with the morning. -“She has given me an extra franc. Just think!” And she held out three -in the pink shell of her palm.</p> - -<p>“How much do you get for making a hat?” asked Toto.</p> - -<p>“Two francs, and I find my own thread; but for this hat I have received -three. It was an inspiration. Do you know, monsieur, that hats come to -one? Sometimes I am perplexed. There lie all the materials,—the tulle, -ribbons, flowers, what-not,—and there sit I, so like a stupid girl it -seems impossible that I should make the hat—impossible as building the -Eiffel Tower. And then, suddenly, something comes to me. I see the hat, -and it is made. That is when I am stupid. At other times they come to -me in hundreds—hats more beautiful than a dream; and, oh! if I had -a hundred hands I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span> could find work for them all. Yesterday it was a -gloomy morning. Dodor drooped in his cage, and I felt very dull. Then -the sun broke out—you remember how beautifully—and Dodor sang, and the -blue sky looked in through the window and brought me this hat like a -gift from the good God. Mme. Hümmel said it was April itself. And is -it not strange, monsieur, that the seasons should help one so? For -Spring helps me in her way, and Summer and Autumn in their way, even -Winter a little,—and he helps few,—but of all of them I like Spring the -best,” sighed Célestin, casting her eyes up once more at the sky of her -imagination and the angels she seemed always to see there.</p> - -<p>“I suppose people wear more hats in the spring,” was the reply of Toto -to this revelation of an artist’s work, and for that reply he deserved -damning as an artist.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” said Célestin. “The spring is the time of all others; one -makes more money in the spring.”</p> - -<p>Toto had steered the way into the Rue du Mont Thabor, a little street -that lies parallel to the Rue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> St. Honoré, and just behind the Hôtel -Lille et Albion.</p> - -<p>Here there was a <em>crémerie</em>, into which he invited her to enter. They -took their seats at a little marble-topped table, which was soon spread -with coffee, white bread, and butter.</p> - -<p>Célestin quite cast away her reserve; she never had much, and what she -had was that of a timid child. This creature, gentle as a bird, and -thriving by her own quaint and lovely art in the midst of the great, -white, cruel, beautiful city, was in herself a revelation—God, one -might almost fancy, supporting her with his fingers as he supports the -snowdrops above the snow; Art, one might almost fancy, turning from the -Louvre and all its treasures, and smiling towards the Rue de Babylone -and this humble slave interpreting her dreams by ribbon and tulle.</p> - -<p>“I?” said Toto with his mouth full of bread and butter, and speaking in -answer to a question of his companion. “I am an artist—a painter, you -know.”</p> - -<p>Célestin lowered the cup she was raising to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> lips. He had won her -admiration forever by beating the bully, and now he was an artist.</p> - -<p>“I have never met one before,” murmured Célestin. “How great that -must be, to be an artist! I have seen them at the Louvre. I sometimes -go to the Louvre; the rooms are so beautiful, and the ceilings,”—the -child evidently had her limitations,—“and one sees such strange -people—English women in such strange hats. And do you paint in the -Louvre?”</p> - -<p>“No, Célestin; I work in an atelier of my own.”</p> - -<p>Never before in the course of his brief artistic career had praise -thrilled him like this, the frank and artless homage of a girl of -eighteen who found herself for the first time in her life in the -presence of a real artist; there were no ateliers in the street off the -Rue de Babylone, only workshops.</p> - -<p>“At the Porte St. Martin,” said Célestin, “where sometimes Mme. Liard -takes me,—she is a friend of the doorkeeper, and sometimes he gives -her permits,—I have seen a very sad play. It was about an artist: he -was very poor—that is to say, not so very poor at first, but he got -poorer as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span> play went on, and thinner, till at last his cheeks were -like this.” She sucked her cheeks in. “Then in the last act he tied a -rope to a beam in the ceiling, and made a noose in the rope and put his -head through it; I clung to Mme. Liard, I was so frightened. You cannot -think how terrible it was till the door broke open and his father -rushed in,—he was the son of a duke in disguise,—and the concierge came -after, and a lot of people, and they cut him down. Everyone wept. There -was a villain in the piece, and, oh! such a pretty girl,” finished -Célestin. “But I liked the artist best. Are all artists very poor, M. -Désiré?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, we manage to scrape along,” said Toto, “when we can sell our -pictures; we can’t always do that—we can’t always get them exhibited, -even. I sent one last year to the Salon.”</p> - -<p>“The Salon—where is that?” asked Célestin.</p> - -<p>“It’s a picture show; they give prizes for the best pictures.”</p> - -<p>“And did your picture get a prize?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Toto mournfully. “They would not even hang it on the -walls—it was too classical,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span> some people said; and one man, a man who -ought to know, told me it was jealousy.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, <em>mon Dieu!</em> how terrible! It was so with the artist in the play: -he was betrayed by a man who was jealous of him—oh, poor M. Désiré!”</p> - -<p>“Célestin,” said Toto, “do not call me monsieur; call me Désiré.”</p> - -<p>“Désiré,” said Célestin, like an obedient child.</p> - -<p>“That’s right; and now tell me, Célestin, how comes it that you live -all alone with this lark of yours.”</p> - -<p>“My mother died when I was so high,” said Célestin, holding one hand -three feet from the floor. “And I bought Dodor at the Halles Centrales; -he cost three francs.”</p> - -<p>This was the history of her life as given by Célestin, with a mournful -little gesture of the hands, as if to say “That’s all.”</p> - -<p>“But,” said Toto, “you must have found it very dull—I mean, you must -have had to work for yourself; you have no brothers or sisters, have -you? or cousins, or people of that sort?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no! I have always been alone; but people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span> are very good to me; I -love the world—it is very good, and it is so beautiful. On Sundays, -sometimes, I go with Mme. Liard to the Buttes Chaumont; I think heaven -must be like that.”</p> - -<p>“Is that as far as you have been?”</p> - -<p>“I have been to Champrosay once when I was very little. I can remember -it still, but it is like a dream.”</p> - -<p>Toto was producing his coppers to pay the bill, and thinking how -fortunate it was that the <em>auvergnat</em> had given him change in coppers, -also how fortunate it was that he had bought the asses’ milk, for these -coppers were eminently in keeping with the struggling artist. He also -kept his coat buttoned to hide his watch-chain, for Toto was now being -driven by an idea half formed, yet fully potent, just as the asses had -been driven up the Rue de la Paix by the man in sabots, armed with a -stick.</p> - -<p>Célestin drew out her little purse as if to help in the settlement of -the account, and then put it back with a sigh of contentment at Toto’s -gesture. One could see her satisfaction at not having to part with her -centimes, for she did not in the least try<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span> to hide it. She crossed -herself and moved her lips as if giving thanks to the good God for the -breakfast he had sent her, and then she cried, “Oh, how wicked I have -been!”</p> - -<p>“Why?” cried Toto, turning from a dispute about fifty centimes with the -waiter.</p> - -<p>“I have forgotten Dodor, and he has been waiting for his breakfast, and -I—I have been thinking of other things.”</p> - -<p>She rose with the rapidity and grace only given to us when the knees -are young. She seemed as if she must spread out a pair of wings and -fly at once to Dodor. So Toto relinquished his fifty centimes and -accompanied her. He proposed that they should take a cab.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no!” cried Célestin, “that would be far too extravagant. I think -you are very extravagant, mons—Désiré; as for me, I have never been in -a cab.”</p> - -<p>“Never what?” said Toto.</p> - -<p>“Never been in a cab. I always walk—sometimes I take the omnibus; -but that is when it is wet, omnibuses are so expensive; but they -are delightful.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> It is such fun seeing the people, and they are so -friendly; I would like to spend all my life driving in omnibuses. Old -gentlemen have often helped me out and walked home with me to see me -safe.”</p> - -<p>“Good gracious! what do they say to you?”</p> - -<p>“Three old gentlemen have seen me home,” said Célestin. “And——”</p> - -<p>“Three all together?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no! at different times; and one had a red rosette in his -buttonhole.”</p> - -<p>“And what did they say to you?”</p> - -<p>“That’s the funny thing: they all wanted me to go to the theater, -and of course I was delighted,—just imagine!—and we were to meet at -different places; and then we talked of other things, and they all -took such an interest in Dodor and asked so many questions all about -how I lived; and one, the one with the red rosette, gave me a great -five-franc piece—he said it was a present for Dodor. But the funny -thing was, when we reached home they had forgotten about the theater, -and said they had other engagements, and that they would come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span> some -other evening. The old gentleman with the rosette gave me another -five-franc piece for myself, only this one was in gold, a very small -one, and he told me to remember and always be a good girl, for the -angels were watching me; and I said I would, and he kissed my hand and -went away. But I never saw them again, for one never meets the same -person twice in an omnibus, you know.”</p> - -<p>Toto assented. He was thinking of this lark that flew so mysteriously -between Célestin and sin, and lived in a parrot cage.</p> - -<p>They had crossed the Place de la Concorde by this, crossed the Pont de -la Concorde, and were heading for the Eiffel Tower. They were walking -quickly, too, for was it not to the relief of Dodor, pining for his -groundsel, or whatever larks are fed upon?</p> - -<p>The exercise began to tell upon Célestin. She coughed a little, and put -her hand to her chest high up near the collar-bone.</p> - -<p>“You are not strong?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, I am very strong, only my chest pains<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> me at times, and I -cough at nights sometimes—a little, not much.”</p> - -<p>“Célestin,” said Toto, in a very serious voice, “I want you to meet me -again. Will you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, dear!” sighed Célestin; “I forgot that we had to part.”</p> - -<p>“But we shall meet again.”</p> - -<p>“When?”</p> - -<p>“Could you meet me to-morrow morning?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“At eight?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“At the corner just where the Champs Élysées joins the Place de la -Concorde?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—oh, yes! And you will be there?”</p> - -<p>“I will. And, Célestin, look here: we are not rich, you know, and we -ought to help each other. Look here.” He took out a handful of coppers -and some silver pieces, all that he had remaining from the five-franc -piece. “We will divide, and take half each.”</p> - -<p>“No—oh, no!”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Toto, “you must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“But you will want it.”</p> - -<p>“No, I shan’t. You want it more than I do. Besides,” continued the -Prince, “I have not a lark to keep up.”</p> - -<p>They divided, squabbling over an odd sou, and when the accounts were -settled they walked on.</p> - -<p>“How good you are!” said Célestin, almost in tears at the manifold -bounties God was heaping upon her this fine April morning. “I will put -it in the money-box for Dodor. Oh, dear! why did I think of dying just -then? It must have been the thought of Dodor. I often lie awake and -think what would become of him if I died. I have a money-box for him -to give to someone to be kind to him in case I got ill and died. The -five-franc piece is in it, and other money as well. I will put yours, -too. See, this is where I live.”</p> - -<p>They had reached a gloomy street sprinkled with a few shops, and filled -with the boom of an adjacent factory. A gloomy house of four stories -was the house where Célestin lived.</p> - -<p>“Now I shall know where to find you in case<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span> you fail to meet me -to-morrow,” said Toto, as they shook hands.</p> - -<p>“I will not fail,” she replied. “I have never broken a promise in my -life—only once.”</p> - -<p>“When was that?”</p> - -<p>“This morning, when I promised Dodor to be back in half an hour.”</p> - -<p>Then he kissed her hand just as the old gentleman with the red rosette -had done, and wandered away, his head filled with thoughts of her. For -it was a peculiarity of Célestin’s that, whilst she must have appealed -to the angels in heaven, she also appealed strongly to Porte St. Martin -minds.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_I_CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">GAILLARD THE COMFORTER.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Then</span> he went home, and bathed and dressed and said “The club” when his -mother, in <em>peignoir</em> and morning paint, asked him where he had spent -his night with that good, dear Marquis de Nani. Later in the day he -wandered into Struve’s rooms.</p> - -<p>“Go away, Toto,” said Struve, who was busy writing at his table. He -supplied seven journals with his ideas, from the <em>Fremdenblatt</em> to the -<em>Figaro</em>, and he seemed now engaged in writing for the whole seven at -once. One could see nothing of the lisping, melancholy Struve of the -night before in this lightning scribe. “Go away. I have no time for -Totos. Come in three hours’ time.”</p> - -<p>“What are you at?” inquired Toto, sinking into a chair and lighting a -cigarette.</p> - -<p>“Praising a man I hate.”</p> - -<p>“See here: stop writing your gibberish for five minutes; I want to -speak to you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>Struve took out his watch and laid it on the table.</p> - -<p>“I am listening.”</p> - -<p>“You once said that if a man of talent were to start in Paris with -three thousand francs and his ten fingers,—those were your words,—that -if he did not get on he deserved to fail.”</p> - -<p>“So he does; what more?”</p> - -<p>“I have been thinking of having a try, working like a devil, and -kicking over all this absurdity.”</p> - -<p>“Do; it won’t do you any harm. What at—politics?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you owl!” cried Toto. “Politics—what do I care for politics! Art, -that’s the only thing I care a button for. I’m going to dress in a -blouse, and work like a common man—make my name off my own bat, as they -say in England. I’m utterly sick of doing nothing; I must move—I must.” -And Toto moved his arms. “And I am tied; no one takes me seriously. -Look at old De Nani, praising me one moment, and then the next——Faugh! -I’m a Prince; I am worth ten million francs when my mother dies. I play -with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span> art, that’s enough for people; they don’t see my work, they see -me.”</p> - -<p>“You are always so much in evidence,” said Struve. “That’s where the -mischief is; you cut such antics that people have no time to observe -your serious attempts. You have got a frightful lot of energy, and -you are a Prince—that’s what is wrong with you; you must be doing, -you are tired of the club, the Bois, cock-fighting at Chantilly. By -the way, I see your name in the <em>Figaro</em> this morning under a thin -disguise—Longchamps and all the rest of it. Your volcano is bunged up -by ennui; you want a new opening for the lava to escape. Well, take my -advice: move in the plane of least resistance; buy a coffee mill and -grind it.”</p> - -<p>“Do be serious,” said Toto; “I come to you as a friend.”</p> - -<p>“Toto,” said the critic, “I am very serious, else I would not advise -you to leave art alone. What’s the use? This, great, beautiful Moloch -wants a whole life to eat, or nothing. There are a thousand men in -Paris who have flung their all into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span> this furnace. What will come out -of all this forlorn thousand? Half a dozen, and they will be filled -with despair. The walls of the Musée de Louvre are painted with the -blood of men, and that’s success. What of the failures? Their story -would shock creation. Art lives on failures; they keep the paint shops -going, and serve as a background to three or four stars. Now go away. -God in heaven! it’s four, and the post for Germany goes out at six.”</p> - -<p>“You are never so stupid as when you are serious,” blurted out Toto, as -he rose and flung his cigarette-end into the grate.</p> - -<p>But Struve did not even answer; he was writing away.</p> - -<p>Toto then met the young Prince de Harnac, who invited him to dine at -the Mirlitons; he refused, alleging a headache. Then he called on -Pelisson, and found him out. He was wearily entering the Place de -l’Opéra, when the devil flung him into the arms of Gaillard.</p> - -<p>Gaillard’s collar seemed higher than ever, and he had a distracted air.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am running about looking for my dinner,” said Gaillard. “That -infernal De Brie has gone off to his country house, and forgotten my -check and left me to starve. I will turn an editor, and write no more -poetry nor little articles for his journal. Dear Toto, come and give me -my dinner, and lend me a thousand francs, and comfort me. Sit here with -me, and have an absinthe, and look at Paris as it passes; and then we -will go to the Maison Dorée and dine.”</p> - -<p>“You are just the man I want,” said Toto, as they took their seats at -a café, where the marble-topped tables had ventured out now that the -weather was fine, and even a bit warm. “I want your help and advice. -I’ve been with that villain Struve, and he has depressed me, and flung -cold water on me.”</p> - -<p>“Struve is a critic,” said Gaillard in a vicious voice; “he is one of -the sorrows of art. I do not know what criticism is coming to. Have you -seen that article in the <em>Tribune</em> on Mallarmé?—Mallarmé, that divine -shadow moving in the twilight of the gods, even he is not safe from -their mud.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span> But what is this, Toto, you say about help and advice? Are -you being worried by some woman? Is your mother tormenting? Unfold -yourself to me.”</p> - -<p>“Look here, Gaillard: you are a man of sense, you have sympathy. I am -sick of life, living like a cabbage, and I want to live really, I want -to be famous without the assistance of anyone; I have a talent.”</p> - -<p>“You have an undoubted genius.”</p> - -<p>“And I want to use it. I go to Struve, and he sneers at me, tells me to -grind a coffee mill.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that Struve!” mourned Gaillard. “What led you to a critic for -advice or sympathy? He told you to grind a coffee mill? Give me a -cigarette, Toto; my case is empty; I will take three. He told you that! -They fancy their cheap wit kills, these critics do; but you are not -alone, Toto. Did you see the critique on my little poem ‘Satanitie’ -in the <em>Écho de Paris</em>? Well, that is what they fling nowadays at an -artist, and call it wit. But Pelisson is replying by a counterblast -in the <em>Débats</em>. Dear old Pelisson! He knows no more of poetry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span> than -a rhinoceros; but he roars, and he has reduced the art of slaying a -critic to a fine edge.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” said Toto, trying to lead Gaillard from himself for a -moment; “but what do you think of my plan? I am going to take an attic -and work in a blouse—I <em>am</em>; and, besides, do you know, Gaillard, I -have met the most charming girl. She lives in an attic on three sous -a day with a lark; she trims hats, and she has eyes just the color of -Neapolitan violets. I have never loved a woman before.”</p> - -<p>“You love her?” cried Gaillard, “and you would leave the world for her -to live in an attic? Oh, <em>mon Dieu</em>! what a romance you might make of -life! And is that idea all your own? <em>Mon Dieu!</em> you, a Prince, rich -and young and charming, beloved by all the women of Paris—the very -entry of such an idea into your brain proclaims you an artist. It is -like the Prince in my little forest tale who renounced the world for a -wood-nymph—my little tale called ‘Nymphomanie.’ You have read it.”</p> - -<p>“No, I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span>n’t.”</p> - -<p>“But I gave you a copy.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, I remember now—the nymph who turned into a sow. It was a -beautiful story; but never mind it for a moment. Tell me, Gaillard: you -are not saying that just to please me?”</p> - -<p>“I,” said Gaillard; “I am charmed with the idea, the originality of it, -the color of it. It has a perfume of violets—those violets that come in -autumn as if to increase the sadness of the withered leaves. De Musset -might have written a play upon it. I, ha! I will—I will write a poem on -it.”</p> - -<p>“For goodness’ sake, don’t!” said Toto in alarm. “I want no one to -know. With my blouse I become a man like other men; I give myself a -year, and then—we will see what Otto Struve and De Nani say.”</p> - -<p>“But you are not serious, Toto?” cried Gaillard, who was now the man -alarmed, for Toto was a little income to him, a cigarette mine, and a -most joyous companion. “You would die, my child, under the hardships -of such a life; you were not born to the blouse, you were born to the -purple.”</p> - -<p>“I am serious!” cried the Prince, greatly exasperated;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> “you are as bad -as the rest of them. You are——”</p> - -<p>“I am not; <em>mon Dieu!</em> do not freeze me, Toto, with that face. I was -but thinking of your health; you have cast frost upon me, and I was -feeling so happy; besides, a garret may be made most comfortable—it -may indeed: you can have a little charcoal-fire when the weather is -cold, and a garret need not be ugly. I saw an old oak chest in the -Rue Normandie to-day; it cried out to me to buy it, but I had not the -money; we will buy it to-morrow. We will not have the walls papered; -most have, but we need not be vulgar though we are poor. Oh, Toto, -poverty is a romance if it is taken in the right way; we will teach -the poor how to endure their poverty romantically. No, we will not -have paper—plain plaster and an etching or two of Albrecht Dürer’s, a -little library confined to one bookshelf. Loti, Baudelaire, and a few -mystics; a lark to sing to one whilst one paints or writes; a girl with -blue eyes to love; a pipe to smoke—what more does one want? In the name -of Heaven, what more does one want? I call upon Heaven to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span> witness. I -think the problem of modernity solved in the one word ’simplicity.’ We -are too be-scented, embroidered, and diffuse; we eat too much and love -too broadly; we want concentration. Genius is like a burning-glass; -it must be focused so that the rays come together in a narrow point, -else the rays will not burn. I saw a stove in bronze of Henri Quatre; -we will get that—it’s in the same place, Rue de Normandie. Did you see -that girl pass by? She pulled up her dress to show me her ankles; they -were like cow heels. Some people have no discretion; they show what -they ought to hide, and hide what they ought to show. I have noticed -it in everything, even conversation. Well, we will get the stove and -some other things—it will be like making a nest; and when all is ready -you will spread out your wings and sing, and the female bird will come. -Heavens! I know just the place you want, in the Rue de Perpignan. -I have a friend there, a genius, but very weird; they call him -Fanfoullard, no one knows his real name. He is one of the mysteries of -Paris; he subsists by painting fans, and will not get out of bed till -dusk;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span> he says inspirations come to him only when he is in bed. That -necessarily imposes limitations on his art, but his fans are poems; he -spreads them with autumn and spring, and sends them fluttering over the -world; he dreams of the beautiful women who will use them as he lies -there unknown in his bed. Life is full of poetry; we find it in the -most unexpected places. Well, the room below that of Fanfoullard is -unlet—it was so, at least, a week ago; we will take it; it has a little -room adjoining that will do for a bedroom. We will go hunting for the -furniture, you and I, to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“But, see here, Gaillard: I am not playing at this, and I must be -economical. I’m going to start on three or four thousand francs, and -make that do. I’m deadly in earnest.”</p> - -<p>“You are right,” said the poet. “It would be absurd to live in an attic -with a bank-book; besides, you can always apply to your mother, Mme. la -Princesse, should the wolf scrape too loudly at the door.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, good gracious, you will drive me mad! If I don’t succeed I will -hang myself; I would never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span> have the face to come back; and what I mean -by success is, success without help. I am stiff with sitting still and -being waited upon; I want to <em>be</em>.”</p> - -<p>And Toto’s eyes gleamed madly in the gaslight, whilst Gaillard felt a -decided shiver. Then he remembered Toto’s general eccentricities, and -rubbed his chin, making his thin beard crackle. “It will last a month,” -thought he; “and then we shall all drive home in a cab very hungry, -and the Princesse will kill the fatted calf, and the girl will be -pensioned.”</p> - -<p>“Gaillard, what are you thinking of?” demanded Toto.</p> - -<p>“I was thinking that I should like to be young again like you,” burst -out Gaillard, a lot of lunatic ideas waking up and dancing like -Bacchantes around the lie. “And be loved by a beautiful girl, and work -for her, and fail, and die in her arms; those are the happiest lives, -after all, failure ending in death with one’s beloved. Success ruins -one’s life. I have never been happy since I met it, when I was young; -but I was never young, I sucked nepenthe with my mother’s milk. I do -not believe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span> I was ever born; I was found in some field of poppies, and -they hid the fact. When I have written my last song I shall drop in -some field of poppies. Ah, me, wretched body of mine! Toto, let us go -and dine and forget ourselves; let us become beasts for an hour, and -then you will come to my rooms. Fanfoullard may be there; he always -crawls out at dark and rides to the Rue de Rivoli in an omnibus with -his eyes shut, for fear of seeing the terrible people who make use of -those vehicles. They put him out in the Rue de Rivoli, and he opens his -eyes. Should he have any fans finished, he takes them to Nadar, who -monopolizes his work; then he always comes to my rooms and smokes—I -leave tobacco for him on the mantel. He is my familiar. For days -sometimes we do not meet, when I happen to be out, but I always know -that he has been; he leaves a smell of withered flowers behind him. All -my greatest poems are due to Fanfoullard. You remember, Schiller could -never compose without rotten apples in his desk. Fanfoullard is my -rotten apple. Come, let us go to the Maison Dorée<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>They rose from their seats and made languidly for the Boulevard des -Italiens, Gaillard pausing at several toy shops to look in and admire -the wares. In the Avenue de l’Opéra, at Brentano’s window, a little -volume of poems by Verlaine called to him to buy it, and as he had no -money Toto bought it for him. He carried the book tight clasped to his -chest as they wandered along to the Maison Dorée, where they entered -and dined.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_I_CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">FANFOULLARD, MIRMILLARD, AND PAPILLARD.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Two</span> hours later they came out, each smoking a big cigar; Gaillard’s -held delicately between finger and thumb and whiffed at occasionally, -Toto’s stuck in the corner of his mouth.</p> - -<p>“Let us to the Moulin Rouge,” said Gaillard. “I have dined; I want to -laugh.”</p> - -<p>“But how about this Fanfoullard?”</p> - -<p>The poet had quite forgotten Fanfoullard, the attic, the Henri Quatre -stove, and all the rest of it.</p> - -<p>“Oh, he will wait; Fanfoullard is eternal, like a tortoise. A hundred -years hence you will find him painting his fans and crawling out at -dark to sell them.”</p> - -<p>“But I don’t want him in a hundred years; I want him now, to arrange -about that room.”</p> - -<p>“What room?”</p> - -<p>“The room you spoke of.”</p> - -<p>Gaillard groaned. He thought his companion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span> had forgotten all that, -which showed that he only knew Toto by his surface.</p> - -<p>“You will not find Fanfoullard interesting.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t want to; but he will find me interesting, for I will pay him to -see about the place and have it cleaned up.”</p> - -<p>“But Fanfoullard——” said the poet, stopping to scratch his head, for -there was no Fanfoullard; he was a mythical creature that had escaped -through one of the cracks in Gaillard’s skull; he had never lived in -the Rue de Perpignan, nor journeyed forth to sell fans in the dark with -his eyes shut for fear of the frightful people one sees in omnibuses. -It seemed almost a pity. “But Fanfoullard——” said his creator. “Ah, -well; yes, let us go to my rooms and see if he has arrived.”</p> - -<p>They made for the Rue de Turbigo, for Gaillard condescended to live in -the Rue de Turbigo. Here he kept his Muse, or, to speak more correctly, -she kept him, assisted by Toto, Pelisson, Struve, De Brie the editor, -and a host of others.</p> - -<p>“Tell me about this Fanfoullard,” asked Toto. “Is he a respectable sort -of person<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span>?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, eminently. My dear Toto, why walk so fast? I shall have -indigestion.”</p> - -<p>“He doesn’t practice on the violin or come in drunk, does he?”</p> - -<p>“Never. Toto, tell me about this charming girl who has taken your -heart; tell me her name?”</p> - -<p>“Célestin.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, <em>mon Dieu!</em> Célestin! What a name!—full of light.”</p> - -<p>“Would you like to see her? Well, come to-morrow morning. I am going -to meet her in the Champs Élysées at eight, and I’ll tell you what: we -will all go and breakfast together, and then we will take a trip into -the country. You will do for a chaperon; you can watch about and meet -us as if by accident—will you?”</p> - -<p>“Why, yes,” chirruped Gaillard, a vista of pleasure in the country, -champagne, pretty girls, and April skies springing up before him, -painted upon the night. “I shall be charmed. The country now is like -a picture—the skies by Fantin, the blossoms by Diaz. I will come in a -straw hat. Tell me, Toto: shall I bring a girl<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span>?”</p> - -<p>“Confound it, no!” said the Prince. “Célestin is not that sort.”</p> - -<p>Gaillard sighed.</p> - -<p>They had reached the house in the Rue de Turbigo where he lived, and -passed through the entresol and up, up, up a great many stairs, for the -poet lived at the top of his tree.</p> - -<p>“Fanfoullard has not come, then,” he cried in a voice of disappointment -as he opened his door and revealed a big room lit by the remains of a -fire. “Light a candle, Toto, whilst I build up the fire.”</p> - -<p>“There are no candles,” said Toto, hunting about match in hand.</p> - -<p>“True—I forgot,” cried the poet, running into the little bedroom -adjoining and returning with a night-light in a soap-dish; “I used them -all to-day.”</p> - -<p>“Why, you don’t burn candles in the daylight?”</p> - -<p>“Indeed,” said Gaillard, “I do. When I am working I always close the -shutters and work by candlelight. My ideas are like moths; daylight -dispels them, candlelight attracts them. They are like gray moths, -the color of decay; could you look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span> in when I am at work, you would -perhaps see them flitting about my head—reveling around their maker. -<em>Bon Dieu!</em> this bellows is broken. Toto, hand me that bundle of -wood. I have written by a night light. ‘Satanitie’ was written by a -night-light, finished in the first rays of the dawn; that book was -written at a single sitting in one night of sheer madness.”</p> - -<p>“I know; you told me so the other day,” replied Toto, whilst Gaillard, -his hat still on his head, and his frock-coat hanging round him like -a skirt, squatted on his hams before the fire, putting pieces of -stick upon it with finger and thumb, whilst the flames leaped up and, -assisting the feeble flame of the night-light, illuminated the room.</p> - -<p>The carpet was blue, the tablecloth red, the curtains maroon rep. -Sundry German engravings adorned the walls. One represented an angel in -a long chemise, saying, evidently, “Coosh!” to a lion in a den, whilst -Daniel, with a head four sizes too large, stood by with an air of -attention. Another, Tobias being haled along by an angry-looking seraph -to the music of cherubs playing upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span> wooden harps and seated upon -woolen clouds. Another, Ananias dying apparently of strychnine. There -were three photographs on the mantel: one of a boy in plaid trousers -clasping to his breast a wooden horse; another of a young man, wild -of eye, and dressed in the uniform of the 101st of the line; a third, -of a poet holding a little book in his hand. All three portraits were -of Gaillard—Gaillard at ten, Gaillard at twenty-five, and Gaillard at -thirty, as we know him.</p> - -<p>In a bookshelf close to the mantel stood a volume of Schopenhauer, -Baudelaire’s “Fleurs du Mal,” and ten volumes by Gaillard—that is to -say, two volumes of each of his works; twinlets delicately bound, some -gay as grisettes, but “Satanitie” ash-colored, with a black devil -dancing on its back.</p> - -<p>“Why,” said Toto, glancing at Daniel, “do you keep those odious prints -in your room?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t keep them,” said Gaillard, rising with a distracted air, and -wiping his fingers on his coat. “My poverty keeps them; they are part -of the furniture. Look at the carpet, look at the curtains—what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span> a -background! I am like a butterfly pinned to an outrageous tapestry, -an indecent arras; they are my cross. I took them up with the rooms. -Why do I remain in the rooms? They are haunted, Toto, by a man called -Mirmillard. He was an opium-eater, and lived by writing for the -<em>Quartier Latin</em>. You know the <em>Quartier Latin</em>? It is a <em>farouche</em> -little journal of sixteen pages or so, and appears monthly, or is it -quarterly? He blew his brains out just where you are sitting now; -the hole was extant in the wall a month ago, but I had it stopped -up with plaster. Have I seen his ghost? many times; it is one of my -inspirations, and that is why I endure those terrible curtains, that -terrible carpet, and, ah, <em>mon Dieu!</em> those terrible pictures. Toto, -lend me your cigarette case; I will take three, and make you some -coffee—I have all the <em>implementa</em> in this cupboard. Fanfoullard is not -coming, it seems. No matter; I will seek him to-morrow myself. To-night -perhaps, if we are lucky, we may see Mirmillard. He appeared to me only -three nights ago, and the gash in his throat gaped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“I thought you said he blew his brains out?”</p> - -<p>“He completed the work with a razor,” said Gaillard, putting the little -kettle on to boil. “But enough of Mirmillard. These cigarettes are very -good. Let us talk of flowers.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, bother flowers!” said the Prince, lying luxuriously back on the -old sofa, whose springs were bursting out below. “Tell me, Gaillard; -have you ever been in love with a woman?”</p> - -<p>Gaillard, squatting before the fire, looked at the kettle with an -expression as though he were regarding the gash in Mirmillard’s throat. -He had never seen that gash, simply because there was no Mirmillard, -not even the ghost of one. He, like Fanfoullard, was one of Gaillard’s -creatures, born to bedizen conversation.</p> - -<p>He made no response to Toto’s question.</p> - -<p>“For I am,” said Toto, without waiting for one. “I never thought I -should be; but that girl’s eyes are quite different from other women’s. -But you will see her yourself to-morrow. Deuce! what is this?”</p> - -<p>A little bundle of papers was disturbing his rest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span> on the sofa. He -picked them out. They were newspaper cuttings, paragraphs about an -individual called Papillard. For the last few months a series of little -stories had been attracting the attention of Paris to the pages of -<em>Gil Blas</em>. They were naughty, but screamingly funny, and just long -enough to read whilst smoking a couple of cigarettes or sipping a glass -of absinthe. They were signed “Papillard.” Everyone was asking who -Papillard was. Nobody knew but the editor, and editors never speak when -they are told not.</p> - -<p>“Why, hello!” cried Toto. “Do you know Papillard?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Gaillard, removing the kettle from the fire in a hurry.</p> - -<p>“But see here: here are things about him, addressed to him and opened.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Gaillard, “I know. He’s a friend of Fanfoullard’s. He must -have been yesterday, and no doubt left them. My dear Toto, do you like -your coffee strong?”</p> - -<p>Gaillard’s hand was shaking. He dared not admit that Papillard was -himself. No one had ever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span> guessed it, for Gaillard, though a source -of great humor, was believed to be utterly destitute of that quality, -and so, in fact, he was. Papillard was a sprite that lived in the -brain of his unwilling host. He was a creature like Fanfoullard and -Mirmillard, only much more highly organized, for he was able to cling -to his tenement and to exercise his abilities in literature. The -stories of Papillard horrified his master when in print. There was -something so abominably low about them. Servant girls giggled over -them on back-stairs. Gaillard admitted to himself in secret that he -wrote them, and enjoyed writing them, but he would sooner almost have -died than admitted the authorship. One of the stories in question had -for motive a cold leg of mutton. There is nothing particularly funny -about a cold leg of mutton, but the story was killing. And it had been -written by the author of “Satanitie”! Gaillard, when he remembered -this fact, felt dizzy, and pinched himself to see if he was there. -He was jealous, too, of Papillard’s fame. Wind of these trifles had -even reached England, or, at least, the <em>Daily Telegraph</em>. “Satanitie” -had never gone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span> so far. When people cried “What a droll fellow this -Papillard is!” Gaillard’s tongue had to lie mute at the bottom of his -mouth—a cruel torture. You cannot be two people at once. You cannot be -a mystical poet, and a buffoon—at least, before the eyes of the world. -He had discovered his genius by accident, and too late. His self-love -had crystallized round poetry, and, in fact, the poet was the true -<em>him</em>. Papillard was a clove of garlic in a bonbon box, placed there by -accident or freak, smelt by everyone, but never localized.</p> - -<p>He would have burnt Papillard’s stories, but they brought him -money—much more money than “Satanitie” or “Nymphomanie” or “The -Poisoned Tulip” or “The World Gone Gray” had ever brought him; and -Gaillard was a sieve for gold—at the mercy of every woman he met, -who robbed him of the money that ought to have gone to his tailors, -bootmakers, hatters, and hosiers. Lately, indeed, he would have gone -very much to pieces only for the fantastic labors of Papillard, and for -these benefits he was ungrateful. You know the maxim of Rochefoucauld.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span></p> - -<p>He handed Toto his coffee, and, to turn the conversation, reminded him -of the loan of a thousand francs which he had requested on their first -meeting that evening.</p> - -<p>“It is indispensable to me,” said Gaillard.</p> - -<p>“I will let you have it,” replied the Prince, “but not now. If you had -money now, you would be off to the Moulin Rouge, and I should not see -you in the morning. I will let you have it to-morrow evening when we -come back.”</p> - -<p>“But I have not a centime!” cried Gaillard, turning out his waistcoat -pockets in despair. “And how can I meet you, how can I get to the -rendezvous, in this condition?”</p> - -<p>“It’s better for you to come like that than come, perhaps, tipsy. -Besides, I will pay all expenses, and I will give you five francs now; -that will pay your cab to the Champs Élysées in the morning. Stay at -home and write poetry just for to-night, and think of all the fun you -will have to-morrow night.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Mon Dieu!</em>” said Gaillard, as the vision of the Moulin Rouge vanished -before him into thin air.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a><br /><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span></p> - -<h2 class="chapter padb2" id="Part_II"><b>Part II.</b></h2> - -<h3 class="no-break" id="Part_II_CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.<br /> -<br /><span class="smaller">IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> next morning broke fair. The sky over Paris held the blue of -forget-me-nots, and the wind from the west, lazy and warm, ruffled the -lilac of the Seine with streaks of sismondine. It was the summer end -of April; she had still five days’ tenancy, and here May had arrived -before her time, flushed and warm from her journey, but seemingly -unspeakably happy.</p> - -<p>“Ah, <em>mon Dieu!</em> ’tis like an old Italian picture!” cried Gaillard as -he opened his lattice in the Rue de Turbigo.</p> - -<p>“Oh, <em>ciel</em>!” cried Célestin far away near the Rue de Babylone, as she -stood by her open window and clasped her hands before all this beauty, -whilst Dodor gave praise from the parrot cage till the brown sparrows, -grubbing in the street below, cocked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span> their impudent heads on one side, -as if to say “What’s that? Who is making that noise?”</p> - -<p>Célestin had been dreaming of Toto, and praying before she slept that -the morrow might be fine and that he would not forget. What a day had -come in answer to her prayers! She fully believed that her prayers had -brought this angelic morning, tripping with blue parasol outspread -across the fields of light, across the hills of dreams and the country -of impossible primroses. Then the artist turned from the window and -from heaven, and flung herself into a hat.</p> - -<p>It had got the better of her yesterday. She had stared vainly at the -foundation. Nothing came, only the vision of Toto beating the beggar -man, Toto drinking his coffee, Toto declaring himself an artist, Toto’s -eyes, Toto’s nose, the coat he had worn, his beautiful hands, his hair -so well groomed, his white teeth, and his angelic smile. You cannot put -these things into a hat—that is to say, immediately; but now, after -twenty-four hours nearly had elapsed, the miracle was accomplished.</p> - -<p>The result was a confection that made Princesse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span> Klein look ten years -younger at the Countess Prim’s garden party. She did not know that she -was wearing Toto upon her head, Toto idealized and converted into a hat -by the joint endeavors of love and April, assisted by the fingers of -Célestin Sabatier.</p> - -<p>The doing of it took but an hour, and then she held it out on the point -of her finger and smiled; Dodor broke into a song of triumph, and the -little American clock on the shelf struck seven.</p> - -<p>So she breakfasted—a cup of milk and a Vienna roll eaten in haste—and -gave Dodor his morning fly round the room. Then she started, closing -the door carefully for fear of Mme. Liard’s cat, and all the way down -the steep and dusty stairs Dodor’s voice pursued her, seeming to cry -“Come back! come back!”</p> - -<p>Toto had dressed himself in his oldest suit of tweed; he wore also a -revolutionary-looking felt hat. A Prince cannot break into a blouse -in one morning any more than a tree can cast its leaves in one night, -but he was advancing. He had also been waiting since ten minutes to -eight—that is to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> say, exactly five minutes—for at five minutes to -eight Célestin appeared beneath the trees of the Avenue Champs Élysées, -and Toto, who had been standing close to one of the little kiosks, came -to meet her.</p> - -<p>She wore a bunch of blue violets in her bosom, an artless adornment -bought for a sou at the corner of the Rue de Varennes. She was in -exactly the same dress as that she had worn on the previous morning, -but her hands were gloved in honor of Toto.</p> - -<p>They shook hands and laughed a little, and inquired after each other’s -health. Then Toto led her to some chairs placed close to one of the -little kiosks.</p> - -<p>“Don’t let us sit on those,” said Célestin; “they charge for them. I -once sat on a little chair just here, and a man came out and asked me -for a sou; there was nothing to be done but pay him.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind,” said the Prince; “let us be extravagant for once in our -lives. Célestin, I have a treat for you—guess what it is.”</p> - -<p>Célestin thought vaguely of what it could be;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span> she could imagine -nothing but a breakfast, hot rolls and butter and coffee, but somehow -she did not care to tell of this imagining. She shook her head.</p> - -<p>“I am going to take you for a day in the country and show you the -flowers and things—that is, if you will come. Will you come, Célestin?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Désiré!” cried the girl. She could say no more; she held out -both hands to Toto; her soul was in a tumult, and her eyes filled -with tears of pure delight. The country, the mysterious country, the -long-dreamt-of country, that land of her dreams compounded of old -visions of Champrosay and the shrill sweetness of Dodor’s song! Had -Israfel appeared before her offering a trip to the fields of heaven, I -doubt if his offer would have been received with such delight.</p> - -<p>Toto felt an extraordinary little thrill run through him as he took -her hands. No one had ever called him Désiré before in a voice like -that; women, when they knew him well enough, always called him Toto, -generally with a little laugh—men too. Here was a being, lovely -and lovable, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span> called him by his right name, and, oh, with what -sweetness! It was a new revelation of himself; it was as if, glancing -in a mirror, he saw, reflected in a new way, a face very much more -handsome and manly than his own, and yet the true reflection of his -face. He would have loved that mirror and disliked the false mirrors -he had been accustomed to, just as he was beginning to love Désiré—I -mean Célestin. He kissed each little hand and put them back in her lap, -where they rested as if satisfied.</p> - -<p>“But where shall we go?” asked Toto, glancing round to see if he could -make out any sign of Gaillard, and almost hoping that he had overslept -himself.</p> - -<p>“Oh, anywhere,” said she. “What matter where, so that it is the -country, where the trees are and the flowers? There is nothing so -beautiful in the whole world as the trees; I dream of them sometimes, -and they are lovely. Oh, see that white butterfly, white as an angel of -heaven! he seems so glad, and he seems to know.”</p> - -<p>“Bother!” said Toto.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span></p> - -<p>“What?” asked Célestin, coming back from heaven.</p> - -<p>It was Gaillard in the distance. The poet had dressed himself for -pastoral pleasures; he wore a gray frockcoat, a white waistcoat, and -a straw hat—one of those straw hats they manage better in France: it -was soft, and the brim curled. He had also a green necktie, to be in -keeping with the grass, a rose in his buttonhole, and a large stick -with a crook handle.</p> - -<p>“Ah, my dear Désiré!” screamed the poet when in speaking distance. He -had been schooled overnight to forget the odious little name Toto. “I -despaired of seeing you; you were not to be seen, and now I find you -sitting on a seat.” He removed his hat and bowed low to Célestin.</p> - -<p>“This is my friend M. Gaillard, the famous poet,” said Toto, putting in -“the famous poet” as a sort of excuse for the gayety and <em>bizarrerie</em> -of his friend’s dress, which he felt might frighten Célestin. But -Célestin was not in the least frightened, though somewhat awed by the -grandeur and white waistcoat of Gaillard. She had heard Mme. Liard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span> -speak of poets, wonderful and fabulous beings who lived in the country. -The country seemed coming to her in bounds, the gods descending in -showers, the birds singing louder in the trees of the Champs Élysées as -if to welcome God Gaillard. She felt very happy.</p> - -<p>“I am char-r-r-med,” said Gaillard, bowing again and sinking into a -chair. “Charmed to make Mlle. Célestin’s acquaintance. I have not been -to bed. To—Désiré, I have passed the night pen in hand; the dawn came -in upon me as I worked; then it was too late.”</p> - -<p>He told this frightful lie with unction, for he had been, not only -in bed, but snoring, when Mme. Plon, the concierge, tipped overnight -by Toto, had actually come into his room and threatened to strip the -clothes off him if he did not get up to go and meet Prince Cammora.</p> - -<p>“<em>Mon Dieu</em>, monsieur!” had cried Mme. Plon. “Where will you get that -hundred and ten francs you promised me for the rent but yesterday, -should you fail to meet M. le Prince, and put His Highness in a bad -temper<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span>?”</p> - -<p>“How wonderful that is,” said Célestin timidly, “to be a poet!”</p> - -<p>Gaillard swelled a bit under his white waistcoat; then he laughed a -dreary little laugh.</p> - -<p>“Ah, mademoiselle, on a morning like this, yes, it is a wonderful thing -to be a poet; but the world is not always May, the world is not always -May. Mademoiselle has, perhaps, never read my——”</p> - -<p>“No, of course she hasn’t,” cut in Toto. “At least—but that’s not the -question; tell me, where shall we go? We want a pleasant day. Now, what -do you suggest?”</p> - -<p>“But, mademoiselle——”</p> - -<p>“She has already suggested anywhere; she is indifferent.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Gaillard, who had the day’s festivity already sketched out -in his head, “I would propose a <em>petit déjeuner</em> now, then drop in to -the Louvre and look at the Primitives, then I would propose <em>déjeuner</em>. -After that, why not let us go to Montlhéry; we can take the train from -the Gare d’Orléans. There is an old tower at Montlhéry that I love. We -will dine at the Chat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> Noir; they have some very fine carp in a pond -there, we will get the landlord to kill one and cook it for us. He -knows me, and he manufactures a most delicious white wine sauce for -carp. Well, then we will have a carriage back and supper at Foyot’s, in -the Rue de Tournon.”</p> - -<p>“That might do for M. Rothschild, but it is not simple enough for us,” -said Toto, making suppressed grimaces at the poet. “If I had sold a -picture even lately, but I haven’t.” A blank look began to overspread -Gaillard’s face; he had not reckoned on this. “So we must be very -economical. How much money have you?”</p> - -<p>“I have nothing!” cried the unfortunate Gaillard, and he began, as was -his wont, to turn his pockets inside out; then he remembered Célestin. -“My publisher was out when I called upon him. My dear To—Désiré, how -much have you?”</p> - -<p>“Nineteen francs,” said Toto with a diabolical grin as he produced his -money, “and a sou.” Célestin laughed and felt in her pocket for her -little shabby purse, but Toto said “No.”</p> - -<p>“We are rich. Poets and painters, you know,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span> Célestin, have a way -of getting along on air, like the birds—haven’t we, Gaillard?” But -Gaillard only made a noise like a groan. “I know what we’ll do. But -first come, and we will have our <em>petit déjeuner</em> at the little -<em>crémerie</em> in the Rue du Mont Thabor. You remember the <em>crémerie</em> where -we breakfasted yesterday, Célestin?”</p> - -<p>“That delicious little <em>crémerie</em>!” murmured Célestin, and they started.</p> - -<p>They crossed the Place de la Concorde, Célestin laughing, Toto talking, -and Gaillard walking silent like a froward child. He would have -returned to the Rue de Turbigo had he not been absolutely penniless, -for the five francs had all vanished, devoured by a rose, a cigar, and -a cab.</p> - -<p>“I will be silent,” thought Gaillard, “and spoil this wretched Toto’s -pleasure; I will turn his feast into a funeral. Nineteen francs, <em>mon -Dieu!</em> and three people, and a day in the country! The mind revolts!”</p> - -<p>But ten minutes later he was calling for honey, declaring that he -could not eat his roll and butter without it, and joining in the -conversation. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> could no longer endure the agony of holding his -tongue; besides, he remembered the thousand francs Toto had promised -him if he conducted himself decorously and with discretion.</p> - -<p>“I know where we will go!” cried the Prince.</p> - -<p>“Barbizon?” queried Gaillard, putting six lumps of sugar in his coffee.</p> - -<p>“No, Montmorency; the chestnut trees will look splendid to-day. They -are not in flower yet; but no matter—one cannot have everything.”</p> - -<p>“True,” said Gaillard, trying to ogle Célestin and failing, for she was -entirely engrossed with Toto and the bread and butter; “one cannot have -everything. We will go to Montmorency, and sit beneath the chestnut -trees and tell each other fairy tales.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, how delightful!” murmured Célestin.</p> - -<p>“I will tell you the tale of the giant and the dwarf,” resumed -Gaillard. “It is my own—one of a series of <em>fin-de-siècle</em> fairy tales -I am writing for Lévy. There is a terrible battle in it, and the -giant beats the dwarf. In the olden tales the dwarf beats the giant -invariably, but I have changed all that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span> The giant in my story is the -type of sin; he pelts the dwarf with roses, nothing more; the dwarf -replies with mud; he is Virtue, and has a hump, and is hairy. Rousseau -had a châlet at Montmorency; it is there still. I will leave you two -amongst the primroses whilst I go and cast a stone at it—wretched -man, murderer of his own children, destroyer of the <em>haute noblesse</em>, -progenitor of the bourgeoisie!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, bother Rousseau!” cried the Prince, helping Célestin to more -honey. “We don’t want to think of him; we want to be happy.”</p> - -<p>“True,” said Gaillard; “you are young—we are all young; May is coming -in. Désiré, a great idea has struck me: we will have a picnic. The -inn at Montmorency may not be a good inn; I have my doubts about it. -My children, listen to me: we will dine on the grass beneath those -chestnut trees.”</p> - -<p>“But——” objected Toto.</p> - -<p>“Hear me out. I have a friend; we will call her Églantine. Do not -laugh, Désiré. My friend lives close by; she is, in fact, very -well-to-do, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> owns a café. I will go to her, and she will pack me a -luncheon basket, and so we will be at the mercy of no landlord.”</p> - -<p>“Well, go,” said Toto, “but do not be long.”</p> - -<p>“Half an hour is all I ask,” replied the poet, rising in a great hurry -and departing.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_II_CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">FÊTE CHAMPÊTRE.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">He</span> passed almost at a run down the Rue St. Honoré. A friend tried to -stop him.</p> - -<p>“I am busy,” cried Gaillard; “do not detain me! <em>Mon Dieu!</em> I will pay -you to-night! Meet me at eight at the Café de la Paix.” Then, at a run, -round the corner of the Rue Royale and into a large café just waking -up: “Du Pont! Du Pont! Where is M. Du Pont?”</p> - -<p>The proprietor, a large black-whiskered man in shirt-sleeves, appeared -from the back premises, wiping his mouth with a serviette. This was -Églantine.</p> - -<p>“My dear Du Pont,” cried Gaillard, “here am I nearly mad! M. le Prince -has arranged a little picnic, and Sarony has forgotten to send the -luncheon basket.”</p> - -<p>Du Pont flung up his hands as if the world had fallen in.</p> - -<p>“Can you arrange a basket for three—cold fowl,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span> tongue, and some <em>pâté -de foie gras</em>, also champagne?”</p> - -<p>“How many for—three?” cried M. du Pont, holding up three fingers. -“<em>Tenez!</em>” and away he rushed.</p> - -<p>In ten minutes the basket arrived, borne by a waiter; it was a -capable-looking basket, and seemed heavy.</p> - -<p>“At least, we shall not starve,” murmured Gaillard. “Charge it to M. -le Prince, Du Pont. Adieu!” And he drove away in an open fly with the -basket beside him, remembering, when it was too late, that he ought -also to have ordered a box of cigars.</p> - -<p>He met his companions in the Rue Mont Thabor; they had left the -<em>crémerie</em>, and were walking up and down in the sun.</p> - -<p>Then the trio, with the luncheon basket in their midst, drove off, -and were deposited at the Gare du Nord, that dreary station with its -multitudinous platforms and engines that do not whistle healthily, but -toot mournfully with a suggestion of phantom horns.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span></p> - -<p>Here in the hurry and hubbub the poet could express his ideas on the -third-class tickets which Toto insisted on buying, without fear of -Célestin overhearing his plaints.</p> - -<p>“My dear Toto, do not do this disgraceful thing. Consider my position -in the world, if you forget your own. Should anyone see me, <em>mon Dieu!</em> -it will be all over Paris, and they will say my books are not selling. -Already they are saying that the editions are being faked. I will go -back, I will commit suicide——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, rubbish! I’m going third. Stay behind if you like. <em>Ma foi!</em> see -over there standing beside that woman with the plum-colored face! It’s -old De Nani, and he has seen us. Wait—wait for me, Célestin; I wish to -speak to a friend. My dear Marquis,” cried Toto, dragging the old man -aside, “I am going on a little private business into the country. In -fact, I am going with a lady and my friend Gaillard, but I do not want -her to know my identity—you understand.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Parfaitement</em>,” replied the old beast, grinning under his paint and -glancing at Célestin, and vowing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span> in his own mind to do Toto an evil -turn, if such a thing were possible.</p> - -<p>For by a strange chance Struve’s enemy, to whose house he had been -driven drunk on the previous morning, was also his most deadly enemy. -The Comte de la Fosse was this gentleman’s name, and on descending in a -flowered dressing gown on the previous morning to see what the hubbub -was about, he had found M. le Marquis de Nani seated without his wig -in the middle of the hall and singing ribald songs as he attempted to -remove his boots. The Comte de la Fosse had ordered his enemy to be -put to bed, and later in the day read him a pious lecture on the evils -of drink and the disgrace he had brought on the old nobility. Toto was -indirectly the cause of all this—directly, for all that old De Nani -knew. Needless to say, he felt very bitter.</p> - -<p>“And above all things,” said Toto, “I don’t want my mother to know.”</p> - -<p>“I understand,” said De Nani. “I, too, am going into the country—to -Chantilly.”</p> - -<p>“Good-by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Au revoir.</em> But stay. Where shall I meet you again? Could I see you -to-night?”</p> - -<p>“Be at the Café de la Paix,” said Gaillard, who had come up to see -what was going on, and what this old blood-sucker was saying to his -Toto, “and ask for M. Théodore Wolf. Anyone will show you him. He is a -journalist with a black beard. I have made a rendezvous for eight with -him. We will be there.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Toto, “be there at eight.”</p> - -<p>And De Nani left them, not for Chantilly, indeed, but to take a cab and -drive to the Boulevard Haussmann and say to the Princesse de Cammora:</p> - -<p>“Madame, something very strange is going on. Alas! it is not the fact -of the young lady that alarms me, but, madame, he desired me not to -mention her existence to you. Young men will be young men, but why -this excessive secrecy? I have an intimate knowledge of the world, -and I fear——I do not like this M. Gaillard, either; he indulges most -intemperately.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Gaillard the poet,” said the Princesse; “there is not much harm in -him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>Still, she felt uneasy, and determined in her own mind to have an -interview with Gaillard, and implore him to protect her precious Toto -from the machinations of strange girls, and lead him into the right -path—the path that led to Helen Powers.</p> - -<p>“Why did you give that old fool a rendezvous at the Café de la Paix?” -asked the Prince as the train whirled them along past green fields, on -which Célestin’s eyes were fixed with pathetic rapture.</p> - -<p>“I did not give him a rendezvous,” replied the poet, who had obtained -Célestin’s assent to his smoking one of Toto’s cigarettes. “I shall -not be there. Wolf will be there, and they will bore each other. Wolf -is a dun, M. de Nani is a bore. I always appoint my duns and bores to -meet each other at the Café de la Paix, the Café Américain, or the -Grand Café. They dine together and speak ill of me whilst I am dining -at Foyot’s, or the Café Anglais, or the Maison Dorée. I have made the -fortune of three cafés by the people I have sent there to wait for me. -They all ask for each other, and sit at the same table and wait for -me; then they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span> dine, and as a rule drink too much champagne to assuage -themselves——”</p> - -<p>“<em>Mon Dieu</em>, Célestin!” cried Toto, seizing both her hands; “what is -this? You are crying!”</p> - -<p>“I have just remembered Dodor,” sobbed Célestin. “I have left him shut -up in my room, and, oh! should anyone open the door and leave it so, -Mme. Liard’s cat may kill him. <em>What</em> shall I do?”</p> - -<p>“Why, the girl has a baby!” thought Gaillard in astonishment.</p> - -<p>“Well, this is a nuisance!” said Toto in a voice of tribulation.</p> - -<p>“How old is Dodor, mademoiselle?” asked the poet.</p> - -<p>“He is two years and a little bit,” wept Célestin.</p> - -<p>“Ah, then be assured, mademoiselle, he is safe; cats never attack -children of that age.”</p> - -<p>Toto made horrible faces at his companion.</p> - -<p>“He is not a child, monsieur,” murmured Dodor’s mistress—“I often wish -that he were; he is my lark, and Mme. Liard’s cat may kill him.”</p> - -<p>Gaillard’s eyes became filled with tears; a moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span> more, and he might -have allowed himself the pleasure of weeping.</p> - -<p>“Did you lock your door?” asked Toto.</p> - -<p>“Why, yes, I did!” cried Célestin, brightening through her tears and -putting her hand into the back pocket of her dress; “and the key—I have -it. Oh, how relieved I feel! Still, I ought not to have forgotten him; -he was a treasure given me by the good God to keep. Ah, monsieur,” she -said, turning to Gaillard, “you do not know how I love Dodor.”</p> - -<p>Gaillard’s lachrymal works again began to threaten.</p> - -<p>“Here we are,” said Toto, and the train drew up at Montmorency, with -the trees waving in the wind.</p> - -<p>They came along the white road leading to the little town, a boy hired -for half a franc carrying the basket, Gaillard threatening him with -untold terrors if he dropped it and herding him with his crook-handled -stick.</p> - -<p>The blue sky was dotted here and there with little white clouds, like a -sparse flock of white<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span> lambs tended by some invisible shepherd who had -gone to sleep in the azure fields and left them to graze at their own -sweet will. Beneath the sky and far away stretched the country, green -as only April makes it, spread with apple blossom, the air filled with -a sound one never hears in Paris—the hum of the wind in a million trees.</p> - -<p>Célestin seemed tipsy. One can fancy a newly arrived angel in the -fields of Paradise drunk with color and light. She dashed into -hedgerows after wild flowers, and clapped her hands at butterflies, -and cried out with happiness when she saw a lamb just like one of the -lambs one sees in the Magazin du Louvre at Christmas time, but this one -dancing round its mother in the middle of a field pied with daisies.</p> - -<p>“She has gone mad,” said Toto, delighted with the delight of his -<em>protégée</em>.</p> - -<p>“’Tis the primitive woman breaking out,” said Gaillard. “Proceed, -Alphonse, and if you drop that basket I will flay you! Believe me, -Désiré, every woman is a nymph at heart. I know several women who are -devotees when in Paris, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span> in the country they become hamadryadic; -’tis the influence of the trees—they remember Pan. Have you read -my little brochure ‘Pan in Paris’? It appeared as a feuilleton in -<em>Lucifer</em>, the journal of the Satanists. I am not a Satanist; I despise -the sect. I went to their church once; Satan in person was to appear. -He did; the lights were lowered, but he did not frighten me, for I had -heard him bleating in the vestry before he was brought on—it was a -goat. Besides it was very dull; I left in the middle of the sermon, and -Satan smelt dreadfully. I had to burn pastilles in my room for three -days to help me to forget him.”</p> - -<p>They skirted the happy little town, and made for a part of the chestnut -forest declared by Alphonse to be suitable for picnics. Here, beneath -the trees on the edge of the sunlight, the basket was deposited on the -greensward, and Gaillard flung himself down to rest.</p> - -<p>“I will leave you here,” said Toto, “to get the things ready, and I -will take Célestin to the hill-top to see the view.”</p> - -<p>“Leave me, then, your cigarette case,” murmured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span> Gaillard, his hat over -his eyes, and his arms flung out on either side; “and do not be long, -Désiré, for I am famished.”</p> - -<p>From the hill of Montmorency the whole world of April lay before -them, in its midst Paris, the city of light, sixteen miles away, -cream-colored and drab; Paris the noisy, silent amidst all that silent -country stretching away in billows of tender green to the sky of pale -and wonderful blue.</p> - -<p>“Oh, <em>ciel</em>!” sighed Célestin, removing her gloves as she sat by Toto, -and folding them carefully inside out and putting them in her pocket. -“Can that be Paris, that little place? my thumb covers it when I hold -it so. And, oh, the sky!—it seems to stretch to heaven. How happy the -world is!”</p> - -<p>“Do you find it happy?” asked Toto, tearing up wild violets and -flinging them away to keep his hands employed.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Célestin, breathing the word out in a manner that made it a -prayer of praise.</p> - -<p>“But you are not rich—you are like me; and they say the rich see more -of the pleasure of the world than we do. Tell me, would you like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span> to be -a great lady, one of those one sees in the Bois?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no!” said Célestin; “I would much rather be myself.”</p> - -<p>“But!” said Toto, tearing a daisy’s head off, “imagine having money to -spend, as much as one wanted.”</p> - -<p>“I have.”</p> - -<p>“Imagine having a carriage and horses.”</p> - -<p>“That would be nice; at least, I would sooner, I think, go in -omnibuses—one would be very desolate all alone in a carriage. It is the -people who make omnibuses so delightful; one wonders where they are -going to and what they have in their baskets; and some read books, and -one tries to imagine what they read of. And then the hats one sees! -they make one want to laugh and weep. Sometimes they are not so bad, -but sometimes they are frightful; often have I wished to say, ‘Madame, -let me retrim your hat; I will do it for love, and use my own thread,’ -but I have never dared.”</p> - -<p>“Well, imagine being able to ride in omnibuses all day long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>Célestin smiled, and looked away into the blue distance, as if she were -watching an ethereal omnibus filled with her familiar angels.</p> - -<p>“Well, you could do that all day if you were rich.”</p> - -<p>“I could not take Dodor.”</p> - -<p>Toto, the tempter, felt that she had him there, but he was not tempting -her in the ordinary acceptation of the word.</p> - -<p>“You love Dodor very much?” Her eyes swept round to him, and rested -full upon his. “Tell me, Célestin: could you not love me a little too?”</p> - -<p>When they got back to the picnic they found the cloth spread, the -places laid, and the Perigord pie eaten; they had, in fact, been away -over two hours, and the poet had not waited.</p> - -<p>There was cold tongue, and part of a fowl and rolls and butter left, -all of which Gaillard offered with effusion; he had expected a scolding -for beginning without them, but he did not get it. Toto did not -care, Célestin did not know; cold tongue or Perigord pie, it did not -matter—they were in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span> love. The poet smiled upon them like a father, and -piled their plates, and gave them what was left of the champagne.</p> - -<p>“Here’s to Églantine!” said Toto, toasting the provider of the feast in -a glass of Mumm, from which Célestin had taken a sip. “Has she brown -eyes or blue?”</p> - -<p>“Blue,” said Gaillard. “Blue as the skies above Pentelicus.”</p> - -<p>“Well, tell her what I say, and give me a cigarette.”</p> - -<p>“There is only one left,” replied the poet, as he hastily lit it.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_II_CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE GENESIS OF “PANTIN.”</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">They</span> returned to Paris at five, leaving the luncheon basket at the -Montmorency Station.</p> - -<p>“Églantine will send for it,” said Gaillard.</p> - -<p>At the Nord they took an open carriage driven by a cabman in a white -beaver, and drawn by two white ponies. In this conveyance they tore -down the Rue de Faubourg St. Denis, along the Boulevard Nouvelle, and -down the Rue Richelieu. Toto sat beside Célestin; Gaillard on the front -seat, his stick between his legs, chattered like a magpie, so delighted -was he to find himself back in his dear Paris.</p> - -<p>“Gaillard,” cried Toto, when Célestin had been deposited at her own -door, with a whispered word in her ear and a promise on her lips for a -rendezvous on the morrow, “I am in love.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Ma foi!</em> I know.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t; you know nothing of love, neither<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> you nor any of us. I -don’t know how many women have sworn that they love me; they do because -I am a Prince, because I am jewelry, good dinners, and what not. -(Boulevard Haussmann, you fool! I have told you twice; and make those -pigs of horses travel faster—we are not a dung cart.) Yes, I am all -that, and they love me. De Nani, for instance, is a pattern of truth -and friendship, as we know it. I have never seen our world before; -Célestin has lit it for me. My mother paints; good God! my father -painted; he wore stays.”</p> - -<p>“I, too, have worn stays,” declared Gaillard—“three years ago, when I -was very young and foolish. I was then twenty-two. I discarded them -because they were such a trouble to lace. I have even painted. What -will you have? Youth must expend itself; but believe me, Toto, our -world is not a bad world beneath the paint.”</p> - -<p>“I tell you it is a vile world.”</p> - -<p>“Well, perhaps it is, in parts. De Nani, for instance; beware of that -old man, Toto. He is the type of excess. An old man drunk and a drunken -old man are two different people. De Nani is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span> habitual drunkard; I -can read it in his eye. He is more dangerous than a cartful of women. -Still, despite the fact of De Nani and a thousand like him, I have a -childish faith in the world. I believe in humanity, or what I can see -of it through the misery and mystery of life. I believe in flowers, I -believe in trees. Have you read my ‘Rose Worship’? <em>Mon Dieu!</em> what was -that? Only a dog we have run over. Animals, too, are part of my creed. -I am thinking of having a book of my belief published, with colored -plates. It would be the bible of childhood. Flowers, beasts, birds, -and insects would be as the four Apostles. I was saved from atheism -by a butterfly. It flew into my rooms in the Rue de Turbigo one day -last August. Everyone was at the seaside; I was alone in Paris. De -Brie had refused to advance me the money for a trip to Normandy. You, -Toto, were at Trouville. The day was sultry, and, to add to my pain, -a barrel-organ played in the street outside. Mme. Plon brought me a -letter. It was a draft from my sister for five hundred francs. As I -cast my eyes over it, a white butterfly flew in through my window,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span> -thrice around the room, and out again. It was the voice of the Unseen, -saying ‘I am here.’ Yes, I believe—I believe in your Célestin. She is -all nature, and to be loved by such a woman is a benediction.”</p> - -<p>La Princesse de Cammora’s carriage was at the door. She had just -returned from shopping, and tea was being served to her in the drawing -room.</p> - -<p>Gaillard loved tea and Princesses,—even Princesses of fifty,—so he left -Toto to go upstairs and change, whilst he found his way to the drawing -room.</p> - -<p>The Princesse was not alone—Pelisson was with her. He had come to find -Toto. His head looked larger than ever; it seemed bursting with some -great idea, and, true to his nature, he was making a noise. He was also -making the Princesse laugh. The tears were in her eyes as Gaillard -entered.</p> - -<p>Gaillard sipped his tea whilst the journalist finished his story. It -was about an actress. Then the Princesse drew Gaillard into a corner, -leaving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> Pelisson to look over a bundle of engravings till the coming -of Toto.</p> - -<p>“Oh, M. Gaillard,” said the great lady in a motherly yet playful voice, -“how naughty it is of you to lead my Toto astray! No, no, do not speak; -it is not you I fear; but I have heard—no matter: a little bird told -me. Now, this journey to the country. Who is she, M. Gaillard?”</p> - -<p>“Madame, I swear to you——”</p> - -<p>“Nay, nay, I do not want you to tell tales out of school; but you have -been seen—the three of you—this morning at the Nord. Tell me, now—her -name!”</p> - -<p>“Madame, be assured, it was a most innocent freak. She is a most -charming and innocent girl.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, this is dreadful!” murmured the Princesse. “M. Gaillard, I -speak to you as a mother to a son. I do not mind Toto’s Mimis and -Lolottes,—one cannot keep a young man in a cage,—but I dread these -innocent girls. I have seen, alas! so much of life. They come to the -house and make disturbances; they have relations, old men from the -country,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> who come and sit in one’s hall till a <em>sergent-de-ville</em> is -called. One need not be straitlaced, but one need not beat a tin pan -over one’s indiscretions. Besides, Toto is at a very critical age. I -have a match at heart for him, a girl pure and beautiful as an angel. -But she is an American, and they do not understand the little ways of -young men. She is also a good match, even for Toto. So you see it is a -mother’s heart that speaks. I pray you tell me her name.”</p> - -<p>“Her name is Lu-lu,” said Gaillard, Papillard coming to his aid.</p> - -<p>“Lu-lu. Ah, that sets my heart at rest, M. Gaillard. There was never an -innocent girl in Paris with that name.”</p> - -<p>“Madame,” said the poet, “I think your perception is very clear. I -would not disparage Mlle. Lu-lu’s innocence; still, she has a habit of -casting her eyes about, and speaks of ‘larks.’”</p> - -<p>“And tries to persuade poor Toto that she is an innocent. M. Gaillard, -I have read your beautiful poems, and I know your mind, for I have seen -it in your works. I have no fear of Toto whilst you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span> are by; stay near -him, M. Gaillard, watch over him.”</p> - -<p>“I will.”</p> - -<p>“And let me know how things go on. Hush! here he is.”</p> - -<p>Toto entered in evening dress, covered with a light overcoat.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Pelisson!”</p> - -<p>“M. Pelisson has called to take you to dine with him,” said the -Princesse. “He has some great journalistic feat to perform, and he -wants your aid. Go, all of you, and be happy.”</p> - -<p>“I am bursting!” cried Pelisson, when they were in the street. -“Toto, take my arm; Gaillard, give me yours. Cab! No, I must work my -electricity off by walking. We will dine at the Café de la Paix. I met -Wolf an hour ago; he told me he would be there.”</p> - -<p>“Stop,” said Gaillard. “I do not want to go to the Café de la Paix.”</p> - -<p>“Why, Wolf told me you had a rendezvous with him.”</p> - -<p>“It was a <em>rendezvous de convenance</em>,” said the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span> poet. “He is bothering -me. Never knew a man to bother so over a paltry hundred francs.”</p> - -<p>“I will pay it,” said Pelisson. “Come along. What’s that you say: Old -De Nani will be there—the Marquis? He’ll do; I am in want of a cheap -Marquis. Really, the gods are working. Hearken to Paris—it hums; I will -make it roar. The Ministry is down. Have you not heard? Oafs! where -have you been? Well, then, the time is coming; it only wants the men to -bring it.”</p> - -<p>“The time has come for what?” asked Gaillard.</p> - -<p>“For a general rooting out, all the rotten sticks into the fire. What -will be the end of it?—who knows? The restoration of the Bourbons, I -believe. The republic is a rotten hoarding, papered with Panama scrip. -What’s behind the hoarding? ah, ah, my children! wait and see. I am -going to bring out a paper; everything is ready down to the printer’s -ink. I want from you a hundred thousand francs, Toto. I want your -brains, Gaillard. Struve we will pull into it also. I have four other -men; all the talent in Paris will be with me. It is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> to be a dull paper -full of ideas. It will lick the boots of the bourgeoisie, and wink -behind it at the throne. It will slaver, and stink, and shuffle along, -but it will build barricades in the world of thought. Gaillard, can you -write an ode to a yard-stick?”</p> - -<p>“I can write an ode to anything beautiful.”</p> - -<p>“What is more beautiful than a bourgeois? He is the emblem of commerce.”</p> - -<p>“Looking at him in that light, he has his dim sort of beauty; besides, -I would do anything to vex De Brie. He pays one for one’s work as if -one were a butcher selling legs of mutton. He reduces literature to the -level of a trade. He would be mad if he thought I were on the staff of -another journal.”</p> - -<p>“He’ll be madder when he sees my paper break out like the smallpox; but -you must be dull.”</p> - -<p>“I would endeavor even to be dull,” said Gaillard, “to vex De Brie.”</p> - -<p>“But see here,” said Toto. “What is the use of another paper? There are -hundreds of papers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“There is no paper like mine,” said Pelisson. “Wait till you see it! -it will begin with a grunt and end in a yell. <em>Ma foi!</em> yes. There are -a hundred dull papers pretending to be clever, but there is no clever -paper pretending to be dull. I am going to be respectable, and wear a -scorpion’s tail. I am going to give more business news than any other -paper. M. Prudhomme will read me after dinner; and I will tickle him -under the ribs, and then some day I will bite him behind, and make him -jump from his easy-chair and pull things down. You will hear Paris -crack. Here we are!”</p> - -<p>They had reached the Café de la Paix; De Nani and Wolf were there -already.</p> - -<p>“For goodness’ sake, Pelisson,” said Gaillard, “give this wretched Wolf -his hundred francs, or he will be making innuendoes all dinner-time! It -is a way he has; he is most spiteful and has no reserve.”</p> - -<p>Wolf was a journalist, with a long black beard, a high forehead, and -spectacles. His forte was interviewing. He entered one’s house like a -wolf, and swallowed one—house, wife, furniture, and all;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span> the backyard -and the front garden were not beneath him. Then he vomited the remains -into the columns of fifty papers, and went and devoured someone else. -But he was a good-natured wolf, ready to lend to a friend in distress, -but a terrible creditor, for, to use Gaillard’s expression, he tortured -one so.</p> - -<p>Pelisson drew him aside and promised him payment, and then they dined, -the journalist sketching out his plan between the courses to the -delight of his listeners, excepting Toto.</p> - -<p>The wretched Toto had no part in the scheme; they asked him for money -to help them, but they did not invoke his brains. He felt the slight, -but not severely; literature was not his path. He had no hankering -after distinction as a journalist, so he agreed to supply the hundred -thousand francs, if he could get them.</p> - -<p>“I will give you bills at three months, and leave you to discount them. -I am going to Corsica to shoot moufflon.” And he touched Gaillard’s -foot under the table to remind him of Célestin and the attic in -Bohemia.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span></p> - -<p>“But,” said De Nani, who had remained sober, for the gout was -threatening, and, besides, there seemed to be a chance of money in all -this, “what is the name of this journal to be?”</p> - -<p>“<em>Pantin</em>,” replied Pelisson. “I have sifted a hundred thousand names -in my head during the last three days, and <em>Pantin</em> is the only one -that stuck. It fits my idea like a glove; it has several meanings. It -is like a stroke on a gong.”</p> - -<p><em>Pantin’s</em> health was drunk, then the conversation ran on, everyone -talking except Toto, who was drinking.</p> - -<p>Toto, to do him credit, rarely drank much; he drank to-night because -the joy of the others depressed him. He could not share their -excitement; he felt himself to be the drone in this hive; they were all -famous in their way, these men, except De Nani. He and De Nani, the -representatives of birth—what a pair! He drank double on account of De -Nani.</p> - -<p>They all rose from the table and trooped out, Pelisson’s hand on -everybody’s shoulder, Wolf with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span> his spectacles glittering in the -gaslight, Gaillard gesticulating, De Nani sniggering, Toto smoking. -They were going to Pelisson’s rooms to formulate their plans on paper. -Unhappy Toto, had he known the nasty trick <em>Pantin</em> was destined to -play him!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_II_CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">RECEIPT FOR STUFFING A MARQUIS.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Some</span> days later Gaillard was lying in bed. It was noon, and the blinds -of his room were down. Toto burst in.</p> - -<p>“Go away, Toto,” said the poet in a feeble voice. “I am dying.”</p> - -<p>“What are you dying of?”</p> - -<p>“Misery,” murmured Gaillard, turning his face to the wall.</p> - -<p>Toto pulled up the blind.</p> - -<p>“Never mind the misery. Get up and come out; I want you. What’s the -matter?”</p> - -<p>“The world; it comes upon me like this sometimes, the horror of the -whole thing. Besides, someone stole all my money last night. Where is -God? I do not know. Go away, and leave me to myself.”</p> - -<p>“You haven’t taken poison or anything, have you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span>?”</p> - -<p>“No—not yet.”</p> - -<p>“Well, get up, and I will give you some money, and we will go and have -<em>déjeuner</em>.”</p> - -<p>Gaillard moved uneasily.</p> - -<p>“Do be quick, or I will go without you.”</p> - -<p>The poet rose rapidly, and began to dress.</p> - -<p>“I have seen Célestin,” said Toto, standing by the window, and looking -out on the street.</p> - -<p>“Ah, that charming Célestin!” sighed Gaillard, putting on his trousers -with a weary air.</p> - -<p>“And I have taken an atelier in the Rue de Perpignan. I spent the whole -afternoon yesterday hunting for that fool Fanfoullard; no one knew of -such a person, but I found very nice rooms.”</p> - -<p>“Fanfoullard has left Paris—gone to Nîmes. But, Toto, what is this -you tell me? Are you really going to start on this crusade—become a -painter?”</p> - -<p>“I am a painter.”</p> - -<p>“I mean, live in this dreadful way? Toto, I predict that there will be -great trouble. Your mother is very anxious; she is anxious for you to -make a good match<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right.”</p> - -<p>“How all right?” asked Gaillard, scratching his head.</p> - -<p>“I saw the American girl yesterday, and told her what I was going to -do. She is going to keep my mother quiet; she fell in with the idea at -once. She is the only person who understands me.”</p> - -<p>“Did you tell her of Célestin?”</p> - -<p>“No, of course I did not; I am not that sort of person. I never talk of -one woman before another. Go on dressing.”</p> - -<p>“And I suppose you will end by marrying the beautiful American, when -you are famous?”</p> - -<p>“I will never marry anyone but Célestin. She is the only woman I have -ever loved.”</p> - -<p>“But, <em>mon Dieu</em>! you are not going to marry her?”</p> - -<p>“No; I would if she wanted to, but she doesn’t. A priest mumbling -over us will not make us love each other any more. Don’t put on that -awful green necktie, for goodness’ sake; take that plaid one, it looks -better.”</p> - -<p>“And you are going to start your <em>ménage</em> to-morrow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span>?” asked Gaillard, -putting on the desired necktie carefully before the glass.</p> - -<p>“Yes, and that is what I am going to start on.”</p> - -<p>He held out three bank-notes for a thousand francs each.</p> - -<p>“It won’t last you a month.”</p> - -<p>“It will have to last me a year.”</p> - -<p>“Toto, are you serious?”</p> - -<p>“What the deuce!” blazed out Toto. “Everyone asks me that when I want -to do anything that is not foolish. When I took to painting first, that -fool De Harnac raised his stupid eyebrows and said: ‘Toto, are you -serious?’ When I told Helen Powers yesterday, the first thing she said -was, ‘Toto, are you serious?’ And now you. Am I a buffoon? And stop -calling me by that odious name: I am Toto no longer—I am Désiré. Are -you dressed? Let us go, then.”</p> - -<p>“But I do not know what will become of me,” said Gaillard, as they -descended the stairs. “What will become of me, all alone in Paris, -without you? I shall be bored; I shall die of yawning.”</p> - -<p>“You can come over every day and see us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“It is so far.”</p> - -<p>“You can take an omnibus.”</p> - -<p>“A what? An omnibus! I!”</p> - -<p>“They are good enough for Célestin; they are good enough for me; but -see here, Gaillard: above all things, you must not tell anyone what I -am going to do or where I am going. I am going to amuse myself. Well, -what does it matter to people whether I am amusing myself by shooting -in Corsica or by painting in the Rue de Perpignan?”</p> - -<p>“I will be mute as a fish.”</p> - -<p>“I have joined a studio—Melmenotte’s. I want to do a lot at the nude. I -will sell my studies as I go on. A student there told me it was quite -easy to live by pot-boiling, but I am going to have a great work in -hand. How can a man work leading the life we lead? The other morning, -just as I was settling down to a picture, Valfray came and dragged me -off to that cock-fight at Chantilly. I got a blouse yesterday for six -francs. Come in here, I want to see Pelisson; he is sure to be here at -this hour.”</p> - -<p>They entered a café on the Boulevard des Capucines,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span> and there sure -enough sat Pelisson; he had finished his <em>déjeuner</em> and was reading -letters.</p> - -<p>“How’s <em>Pantin</em>?” asked Gaillard.</p> - -<p>“Blooming, or going to bloom. I am besieged with firms who want to -advertise.”</p> - -<p>“Have you fixed on your editor?”</p> - -<p>“De Nani”</p> - -<p>“What!” asked Gaillard in a horrified voice. “That drunken old wretch!”</p> - -<p>“Pah! he is only the figurehead. I am the editor; no one knows him, -that is the charm. He has been lying <em>perdu</em> at Auteuil for half a -century, and now I have got him, he is only a skin; I am going to -stuff him—stuff him with Pelisson. Already people are asking who is -this Marquis de Nani, and people are answering he is the editor of the -new journal that is going to be, <em>Pantin</em>, the wittiest man in Paris, -and discovered by Pelisson. I am circulating <em>bonmots</em> of De Nani’s; -they are mine, but nobody knows that. In a week’s time everyone will -be talking of De Nani, this Marquis who is a genius; everyone will be -craving to see him. You know Paris. The old fool is wise enough to -dodge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span> round comers, for he knows his own stupidity; should anyone find -it out, they will put it down to his cleverness. Wolf is publishing an -interview with him written by me. Oh, yes! <em>Pantin</em> will be a success, -and you will have your hundred thousand francs back, Toto, and a -hundred thousand on top of it.”</p> - -<p>“You got the bills discounted?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes.”</p> - -<p>“What is this I hear about a new journal?” asked Struve, who had come -in unobserved, slipping into a chair beside Pelisson.</p> - -<p>The newspaper man explained whilst Toto and Gaillard breakfasted.</p> - -<p>“And Toto pays for all this?”</p> - -<p>“He has good security; besides, he only pays a third. I have two -hundred thousand francs from a little syndicate, and the promise of -five hundred thousand if the thing takes. Toto has a lien on the -advertisements; he is perfectly safe.”</p> - -<p>“What’s De Nani’s salary?”</p> - -<p>“I give him a dinner every day and ten francs.”</p> - -<p>“Have you a cash-box<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span>?”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“Keep it locked. Pelisson, you are a fool.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“To have let that old goat into your affair.”</p> - -<p>“You wait and see.”</p> - -<p>“I will.”</p> - -<p>“You are not going?”</p> - -<p>“I am.”</p> - -<p>“But see here: I want a man to do the art criticism.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll find lots.” And Struve vanished.</p> - -<p>“He always throws cold water on everything,” said Toto, remembering the -advice about the coffee mill.</p> - -<p>“He’s a critic,” said Gaillard.</p> - -<p>“He’s a clever man,” said Pelisson, knitting his brows an instant; “but -he’s wrong here.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, the middle of the day!” cried Toto in a voice of tragedy as he -took the poet’s arm half an hour later and lounged out of the café. -“What a frightful institution it is! I would like to be born into a -world where the days had no middles<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“You are right; it is a most inartistic flaw in the scheme of things. -The night has no such blunder; that is why I love it. The night always -reminds me of the exquisite masterpiece of some forgotten painter in -the gallery of some bourgeois millionaire. Every twelve hours we slip -into the exquisite poem of darkness, and then out again into this -villainous prose. Pah! if I had the key of the meter that feeds our -great chandelier, men would have a three-hours’ day; it is quite long -enough.”</p> - -<p>“Quite. I am going to look at my new rooms; will you come? We will take -a cab.”</p> - -<p>They drove to the Rue de Perpignan; it was a long street situated in -what remains of the Latin Quarter. Gaillard shivered at the everyday -appearance of the place. He had never been in it before; the name, -floating loose in his head, had attached itself to the name of -Fanfoullard; he wished now that he had never imagined the fan-painter.</p> - -<p>“It is a great way from everywhere, do you not think, Désiré? Why put -the Seine between one’s self and civilization? One can hide one’s self -just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span> as easily a hundred yards from the Rue St. Honoré as a hundred -miles.”</p> - -<p>Toto made no answer, but led the way upstairs.</p> - -<p>The atelier was certainly large enough; men were at work settling the -stove; another man was mending the top light. The place was almost -studiously bare; a tulip in the bud in a red-tile pot stood on a table; -an old guitar hung on the wall; there was a throne and drapery, an -easel, or, at least, three. Some of these things had belonged to the -last tenant. The tulip in the pot had, however, only just arrived. It -suited the surroundings, which were those of an ordinary atelier; yet -there was something about the place suggestive of a scene in a theater. -Perhaps it was the guitar. But one felt the hand of Henri Murger over -it all.</p> - -<p>“This,” said Toto, touching a nail in the wall, “is for Dodor’s cage.”</p> - -<p>Gaillard’s heel struck against the handle of a little frying-pan that -protruded from a bundle.</p> - -<p>“We will have our meals sent in, but it is useful sometimes to be able -to cook at home—sausages<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span> and things. You must come and teach us how to -make coffee.”</p> - -<p>Gaillard poked his nose into an adjoining room; it was a bedroom. He -observed that the washing-jug was cracked.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Toto, “what do you think of it all?”</p> - -<p>“I envy you.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_II_CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">ANGÉLIQUE.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">“I envy</span> you,” said Gaillard as they returned to civilization; “I envy -you because you are young, rich, and a Prince. I do not envy you for -these things, but rather for the enjoyment they can give you. To -be twenty-two, poor, and in love—what can be better than that? You -are twenty-two, and in love, and you are so rich that you can allow -yourself the luxury of being poor. What a change for you, and how -you will taste it all! Poverty falls to the poor; they have it every -day, but they do not enjoy it. It is like the old women who sell -sugar-plums; they do not eat their own wares. But with you it will be -different; you will bring an unsated palate. Your present, contrasted -with your past, will be as a naked man standing against a background of -old-gold brocade. Extraordinary being to have found out a new pleasure -in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span> jaded age, and that pleasure lying unnoticed before the eyes -of all men. Look at that beggar man—are not his clothes the color -of withered leaves? I have seen greens in old coats that no painter -has ever seized. You would never guess my deep acquaintance with the -ways of the poor, but I have been thrown in their way. Toto, I have a -girlfriend.”</p> - -<p>“Better say a dozen.”</p> - -<p>“I know girls pursue me, but I cast them off. Angélique is not of the -common order.”</p> - -<p>“Who is Angélique, for goodness’ sake?”</p> - -<p>“She is the only woman I love.”</p> - -<p>“I have heard you say that a dozen times about a dozen women.”</p> - -<p>“I was only pretending; in this world one hides one’s pearls and wears -one’s glass beads. Angélique is very poor; she is a <em>pompon</em> maker.”</p> - -<p>“What’s a <em>pompon</em>?”</p> - -<p>“A <em>pompon</em> is a thing women wear in their hats—a little fluffy -feather, an absurdity, but it supports Angélique. In this world, -Toto, some fate ordains that men live on each other’s absurdities.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span> -Absurdity is to men as grass to cattle, air to life. Could you place -a great cupping-glass over Paris, and, with an air-pump, remove all -its absurdity, the place would fall to pieces; ten thousand men would -starve; the journals would wither like autumn leaves; Struve, Pelisson, -De Brie, and a thousand others would vanish; women would no longer -wear <em>pompons</em> in their hats, and poor little Angélique would die -from want of folly in others. Angélique has a lame brother who lives -at Villers Cotterets; he is a great trial to us—an incessant drain. -You often laugh at me for my expenses; the fact is, Toto, I am always -being tapped, like a person with the dropsy. The affection between this -brother and sister is a poem; I weep my money away over it. Now you are -casting in your lot with art, Angélique rises up in my mind, and I hear -her say “What will become of me?” I will not hide it from you that you -have, through me, been the mainstay of an unfortunate man. Angélique -knows it. Well, I want you to leave in my hands a certain provision for -these people before you cut yourself off from your resources<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll give you some money to-morrow; I want you to come and see me -started.”</p> - -<p>“Where shall I call for you?”</p> - -<p>“At the Boulevard Haussmann.”</p> - -<p>“In the morning?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and be sure that you say nothing of all this; I want no one to -know what I am doing.”</p> - -<p>“But your mother?”</p> - -<p>“She does not care so long as the American does not know.”</p> - -<p>“Do not yawn so, Toto.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t help it; it’s the thought of my mother, and old De Nani, -and all the lot. Do you know, some day or another I would have -cut my throat if I had not met Célestin; she was like a breath of -air—she understands me because she loves me. Oh, I’m so sick of women -<em>grinning</em> at me; Célestin is the only woman I have ever seen smile. -Mlle. Powers is a nice girl; she means what she says, but she always -talks to me as if I were her grandchild, and she calls me Toto. Won’t -it be a joke when my mother finds out that I have given old Pelisson<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span> -a hundred thousand francs! I am fond of Pelisson, he’s the best of the -lot; I’d do anything for him.”</p> - -<p>“Pelisson has his limitations,” said Gaillard, and Toto yawned again.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_II_CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE DEPARTURE.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gaillard</span>, who was somewhat of a philosopher, had once divided sorrow -under two heads—the sorrows of life and the sorrows of art. He reckoned -the necessity of getting up early chief amidst the mundane sorrows, and -accepted it in a grumbling spirit; but this morning he did not grumble. -He dressed rapidly and sadly, and departed for the Boulevard Haussmann, -refusing the coffee and roll and butter offered to him by Mme. Plon.</p> - -<p>“I cannot eat,” said Gaillard. “I am deeply disturbed.”</p> - -<p>He found Toto dressed and in his atelier. He was looking at Sisera and -Jael. Jael had the air and aspect of a stout housemaid nailing carpets -down with energy.</p> - -<p>“How could I have painted that beast?” asked Toto. “She is all flesh, -she is an animal, she is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span> like a bull-fighter in a skirt. Imagine a -woman like that, and then imagine Célestin.”</p> - -<p>“Are you going to remove these canvases to your new atelier?”</p> - -<p>“<em>Mon Dieu</em>, no! I will remove nothing that reminds me of this place. I -tell you what: I will make you a present of this picture. You can have -the water-nymph too.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” said Gaillard in an unenthusiastic voice. “I will not remove -them at present; they would remind me too much of all the pleasant -times that are gone. I feel very depressed this morning, Toto—I mean -Désiré; one cannot get out of old habits in a hurry without shivering.”</p> - -<p>He looked out of a side window and away over the roofs of Paris. The -morning was sitting on the roofs pelting the city with roses; the city -grumbled, Gaillard sighed.</p> - -<p>“Oh, the good times, how they pass! Do you remember, Désiré, the night -you won a thousand napoleons at the Grand Club? It is only a month ago, -yet it seems a year.”</p> - -<p>“The night we tied the two cats by the tail and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span> hung them from a -lamp-post? Where did De Mirecourt get those cats? He suddenly appeared -with them. Do you remember the <em>sergent-de-ville</em> who tried to get them -down?”</p> - -<p>“I had forgotten the incident of the cats. I remember it dimly now—one -was a tortoise-shell. Yes, those were pleasant times. Désiré, it is not -too late to go back to them; consider your position well before you -take this step.”</p> - -<p>“Come,” said Toto, “I am going.”</p> - -<p>“But have you said good-by to Mme. la Princesse?”</p> - -<p>“She would never forgive me for waking her at this hour.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Mon Dieu!</em> but you have no luggage.”</p> - -<p>“I have a bag in the hall below.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, <em>mon Dieu!</em> I hope this is all for the best. So you are going with -only a bag? Désiré, have you forgotten Angélique?”</p> - -<p>“I have three thousand francs in an envelope—it will keep you going. -Do try and make it do for six months. Look at me; I have only three -thousand for a year<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“I will try. Ah, <em>mon Dieu!</em> I wish I had never seen this day; my heart -is heavy. Thanks, I will not open the envelope till I meet Angélique; -we will open it together. We are like two children sitting at a feast -and pulling crackers; each day is like a cracker tied with dawn-colored -ribbon. Sometimes Angélique weeps at the contents of these crackers, -sometimes she laughs and claps her hands; she will clap her hands -to-day. Come, let us go and follow our fates.”</p> - -<p>“This is my luggage,” said Toto, picking up a huge Gladstone bag in the -hall.</p> - -<p>Gaillard opened the hall door, and they passed out into the bright -morning. The clock of St. Augustin was striking eight; the sparrows -were fighting in the sunshine; the earth seemed teeming with life and -light and happiness.</p> - -<p>“How good it all is!” said Toto, as they drove over the Seine. He was -echoing Célestin’s eternal sentiment without knowing it. “What a lovely -world it is, and how little we see of it! We snore in our beds during -the best part of the day, and live the rest of our time by lamplight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“The world,” said Gaillard, “always reminds me of a poem written by a -shopkeeper to advertise his stale wares, unpunctuated and filled with -printer’s errors; that is why we read it by a dim light. It ought to -have been burnt; it was unfortunately published and given to us to -read. No one can make out what it is driving at; we have been spelling -at it now a million years; we began when we were apes, and we will end, -perhaps, when we are donkeys. I am sick of it; I would jump into the -Seine, only that such an act would delight De Brie.”</p> - -<p>The cab stopped at the doorway of Célestin’s house, and the concierge, -Mme. Liard, greeted Toto effusively. Her heart was touched by the youth -of the lovers and the fact of Toto being an artist; that he should take -Célestin under his protection seemed to her as natural as the mating of -sparrows, and a piece of very good fortune for Célestin.</p> - -<p>Her trunk stood in the passage, and on the trunk the parrot cage, -covered with green baize. From the cage came the occasional flirting -sound of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span> wings, the occasional tinkle of the swinging ring—sounds that -bespoke uneasiness in the mind of Dodor.</p> - -<p>Then Célestin came down the steep stairs, blushing, and Gaillard had -to admit that, even if the world were an ill-written poem, it had at -least some very beautiful passages; for Célestin had made for herself a -hat which was an amorous dream, and a girl friend, some lower Célestin -of the Rue St. Honoré, had, in a fit of sentiment, confected for her -a gown such as an angel in half-mourning need not have been ashamed -of. Toto had bought her a new pair of shoes, and she wore openwork -stockings. Toto kissed her before everyone; this was their only -marriage service.</p> - -<p>“It makes me feel young again!” cried Mme. Liard as she carried the -parrot cage out, whilst the driver carried the trunk. “And I will come -and see you in your new home; and oh, monsieur,”—to Gaillard,—“she -ought to be careful, for her chest is not what it should be; it was -what killed her mother.”</p> - -<p>“I will see that she wears a muffler,” replied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> Gaillard, whilst -Célestin got into the carriage, weeping from grief and happiness, and -kissing her hand to Mme. Liard.</p> - -<p>Then the vehicle drove away, Gaillard on the front seat, the lovers -facing him, and Dodor’s cage beside the coachman.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span></p> - -<h2 class="chapter padb2" id="Part_III"><b>Part III.</b></h2> - -<h3 class="no-break" id="Part_III_CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.<br /> -<br /><span class="smaller">GARNIER.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> <em>rapin</em> of Paris is the sparrow of the artistic temple, but he is -much more besides. For one thing, he is sometimes an eagle in disguise. -He laughs as he paints, and plays dominoes with fantastic gravity. He -is generally ugly, but he loves Beauty, and draws her in all postures, -even immodest ones. Sometimes he becomes literary, and publishes a -journal the size of a prayer-book, in which he has written nonsense and -which lives for three months. In this way, I suppose, he takes a vague -sort of revenge for all the nonsense that has been written about him.</p> - -<p>I do not think you will find in Europe a more foul-minded person than -the <em>rapin</em>, or a more joyous, or a more lovable, or a more pitiable. -And though he is certainly the most consequential creature<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> in the -world, he is the greatest knocker-down of pedestals. Delacroix declared -he could smell corruption in the air of Paris. I think he must have -smelt the <em>rapin</em>. Yet out of this dung spring the fairest flowers of -art.</p> - -<p>Toto, forsaking his world for a space, had cast in his lot with this -creation, and Célestin, like an angel made blind by love, followed him. -Dodor had no voice in the matter, yet he endeavored to put it in as he -swung in his cage from the nail in the wall.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” sighed Célestin next morning as she sat beside Toto on the couch -opposite the stove. “Am I on earth still, or can it be that we are in -heaven?”</p> - -<p>In one day she had become a woman without ceasing to be an angel, and -Dodor sang as if to assure her of the fact, whilst Toto kissed her, and -a beam of sun through the top light touched the tulip.</p> - -<p>That was their morning, spent amidst the great flowers of the -chintz-covered couch, whilst time passed over them like a butterfly -with blue wings,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span> and Paris grumbled through the top light like a -jealous monster.</p> - -<p>In the afternoon Toto, in his blouse, settled his painting things and -rearranged drapery, whilst his companion, whose fingers could not be -still, turned the morning, gone now forever, into a hat. She murmured -to the hat as she made it, telling it of her happiness—a most adorable -soliloquy lost to the world forever, for Toto was too busy to note it -down. Then, when the structure was finished, she held it out on her -finger-tip for admiration. It blushed there as if ashamed of its beauty -and happiness. And Toto said “It is beautiful,” in an abstracted voice, -for he was hunting for a palette-knife.</p> - -<p>They dined at a little restaurant near the Palais Bourbon, and spent -their evening at the Porte St. Martin Theater, where a bloody drama was -enacted, which caused Célestin to weep deliciously and shiver.</p> - -<p>This was their honeymoon, for next day work began in earnest, and -Toto started for Melmenotte’s studio, a large bleak room filled with -canvases<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span> and diligent students, a naked woman, large and solid and -sitting on a throne, in their midst.</p> - -<p>They hazed him at first, but he did not lose his temper, so they left -him alone; besides, he showed no talent, therefore created no envy, -hatred, or malice.</p> - -<p>But Garnier, the man who worked on his right, took an interest in him -just, perhaps, because the others voted him uninteresting and his work -hopeless. It was Garnier’s way; he was a friend of failures, and took -an interest in the forlorn. Sparrows, stray cats, or people like Toto -appealed to him strangely.</p> - -<p>He was an immense fellow, with Southern blood in his veins and hopes -of humanity, and his secret ambition in life was to be a politician -and set the world to rights. Nature, however, the sworn foe of secret -ambitions, had placed all his talents in his eyes and fingers, -insisting that this wayward child should be no politician, but a divine -artist.</p> - -<p>He had a great reputation as a scamp. He swore terrifically, and could -out-talk a washerwoman. He was always borrowing, and spending, and -lending,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span> and giving, and he boasted that he kept a mistress. No one -ever saw her; he kept her jealously hid, for she was eighty. He had, -in fact, met her one day on one of the bridges crossing the Seine, and -pensioned her forthwith because she reminded him of his mother, whom he -had never beheld.</p> - -<p>He was a love-child, it seems, and certainly a most terrible mixture -as far as mind and morals were concerned, for his ideals were always -very high, and his ideas often very low, and his language very often -pornographic. To complete himself, he always stank of garlic, and his -pockets were generally stuffed with cheap cigarettes and sweets, which -he dispensed open-handed to his friends.</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” said Toto, taking a cigarette from a dozen held out by -Garnier.</p> - -<p>It was the third morning of his attendance at the studio, and he was -feeling depressed; he was also putting away his things, for it was -Saturday, and work stopped at twelve.</p> - -<p>“I,” said Garnier, “am going to enjoy myself, but the question is, How? -Shall I go home and go to bed and read Eugène Sue, or shall I go to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span> -the Tobacco-Pot and play dominoes? Jolly, have you any money?”</p> - -<p>“None,” answered a lank-haired and evil-faced youth, darting out of the -room, and clattering away down the stairs after the others.</p> - -<p>“I have,” said Toto.</p> - -<p>“How much?” inquired Garnier, with the air of a judge.</p> - -<p>“Ten francs.”</p> - -<p>“That settles it. We will go to the Tobacco-Pot. Ten francs, and this -is Saturday! <em>Mon Dieu</em>, what a Rothschild you must be! Where did you -get your money from?”</p> - -<p>“My father.”</p> - -<p>“What is he?”</p> - -<p>“He keeps a shop.”</p> - -<p>“Happy for you. You can paint away, and the old bird feeds you. Oh, -I should like a shop—a little shop, where I would sell sweets and -cigarettes, and live in my shirt-sleeves, and read the <em>Ami du Peuple</em> -and kick my heels.”</p> - -<p>“What do you think of my work?” asked Toto, glancing at the mediocre -drawing upon his canvas.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s capital,” said Garnier, his mind running on his little shop, -where children would toddle in with their sou for sugar-sticks, and old -women totter in for hap’orths of snuff: for, though Garnier loved all -humanity, he perhaps loved the two extremes, childhood and old age, -most.</p> - -<p>“What made Melmenotte turn up his nose at it the way he did this -morning when he came round?”</p> - -<p>“He never praises anyone—he’s a fossil. Come, let us be off to the -Tobacco-Pot. Annette will be here in a moment to clear up.”</p> - -<p>“Come home with me and have some <em>déjeuner</em>; that will be better than -the Tobacco Pot,” said Toto, as they went down the stairs.</p> - -<p>“To your father’s place?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no; my atelier—Rue de Perpignan. I will introduce you to my—wife.”</p> - -<p>“<em>You</em> married!” cried Garnier, stopping in astonishment, and clutching -Toto’s arm. “Why, you are scarcely out of the egg!”</p> - -<p>“I am twenty-two.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Mon Dieu!</em> well, why not? it is the happiest life.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> Oh, I should like -to have a wife and twelve little children all three years old. That is -the age of all others; they talk like birds, and sentences from heaven -slip into their conversation; and tumble on their noses, and pull one’s -beard. I have always seen myself as I ought to be some day, with a big -stomach, sitting in an armchair, the children pulling my watch-chain, -and mamma plying her needle, whilst the cat purred on the hearth: and -here are you, three years younger than I am, and you have it all. What -an eye the Germans have for children! how they draw them! <em>Mon Dieu!</em> -I can almost forgive them Sédan for the sake of those adorable little -Fritzes and Gretchens one sees in their funny little books.”</p> - -<p>They reached the Rue de Perpignan at last, and found <em>déjeuner</em> -waiting. There was a little salad, some stewed beef, and a bottle of -white wine, also some fruit on a plate.</p> - -<p>As Toto and Célestin embraced, Garnier looked around him with a sigh. -His room was an attic, yet I doubt if he would have exchanged his -attic, where he lay abed on Sunday reading the “Mysteries<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> of Paris” -and imagining himself Prince Rudolph, and of a week-day night reading -the <em>Intransigèant</em> by the light of a tallow candle and imagining -himself Henri Rochefort, for this atelier, even were Célestin thrown -in—at least, at present.</p> - -<p>Not that he undervalued Célestin, even at the first glance; far from -it. The great, noisy Garnier was silent and quelled for quite ten -minutes. He had never met Célestin before amidst all the women he had -met, and he seemed undecided for a while as to whether an angel or a -child was dispensing the cold stewed beef and the salad. Then he made -up his mind, evidently, that it was a child, and began to play with -her. He told stories, really droll little stories, that a child or a -man might laugh over, and stainless as the white roads of Provence. And -he mimicked old men and women without malice, and in such a way that -Célestin wept from laughing.</p> - -<p>After <em>déjeuner</em> he taught his hostess how to make cat’s cradles, and -Dodor’s history was told to him whilst he sat on the couch and nursed -his knee and smoked his villainous cigarettes of Caporal.</p> - -<p>The guitar was taken down from the wall, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span> played <em>café-chantant</em> -songs, things with the ghost of an air moving in a whirl of sound, -and sang the “Girls of Avignon” with tears in his eyes, that seemed -to behold the whirl of the farandole, the white road to Arles, the -moonlight, the fireflies, and the orange trees shivering in the mistral.</p> - -<p>Altogether it was a most enjoyable afternoon, and the excitement and -laughter left Célestin quite spent. A fit of coughing seized her when -the time came for them to go out to dinner, and she declared that she -must lie down. So she lay down on her bed, and Toto covered her up with -a shawl, and gave her one of the lozenges Mme. Liard had placed in her -trunk to suck.</p> - -<p>Then he went out with Garnier, and they dined at a little café for two -francs each, wine included.</p> - -<p>“I found this little café only three months ago,” said Garnier. “It is -a wizard café. I dine here as often as I can, for some day I expect to -find it vanished. Those whom the gods love die young, and I am sure the -gods must love this little café. I cannot tell how they give one such -a dinner for two francs, including a bottle of Maconolais. That<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span> hare -soup was a miracle. I suspect the miracle to be cats. But no matter; -the taste was right. I save up on week-days, and dine here on Sundays.”</p> - -<p>“How long have you been working at art?”</p> - -<p>“Five years.”</p> - -<p>Toto felt rather aghast.</p> - -<p>“Have you been working at Melmenotte’s atelier all that time?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no; for the last two years I have been in his private studio; it -is being altered just now, so I just come to herd with the rest to keep -my hand in. I must be doing something.”</p> - -<p>“Have you exhibited yet?”</p> - -<p>“No; Melmenotte will not let me. I am to next year; I shall have a -picture in the Salon next year.”</p> - -<p>“How sure he is of himself!” thought Toto. “And how dull he must be to -have worked five years without exhibiting!” Then to Garnier: “One of -the fellows told me one could live by selling pot-boilers.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; one could live by house-painting, for the matter of that. Who was -it told you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span>?”</p> - -<p>“That young fellow with the long hair—Jolly you called him, I think.”</p> - -<p>“He is an awful wretch, that man, but a fine artist. Beware of him; -do not ask him to your home. I never speak bad of people; but Jolly -is not a person: he is a genius who will die in a jail or a lunatic -asylum. I’ve told him so often. It would not do for him to make the -acquaintance of Mlle. Célestin.”</p> - -<p>Garnier gave a little sigh as he ate a lark on toast, which he declared -he suspected of being a rat. He seemed thinking a great deal of -Célestin. The talk wandered over a number of topics, but somehow always -back to or near Célestin.</p> - -<p>Then Toto paid the score, and produced so much money that Garnier -borrowed a napoleon in as natural a manner as that of a bee taking a -suck at a flower. He then, as they walked away smoking Trabucos, bought -a copy of the <em>Intransigèant</em>, and wandered home to read it, reminding -Toto as they parted to give his regards to Célestin.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_III_CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE SORROWS OF GAILLARD.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">A week</span> passed, making in all ten days of the new life, and still the -novelty of it had not palled; but five hundred francs of the three -thousand were gone. Where were they gone to? Toto scratched his head. -Célestin helped him in his accounts, casting her beautiful eyes up as -if for her angels to help her; but they were very bad mathematicians, -these angels, though perfect milliners.</p> - -<p>Garnier, in his big way, had declared to the studio that Toto was the -best of good fellows when one got to know him. Jolly had pricked his -ears at this, and instantly borrowed twenty-five francs from the new -man, to send to his brother in the country; several others had done -likewise, but this only accounted for eighty francs or so. True, they -had paid the restaurateur and the washwoman; and they had gone the -Sunday before to the Buttes Chaumont, so they finished making up their -accounts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span> with a kiss, and declared they must be more careful in the -future.</p> - -<p>“I will sell some hats,” said Célestin, “and, oh, I know: we will get -a money-box. It is wonderful, a money-box. Dodor has quite a fortune -since I started his. Money seems to grow in a money-box. Kiss me again, -Désiré.”</p> - -<p>Sometimes Toto thought of the world he had left. What were they all -doing? Sometimes he felt slightly uneasy at the great absence of -Gaillard. The poet had promised to call in three or four days, and, lo! -ten had passed. His friends thought him in Corsica, but what was his -mother doing? He had entered into a compromise with her not to bother -him, and Helen Powers had promised to use her influence that he might -be left alone to follow his art. Still, he felt nervous that some day -Mme. la Princesse might break her word and arrive on the scene. She did -not know his address, it is true; but, still, she had a way of finding -things out.</p> - -<p>He had worked fairly hard during these ten days, all things considered, -and Garnier had dropped in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span> to visit them now and then, bringing -presents of sweets for Célestin.</p> - -<p>Toto in the eyes of Garnier seemed a very enviable person. His -father had a shop, and all shopkeepers, in the eyes of Garnier, were -desperately rich; besides, the little <em>ménage</em> in the Rue de Perpignan -did his heart good. The lovers seemed so young and innocent, their -way of life so ideal, and their conversation so charming, especially -Célestin’s.</p> - -<p>It was on the twelfth day that Gaillard burst in upon them. Célestin -was out marketing, Toto was at home smoking cigarettes, for it was the -day Melmenotte came round,—that is to say, Saturday,—and Toto had taken -a dislike to the great painter: he was not a gentleman.</p> - -<p>Gaillard had a debauched air, and three books under his arm; and Toto, -who had somehow been very much in the blues, felt an unholy joy at the -sight of the poet.</p> - -<p>“<em>Pantin</em> is out,” said Gaillard, collapsing into a chair and flinging -all his books on the floor. He produced a heavy and respectable-looking -journal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> from his back pocket and cast it to the painter.</p> - -<p>Toto scarcely glanced at it.</p> - -<p>“Where have you been all this time?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, my God! you may well ask me that. I have been at the beck and -call of Pelisson. It is cruel; I have done all the work, and De Nani -is getting all the praise; everyone is talking of De Nani—his jokes, -his witticisms, his women, his wealth. And the old fool has not three -ideas in his head, nor three sous in his pocket; no woman would look at -him twice, and he never made a <em>bonmot</em> in his life. My ‘Fall of the -Damned’ came out the day before yesterday; no one is speaking of it, -everyone is talking of De Nani. He has killed my little book, he and -<em>Pantin</em>. It is all Pelisson’s fault. He is only using De Nani as an -advertisement. Struve was right: this old man is a goat; he smells like -one, faugh! and he paints his face. Struve is the only man of sense of -the lot. I always said so. Give me an absinthe, Toto; my nerves are -gone.”</p> - -<p>“But how did Pelisson get his paper out so quickly?” asked Toto, -helping the poet to a glass<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> of vermouth, and feeling a dim sort of -pleasure at his trouble.</p> - -<p>“He has been working like a mole for months. You know the <em>Trumpet</em>; -it came to grief last month; he has bought the plant and offices for -a song. They are situated near the offices of the <em>Figaro</em> in the Rue -Drouot. Oh, you should see that villain of a De Nani; he has bought a -white hat, or got it on credit. He dines every day with Pelisson in a -<em>cabinet particulier</em> at the Anglaise. No one is admitted, for fear -they would find out the fraud, and the fact that he has no brains. -Pelisson makes him drunk and sends him off in a cab to Auteuil, and -then goes about telling people all the quaint things he has said. He is -absorbing all Pelisson’s money. Pierre has never a sou now to lend to a -friend, and one can’t dine with him, for he dines alone with De Nani. -Conceive my feelings: this old beast has killed my book, cut off my -supplies, and to crown all, wherever I go I hear nothing but De Nani, -De Nani, De Nani! My God, I will go mad! Give me another vermouth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“What are those books?” asked Toto, handing the glass.</p> - -<p>“Those? They are insult added to an injury—books for review, and such -books! See here Fourrier’s ‘Social Economy’; I am to write a trenchant -quarter-column review of it, and abuse it, for that will please the -bourgeoisie. I know nothing of social economy, so how can I abuse it? -I could praise it, for then Fourrier, whoever he is, would not reply; -besides, one can praise a book with one’s eyes shut—bah! See here, a -brochure on the American sugar trust. <em>Mon Dieu!</em> does Pelisson take -me for a grocer? And here, again, a drama called ‘Henri Quatre,’ by -some silly beast called Chauveau; all the lines limp, it is written in -five-footed hexameters; and I am to praise it with discretion. With -discretion, mind you! I wrote him a little poem for his abominable -<em>Pantin</em>; it was called ‘Carmine-Rouge.’ You know I scarcely ever touch -color in poetry; but I made an exception for once. He would not publish -it; it was indecent, forsooth, and would bring the blush to the cheek -of the bourgeoisie. Between the bourgeoisie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span> on one hand and De Nani on -the other, I feel as if I were in a terrible nightmare.”</p> - -<p>“Have you heard anyone speak of me?”</p> - -<p>“No one; they think you are in Corsica. But I have seen Mme. la -Princesse; she sent for me to inquire after your health, and how you -were progressing.”</p> - -<p>“And you said——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I said ‘Admirably’; it was the best thing to say. I promised to -call again and inform her of your progress; she entreated me to implore -you not to discard your woolen vests. There was also a message about an -overcoat, which I have forgotten; it was either to wear one or not wear -one, but I cannot tell which: you know a mother’s ways. Toto, I feel -hungry; have you anything to eat in this atelier of yours?”</p> - -<p>Toto got together some bread and butter, half a cold tongue, and a -bottle of wine. Gaillard turned up his nose at the feast provided for -him, but began to eat.</p> - -<p>“Toto, how much longer are you going to remain in this wretched Rue de -Perpignan? Everywhere<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> I go the cry is ‘Where is Toto?’ or ‘When will -Toto be back?’”</p> - -<p>“Why, you said a moment ago nobody asked for me.”</p> - -<p>“Neither do they, but they speak of you, nevertheless; they do not -ask for you because they imagine you in Corsica, but they mourn your -absence.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, bother them—let them mourn!” said Toto in a gruff voice, chewing -his cigarette in an irritable manner.</p> - -<p>“And how is Art going on?” asked Gaillard, casting his eyes about as if -he were looking for her.</p> - -<p>“All right; don’t bother me. I’m sick of talking art; tell me, How is -Struve?”</p> - -<p>“Struve is very well, though he declares that De Nani makes him sick.”</p> - -<p>He finished the wine in the bottle, and proceeded to the question of a -loan.</p> - -<p>“But,” said Toto in horror, “you surely have not spent all that three -thousand francs I gave you?”</p> - -<p>Gaillard laughed harshly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span></p> - -<p>“Do I ever spend money? I spend my life paying it out, it seems to me; -but how much do I spend on myself, how much have I for pleasure? Not a -denier. I assure you, Toto, if I have three francs in my pocket people -seem to smell it. No sooner had I got home the other day than Mme. Plon -appeared with a bill, which I had imagined paid. Then Brevoart attached -me for seven hundred and fifty. It was my fault for dealing with a -German tailor; he got an order against me, and would have attached my -royalties had I not paid. People think you are in Corsica, and so they -make raids on me—then there is Angélique.”</p> - -<p>“But, see here: I am very hard up myself. You know I determined to do -on three thousand; well, I have spent over five hundred in a fortnight.”</p> - -<p>“Only five hundred!”</p> - -<p>“But think what that means; if I go on at this rate, in a couple of -months I shall have nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Toto,” said Gaillard earnestly, “I speak to you as a friend: Why -pursue this course? Were I an enemy of yours I would urge you on, and -then, when you came to grief, laugh at your sufferings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span> I am your -friend, and I say stop. You are a fine artist, and for that very reason -you must fail in this course. Genius was never intended to buffet with -the world, to pay rent and fight with tradespeople; it is always allied -to a fine nature, and I predict the most horrible sufferings for you -should you continue this fictitious and insane battle with the world. -It is only the duffers and the dullards who succeed in this game; -they have blunt noses, and they do not feel blows. Look at De Nani, a -miserable wreck without an idea, of whom all Paris is talking. Look -at me. Could I tell you one-half the hardships I have undergone in my -struggle for art, you would stop your ears. Well, then, I say desist; -you can only live once: why make a hell of life? Come back to us; you -have made an experiment in life. It is like a curious philosophical -experiment that dirties one’s hands; well, then, let us wash our hands, -and turn down our cuffs again.”</p> - -<p>“Even if I wanted to stop this life, which I do not,” said Toto, -playing with Gaillard’s bait, “I couldn’t—sooner do anything than that.”</p> - -<p>“Nobody knows; it’s a matter between you and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span> your conscience; <em>I</em> will -never speak. You come back from Corsica in a hurry; well, what of that? -it is a whim, and admirably in keeping with your character. Do, for -Heaven’s sake, Toto, consider your position; and mine, for I feel that -I am in some sort responsible for this act of yours, but I have been at -least discreet, and, as I said before, nobody knows.”</p> - -<p>“My mother knows.”</p> - -<p>“What is a mother, if not a confidante of our little eccentricities?”</p> - -<p>“And the American girl knows.”</p> - -<p>“What! that American girl—would you give her a second thought? -<em>Mon Dieu!</em> this is very funny. Oh, <em>mon Dieu!</em> this will kill me. -An American pork butcheress; you told me yourself she was a pork -butcheress. You are afraid of the jeers of this tripe-seller’s -daughter. I passed to-day three American women in green veils; they -were promenading the Rue St. Honoré, and screaming through their noses; -they had alpenstocks, or at least little sticks, adorned with horn -handles and branded ‘Rigi Kulm,’ ‘Rigi Scheideck.’ They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span> had ascended -the Rigi, and were announcing the fact to the Rue St. Honoré; that is -your American woman. They had faces like dollars, and for people like -these you would inconvenience yourself.”</p> - -<p>“I tell you I don’t want to go back. I am perfectly happy, perfectly -contented. Don’t talk any more about it. And I wish you would not call -me Toto.”</p> - -<p>Gaillard turned the conversation to his own immediate wants, and the -process of extraction was resumed till he had salved five hundred -francs from this derelict, promising upon his honor to pay it back in -three weeks. And scarcely had the money changed hands than Célestin -entered, her arms full of parcels, and accompanied by Garnier. He had -met her shopping, and accompanied her home, it being Saturday.</p> - -<p>Then the poet took his departure, chuckling to himself about Garnier -and the obvious worship of the big Provençal for the pretty Célestin; -but for all that, he felt desperately uneasy about Toto. This -foolishness might linger on for months like typhoid, and the best part -of the year was coming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span> on. At Christmas Toto had talked of hiring a -steam yacht for the summer, and now this wretched Célestin and this -vile art craze had spoiled it all. He could have wept as he walked -hurriedly down the Rue de Perpignan looking for a cab to bear him to -civilization, and after an absinthe, which acted on his trouble as -stimulants on an abscess, heightening the inflammation and bringing it -to a head, he sought Struve out in his rooms.</p> - -<p>Struve was working in his shirt-sleeves at that book of his which made -such a sensation a year later, “The Saint in Art.”</p> - -<p>“I am very uneasy about Toto.”</p> - -<p>“What’s wrong with him? Has he been butted by a moufflon?”</p> - -<p>“Toto is not in Corsica; Toto is in Paris.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he’s come back, is he?”</p> - -<p>“Do attend to me, Struve. Toto is in an attic.”</p> - -<p>“What is he doing in an attic?”</p> - -<p>“He is painting pictures.”</p> - -<p>“Has he gone mad?”</p> - -<p>“No, he is not mad; but I fear he will make a very great fool of -himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“I always said he would do that,” granted Struve, examining attentively -a tiny colored picture of St. Cecilia that was destined to adorn “The -Saint in Art.”</p> - -<p>“I fear, if he is not stopped, he will make a very great mess of -himself. He has taken only three thousand francs of his patrimony, and -he swears that if he does not succeed on it he will cut his throat.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t mean to say he has gone on with that foolishness?” asked -Struve, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands in his pockets.</p> - -<p>“I do indeed. It is a great piece of madness; but what is to be done?”</p> - -<p>“Leave him alone.”</p> - -<p>“But he will starve to death.”</p> - -<p>“A little starvation will do him a lot of good; he has too much kick in -him. The man is tired of playing the devil. He has tried everything, -and now he is trying work. He will be back in a fortnight, a greater -devil than ever. I like Toto. He is such a fool; but it’s rather a -pity. You see, he is a moon, and he wants to be a sun. He is tired of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span> -shining by the reflected glory of his fortune, and he wants to shine by -his own light. He hasn’t any to shine by, and there you are.”</p> - -<p>“He has certainly no genius, but he is a very facile painter.”</p> - -<p>“Facile rubbish! He can’t paint.”</p> - -<p>“Do you not think, Otto, if you were to call upon him, and speak to -him, and explain——”</p> - -<p>“<em>Gott im Himmel!</em> what do you think my time is made for? Here am I -behindhand with my book, and Flammarion like a caged tiger waiting for -it. Go and tell his mother, go and tell his aunt, go to the devil, go -anywhere, but don’t bother me about it. I have no time to be running -after Totos; I am not a wet-nurse. Go and get a perambulator and wheel -him home. How is <em>Pantin</em>?”</p> - -<p>“<em>Pantin</em> is very well. Has not Pelisson offered you the art -criticisms?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; but I am too busy to be bothered by <em>Pantins</em>.”</p> - -<p>“You are right. Pelisson makes a rotten editor; he gives out books for -review as if they were clothes for wash. And De Nani—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span>—”</p> - -<p>“I know; he is an old fool. But do leave me now, like a good fellow,” -lisped Struve. “My head is so full of saints, it has no room for De -Nanis.”</p> - -<p>Gaillard went off in a huff, but at the entresol returned to borrow a -few cigarettes, for Struve’s cigarettes were a dream.</p> - -<p>“I forgot to tell you,” said Gaillard as he lighted one, “not to say a -word to anyone about Toto and his attic; he made me swear to tell no -one.”</p> - -<p>“Then why did you tell me, you infernal idiot!” cried Struve, half -laughing, yet nearly weeping at all these interruptions to his work.</p> - -<p>“I quite forgot,” said Gaillard, running off to confide his troubles to -someone else, whilst the critic locked his door and bolted it.</p> - -<p>The poet turned into the offices of <em>Pantin</em> in the Rue Drouot.</p> - -<p>Since the birth of the new journal Pelisson had been pestered with a -rain of old friends whom he had not seen for years, and some of whom he -had never seen before. They all wanted employment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> or, failing that, a -loan. Gaillard’s long-suffering creditors, hearing that he was on the -staff, all appeared seeking for their money—a procession as infinite as -the Leonids, and on a business as apparently futile. The unfortunate -Pelisson had also to supervise his leader writers, write leaders -himself, and, worst of all, select the subjects. For this purpose he -had to keep one eye fixed steadily upon the whole world—that is to say, -Paris. The other eye was fully occupied by De Nani, who had caught on -most amazingly. Everyone was craving to see De Nani. They saw glimpses -only of him, and that made them crave to see more. De Nani’s white hat -loomed mysteriously above <em>Pantin</em>; his caustic and cutting witticisms -circulated in salon and club. Quite a number of old gentlemen took to -wearing white hats and making cutting remarks about their wives, and -in the Rue St. Honoré one might see De Nani waistcoats by the score. -Kuhn’s window in the Rue de Rivoli exposed his portrait, the white hat -tilted to one side above the fiendish old face. It was bought by the -hundred, and Gaillard, like a periodic comet, turned up at this window -daily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span> to grit his teeth with anguish and envy and walk on with rage in -his heart.</p> - -<p>Pelisson was right. He had caught an old wether and belled it, and -the crowd followed like the proverbial sheep. But the bell-wether -required incessant watching; besides, De Nani during the last forty -years had improved borrowing into one of the fine arts, and he was -taking a thousand francs a day out of <em>Pantin</em> in various legitimate -and illegitimate ways. He tapped Pelisson, he tapped the staff, he had -established a credit at three cafés, he tapped the proprietors. He came -east every morning from Auteuil as an American farmer comes to his -maple trees, or a physician to a hospital for dropsy. He patronized -three tailors, and bundles of clothes were constantly being left at -the offices of <em>Pantin</em>; in fact, he seemed to be laying in a store of -clothes, not only for this life, but for the next.</p> - -<p>“I wonder he does not get a coffin as well to complete the outfit,” -said Gaillard once, viciously.</p> - -<p>No doubt he would if he could have got a silver one to melt. He made -up for his abstinence, however, in this respect by jewelry, scent, -cosmetics,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> cigars, knickknacks. China mandarins, and varnished boots. -It was not altogether his fault, for the tradesmen rushed upon him.</p> - -<p>Pelisson did not much care what he got on credit, for he was editor -only in name. If he lasted over the season it would be quite enough, -for <em>Pantin</em> would then be well rooted, and any fiasco of bankruptcy -would only make <em>Pantin</em> bloom the more. One might fancy that the -bankruptcy of the editor would shake the paper in the eyes of the -bourgeoisie, but the wise Pelisson knew better. “There is nothing,” -said he, “that a tradesman enjoys more than seeing another tradesman -let in.”</p> - -<p><em>Pantin</em>, be it observed, was now read, not only by the shopkeepers, -but by the <em>beau monde</em>. Through its starch people observed a secret -spirit at work. Its heavy sledge-hammer articles were supposed to be -molding a crown. The journal was evidently a hit at the existing state -of things; it was also strangely well informed, and the Ministry felt -somewhat as a master might feel who suspected his butler of being a -rogue, but could not prove the fact.</p> - -<p>Amidst De Nani’s other vagaries, affairs with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span> women figured chief, -so you may imagine Pierre Pelisson had his hands full, and no ears -for Gaillard’s tale of tribulation about Toto. But De Nani had; he -was sitting in a room adjoining the inner office, and heard the whole -story—everything, in fact, but Toto’s address.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_III_CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE SORROWS OF ART.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Like</span> Pelisson, the atelier in the Rue de Perpignan had its limitations; -like Pelisson, it was also at times noisy. From the Gare de Sceaux at -night and in the early morning came the sounds of shunting and the -plaintive “toot-toot” of locomotives, whilst the top light seemed the -chosen rendezvous of all the cats of the neighborhood who were in love.</p> - -<p>“Those frightful cats!” would murmur Célestin, trembling beside Toto -lest his sleep should be broken.</p> - -<p>There were also draughts not specified in the lease, and the sink had -a habit of getting stopped up at least once a day; then there was -sometimes a smell of cooking from the rooms below.</p> - -<p>Toto grumbled a little sometimes, but not much at first. The new life -was so entirely different from the life he had led heretofore, so free, -and withal so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span> joyous, that for a little while he did not trouble -himself as to the morrow. The only rose leaf that disturbed his rest -during the first fortnight was the atelier of Melmenotte—art, in short.</p> - -<p>Melmenotte had the air and aspect of a <em>vieux sabreur</em>. He inspected -a picture as an infantry colonel inspects a regiment of the line, -generally with a frown, sometimes with a few cutting words, sometimes -with dead silence. He had inspected Toto’s attempts with a damnatory -sniff and passed on.</p> - -<p>For this reason Toto avoided the atelier on the days when Melmenotte -went round; for this reason, though he had dwelt now with art only a -fortnight, he had, when Gaillard made his proposition of return, almost -nibbled at it. Melmenotte and his crew had somewhat disillusioned him. -They were such a coarse lot. Their conversation was generally silly, -sometimes absolutely vile; they pelted him with bits of bread when -Garnier was not looking, and even the little loans he made to them did -not buy him much esteem. It leaked out that his father had a shop; not -that that fact would have influenced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span> the students much one way or the -other had he possessed talent, but, lacking talent, they saw in him an -inevitable counter-jumper, and as a result would have made his life a -misery to him but for Garnier, whose word was law, both on questions of -art and conduct.</p> - -<p>But Célestin knew nothing of these worries. She knew nothing and cared -nothing about anything except Toto; she did not even know his surname, -for, though he had told it to her once, she had forgotten it.</p> - -<p>Neither did she inquire about his past. She knew in a vague sort of -way that he had always lived in Paris, studying art, and being without -guile, as a flower, she never made that hackneyed old inquiry, “Tell -me, have you ever loved a woman before?”—to be answered by that -hackneyed old lie, “Never.” Then, with that instinct which orders -what we might call the good manners of love, she never loved him to -weariness; she knew the psychological moment for a kiss, the right -time for silence, and when to get upon his knee and cheer him up, and -talk to him in the language she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span> used to Dodor. Always pretty, she had -almost in a night become beautiful. Toto had presented her with this -added charm, but he did not perceive it; this extra beauty made up for -the amount she had lost by surrendering herself to him.</p> - -<p>One day Mme. Liard called to see how they were getting on, and brought -a box of Choiseul’s cough lozenges for Célestin as a sort of wedding -gift. The good woman was greatly taken with the atelier, the couch -which she sat on to sample and declared to be a marvel, and the great -empty canvas on one of the easels.</p> - -<p>“That is for his great picture,” said Célestin proudly. “Isn’t it -beautiful? and will it not be large? And see our tulip”—pointing to the -flower in the pot, which had burst into bloom. “Is it not beautiful? -But Dodor is so jealous of it.”</p> - -<p>“Tulips die so soon,” said Mme. Liard, who was a bit of a pessimist. -“Give me a double geranium. But flowers—bless you! I cannot keep them, -for no sooner do I get a flower than Mimi scratches it up.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Mimi!” said Célestin; “tell me how she is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>And Mme. Liard plunged into the inexhaustible subject of her cat.</p> - -<p>Gaillard came down on them now and then like the wolf on the fold, and -ate up a great deal of provisions. In return, he taught them how to -make coffee and told them fairy tales. He also borrowed little sums -at parting, but that goes without saying. He also acted as a sort of -intermediary between Toto and his mamma, and one day he brought them -a ham from that lady, omitting to mention from whence it had come, -presenting it as a gift of his own, in fact, and borrowing an extra -five francs on the strength of it. He also brought to the Rue de -Perpignan all his troubles, including the books for review doled out by -Pelisson, and horrible stories about De Nani. The “Fall of the Damned” -had been furiously attacked by a friend in the columns of the <em>Libre -Parole</em>, yet it was far from flourishing. He brought a copy dressed in -a fawn-colored wrapper, and adorned with red devils tumbling head over -heels, and presumably into the pit.</p> - -<p>“The cover,” said Gaillard, “has spoiled the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span> sale a good deal. You -have no idea of the influence of a cover on a book: devils have gone -out of fashion in the last month. It’s all owing to that exposure of -the Satanists—silly fools!—and of course it is just my luck, for I -have a little brochure in proof called ‘Bon Jour, Satan.’ Well, then, -I must change the title, and what does that mean? Why, rewriting the -book. People are turning religious, it seems; that is where art hits -one. The silly public takes a whim into its head; the artist must meet -it or starve. I had a meeting with Chauvin, my publisher, to-day. You -should have seen his face. He declares the market for poetry is dead, -and the silly fool wants me to write him something manly and religious. -We nearly came to words, but we made it up. I am actually like a rat in -a horrible trap. Do, Toto, act as a friend in this matter, and till the -end of the month, when my royalties are due——”</p> - -<p>“It is absolutely disgusting,” Gaillard would murmur to himself as he -made for home after these expeditions. “It is like asking a loan from a -laborer. He takes out a few francs and looks at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span> them as if they were -his last, and that little Célestin, I believe she puts him up to resist -lending; I believe she puts all his spare money into the money-box of -that wretched lark. I believe she is in love with that great fat beast -who smells of garlic, and who always runs away when I come, as if he -feared the presence of a gentleman; that is the lark she is saving up -for. Yes, some day Toto will wake up to find nothing but a smell of -garlic and Célestin flown. It will serve him right.”</p> - -<p>Yet, were Toto out when he called at the atelier, he would lay his -troubles on the back of Célestin, always sure of attention and -commiseration. And smoking his eternal cigarettes, he would pour into -her ear the horrors of life, the futility of Pelisson, the detestable -nature of De Brie, and the villainy of De Nani. Sometimes Toto, -returning after one of these séances had lasted an hour or so, would -find Célestin looking almost old, and with tears in her heavenly eyes.</p> - -<p>“I have been telling her a society fairy tale,” would say Gaillard.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_III_CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">BOURGEOIS—BANKER—PRINCE.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was now June, and lately Toto had become subject to moods, or, to -speak more correctly, fits of moodiness. He had now for a month or more -been living face to face with Art, and the prolonged interview with -that lady was bearing fruit in his manners and customs.</p> - -<p>Three weeks ago he would not have cared very much had Paris known of -his mode of life and ridiculed him for it. Cocksure, and blinded by the -<em>fata Morgana</em> of success, he would have shaken his palette in the face -of Paris; but Art had changed all that.</p> - -<p>“Art is not a wanton, to be hired for a night,” said Garnier one day in -answer to a remark of Toto’s. “<em>Mon Dieu!</em> no; she is like that woman -in the Bible whose courting took seven years, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span> then again seven -years, and seven years again. Work, and don’t think, work and don’t -think.”</p> - -<p>Easy advice to give. Toto was now continually thinking. He was in a -worse Bastille than that from which Latude made his escape, for he had -devised his own bondhouse, and the prison a man makes for himself is of -all prisons, perhaps, the most difficult to leave.</p> - -<p>He dreaded now meeting anyone that he knew, and in the street going to -and from the studio glanced about him with the eyes of a frightened -hare. As yet no one knew of his folly but Gaillard, Helen Powers, and -his mother, but, indeed, that audience, together with his self-respect, -were quite enough to keep him performing a little while longer.</p> - -<p>Then there was Célestin. The unutterable contentment and bliss of -Célestin with her new life filled the heart of Toto sometimes now with -a vague sort of terror. She seemed to think that this sort of thing was -to go on forever. Her love for him, expressed in a thousand different -ways, seemed to spring from infinity itself, and love like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span> this is to -the beloved either a blessing beyond all blessings or a curse. To Toto -just now it was not a blessing.</p> - -<p>Of course, by a cab to the Nord, or the L’Ouest, or the Orleans -railway, and a ticket to anywhere, and a few months’ absence, he could -have put everything to rights. Paris, like a cold gray sea, would -have washed over Célestin and Dodor, washed away the furniture of the -atelier, washed away his memory from the <em>rapins</em> at Melmenotte’s, and -obliterated all traces. Paris, whose motto is “I have forgotten,” would -not trouble even to repeat those funereal and final words over this -small escapade.</p> - -<p>But Toto was not the person to leave Célestin and Dodor to the mercies -of Paris. In some unaccountable way Célestin had drawn the better parts -of his nature to herself; to wound her would be to wound himself. If -he thought Célestin were weeping alone in some attic, it would have -taken the pleasure from life, and spoiled his digestion, and filled his -nights with nightmares, for his better parts would have been weeping -with her. In short,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span> though capable of a foolish action, he was as yet -incapable of a ruffianly, and as a result he was unhappy. A perfectly -happy fool must always, I think, be a ruffian.</p> - -<p>One day Garnier, who called frequently now as a friend of the family, -found Célestin on the verge of tears. The tulip in the red-tile pot had -died, and she was inconsolable. She declared that she would never keep -another when Garnier offered to replace it.</p> - -<p>“Never mind,” said the painter; “I will procure you a flower that will -not die.”</p> - -<p>A juggler who had lodged once in the same house had instructed him -in the manufacture of roses that never die, immortal tulips, and -decay-defying camellias. They were made from turnips cunningly carved -and dyed in cochineal. Camellias were the easiest to make, roses more -difficult, whilst tulips, strange to say, were the most difficult of -all. The tulip had first to be blocked out roughly from the succulent -root; then the exterior had to be carved, and lastly, the whole thing -hollowed neatly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span></p> - -<p>So Garnier took a day off, and procured a turnip and a knife, some -cochineal, and all the other necessary paraphernalia, and, with his -work cut out before him, locked his door. This room of Garnier’s was -close to the roof, and from its window one could see the spires of -Notre Dame by standing on a chair. A desperate-looking cat lived here, -whose life had been saved by the artist one morning as he was starting -to work. It had repaid him lately by kittening under his bed. In one -corner of the room lay a pile of newspapers, on the chimney-piece some -books—Rousseau’s “Nouvelle Héloïse” in paper covers; a little book of -German fairy tales, which he could not read, but which he treasured -because of the delightful pictures; “The Mysteries of Paris,” which he -had read four times; and a few others.</p> - -<p>On this floor also there was a large atelier kept up by three young men -from the South, who did their own cooking, so that the place was always -filled with the sound of frying and the smell of garlic. They did their -own washing, too, and so defied the laundress; they also at times -defied the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span> landlord when he threatened to turn them out. They had got -an old banjo from somewhere, and, needless to say, they played on it. -Garnier worked in this atelier when he was not working elsewhere. He -loved its discords, and never painted better than when Castanet was -playing the banjo, Lorillard accompanying him on a comb, and Floquet -frying things over the stove, for then he imagined himself back in -Provence, and the atelier became flooded with the light that never was -in Paris except on the canvas of a Diaz or a Garnier.</p> - -<p>Floquet had a sweetheart, who sat to him for love, and of course also -to his friends. She darned Castanet’s stockings, for he wore them out -in some miraculous way quicker than anyone else. As for Lorillard, he -never wore stockings—at least, in summer—and laughed at people who did.</p> - -<p>Altogether they were as disreputable a colony as one could find in the -whole quarter, but as good-hearted as they were jolly. Castanet, be it -observed, was a law student; he lived with the others just as the owl -lives with the prairie-dogs, because he liked them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span></p> - -<p>All these people noticed a change that had come over Garnier during the -last fortnight. He was abstracted, he sighed, he laughed at nothing, -burst out laughing sometimes as he painted, in a happy manner, as if -a child had performed some antic for his amusement, and then a few -minutes later he would give a little groan. He no longer cast his -brushes joyously aside when Floquet turned the shrieking and fizzing -pan of fish stewed in garlic onto a dish; his appetite had diminished.</p> - -<p>The fact was, the great Garnier was miraculously in love. When an -elephant falls into a pit he does it in a whole-hearted manner; so fell -Garnier into this passion. Célestin had been for him that dangerous -thing—a revelation. She had eclipsed the <em>Intransigèant</em>, and robbed -Henri Rochefort of his power; she had touched Prince Rudolph, and he -had slunk back into his impossible mysteries; she had taken the charm -from garlic, and even the wizard café lost its fascination.</p> - -<p>Yet for all this he was not in love with Célestin in the ordinary -acceptation of the term. He never dreamt of marriage with her, simply -because during<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span> the last twelve days he had become miraculously married -to her. She dwelt with him always now in that atelier he called his -head. There she made her hats, trimming them with sunbeams, and turning -to him for admiration with her celestial smile.</p> - -<p>She was the wife of his soul. Never was there a purer passion begotten -of man and woman; yet, strangely enough, it did not purify him. He -talked of women in the same old free-and-easy way, and the jokes of -Castanet, Lorillard, Floquet & Co. did not shock him.</p> - -<p>Had Célestin lived in a romance, she would doubtless have cast her -light on womanhood. She would have elevated Garnier, and he certainly -would have been none the worse for that. In reality, however, her -effulgence showed him nothing but herself.</p> - -<p>She had such pretty ways. Her slightest movement had a deeply artistic -meaning. She interpreted unspoken sentences with a motion of her hands. -A poppy swaying in the wind had not the grace of Célestin crossing the -floor to put the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span> kettle on the stove. Her talk seemed a strange -sister of Dodor’s song. And then the way she had of casting her eyes up -to heaven! Her gaze always seemed to return bluer from that journey, -and filled with light gathered from the ghostly distance.</p> - -<p>She was all those twelve children he had longed for rolled into one, -and much more besides. She was one of those delightful little cherubs -over the fonts in the Church of St. Germain l’Auxerrois; she was the -wind that waved the trees at Barbizon, the flowers that blew to the -wind, and the sparrows that flew in the street; she was Mistigris, the -cat who lived under his bed, and each of Mistigris’s six kittens. For -all of these things that he loved when he thought of, beheld, or felt -them, reminded him of Célestin.</p> - -<p>He labored away over his tulip, carving at it with infinite care. -Castanet came and kicked at his door, and asked him what he was doing, -and then he felt the eye of Castanet peering through the key-hole, and -heard his voice informing Floquet that Garnier was writing a letter to -his sweetheart. Then the banjo struck up, and the doleful sound<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span> of -the comb laboring out “Partant pour la Syrie” mixed with the sound of -Lorillard washing his shirt and beating it between his hands as a sort -of accompaniment to the music.</p> - -<p>Then the flower was at last accomplished—a bit too thick in the petal, -perhaps, but still a fairly accurate representation. He dyed it with -the cochineal, and mounted it on a little green stick he had prepared -to do duty for a stalk. It was a poor child for so great an artist to -produce, yet he smiled at it in a satisfied manner, for it reminded him -of Célestin.</p> - -<p>He then went to the atelier of Castanet & Co. to see if he could get a -piece of fish for Mistigris, who had come out from under the bed with a -kitten in her mouth, as if to remind him that she was the mother of a -family and required sustaining. And when he had fed her, he darted off -with the tulip in his hand, making for the Rue de Perpignan, regardless -of the ribaldry of his compatriots, who were watching him from their -window away up near the roof. He hurried along like a man pursuing -fortune, or as if fearful that the tulip would wither.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span> Toto was out, -but Célestin was at home mending a glove.</p> - -<p>“Ah, <em>ciel</em>!” cried Célestin, as she held the tulip out between finger -and thumb. “What a marvelous thing! You made it, and from a turnip! It -is a miracle!”</p> - -<p>“We will plant it!” cried Garnier, running about with the red-tile pot -in his hand, and looking for some place in which to throw the dead -flower. There was a sink outside the door; he cast it there.</p> - -<p>Then they planted the new tulip, pressing the mold tightly around the -base of the stick, and hardly was the thing accomplished when Toto -entered, looking worried, and as if he had been walking in a hurry.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is very nice,” said Toto in the manner of an absent-minded -parent as they called upon him to admire their handiwork.</p> - -<p>He kissed Célestin without fervor, and then, pulling Garnier aside by -the arm, invited him to come outside for a moment and have a glass of -beer, and give his advice about a picture.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span></p> - -<p>“I have had a row at the studio,” said Toto, when they were in the -street.</p> - -<p>“Eh! what? with Melmenotte?”</p> - -<p>“No, that fool Jolly. I knocked him down.”</p> - -<p>“What! you did that? <em>Boufre!</em> but it will do him a lot of good, that -same Jolly. I have often wished to do so myself, but I am too big, and -he is too small. You are more of his size. And why did you knock him -down?”</p> - -<p>“He told me I wasn’t able to paint, that any <em>demi-mondaine</em> had more -art in painting her face than I had in painting a picture.”</p> - -<p>“But that is nothing; we all tell each other things like that.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but he meant it; and, he said it in such an insulting manner, -and, besides, he only said it because I had refused to lend him more -money.”</p> - -<p>“So you knocked him down!” cried Garnier, breaking into a roar of -laughter. “<em>Mon Dieu!</em> and I missed it! I would have given five francs -to have been there.”</p> - -<p>They entered a little café, and Toto called for two bocks.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am very unhappy,” said Toto as he sipped his beer.</p> - -<p>“What! about that rascal Jolly?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no; it is not that. I am unhappy about a lot of things. I wish I -had never come to the Rue de Perpignan.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, tell me something seriously. How long do you think it will be -before I am able to exhibit?”</p> - -<p>Garnier shifted about in his seat. He did not know exactly what to -say; he had never considered Toto’s art seriously. His father had a -shop, and the son, after dabbling a while with art, would doubtless end -happily behind the counter. He was having his <em>Wanderjahr</em> now. Even at -the worst he might become a great artist. Who could tell? And who was -Garnier that he should throw water on another man’s aspirations?</p> - -<p>“Five years,” said Garnier. “You see, you are only beginning. The -great thing in art is time; nothing is done without time and patience. -Another thing: one must not think. Work away and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span> don’t think. Don’t -ask ‘How am I getting on?’ or, at least, only on New Year’s Day. Then, -enjoy yourself, and keep your eyes open. Paris is a big atelier. An -artist wants to study movement as well as the nude. I never walk down -the street but I pick up something; it all comes in handy. If you want -to paint life, you must dip your brush in everything, even mud. Those -old men who spent their lives painting pots and pans and saints leave -me cold. I would like to clap the Rue St. Honoré into a canvas—will, -too, some day. I don’t think there is anything more fine in nature than -a fire-engine going full speed to a fire, except, maybe, a dragon-fly.”</p> - -<p>Garnier buried his nose in his glass, and Toto put his chin on his -palm, his elbow on the table, and stared before him, as if gazing at a -cheerless view.</p> - -<p>“Or a girl flinging up her arms to yawn,” continued Garnier. “Girls are -all art—that is why they make such rotten artists; but they are natural -when they are flinging up their arms to yawn, or stooping to tie their -garters, because then they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span> think no one is looking at them, or they -don’t care.”</p> - -<p>He held out a handful of cigarettes, and Toto took one.</p> - -<p>“I have never seen Célestin yawn,” said Toto in a meditative voice, as -he lit the cigarette.</p> - -<p>“Heavens! no,” said Garnier.</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“The gift of weariness is not given to her. Have you ever seen a -butterfly yawn, or a happy child?”</p> - -<p>“She <em>is</em> happy!” said Toto in a half-regretful voice.</p> - -<p>“She is happiness, you mean. <em>Mon Dieu!</em> yes, she is happiness; as -for me, when I see her I always feel ten years younger, twenty years -younger when she speaks, thirty years younger when she smiles.”</p> - -<p>“You are only twenty-five.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes; so you see, Mlle. Célestin’s smile puts me back to five years -before my birth. I was then an angel, a fat little angel in the cherub -cage; there I would have been still had not the Father Eternal put in -his hand and taken me out, and flung me to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span> the blue, crying ‘Try your -wings.’ That is how the business is managed: the world is pursued by a -flock of cherubs in search of a roost; when they overtake the world, -they take it by storm, people want to marry, and that makes spring; -when the world outstrips them that makes winter. I have never begotten -a child, so I have never given a perch to one of those sparrow angels, -worse luck!” and Garnier sighed and called for more beer.</p> - -<p>“Shall I tell you something?” asked Toto, who had been slowly making up -his mind as the painter prattled.</p> - -<p>“Why, yes!”</p> - -<p>“Well, you remember, when I met you first, you asked me what my father -was. I said he had a shop. Well, I told you a lie.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Ma foi!</em> why not? What do I care what your father is?—you are a good -fellow. That is enough for me. We all boast a bit, we artists.”</p> - -<p>“I was not exactly boasting,” said Toto, knocking the ash off his -cigarette in a nervous manner. “My father made all his money out of a -bank.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t mean to say he is a banker!” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span> Garnier, opening his eyes -in astonishment, for a banker to Garnier was a much more extraordinary -person than even one of those cherubs he talked about.</p> - -<p>“No; not exactly a banker: he was a partner in a great bank. He was -always awfully ashamed of the bank. He is dead, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Ashamed of being a banker!” gasped Garnier. “What sort of man was he?”</p> - -<p>“He was an awfully funny old fellow. I can just remember him. He -scarcely ever spoke to me; he was very stiff and straight, and he used -to paint his face and wear stays.”</p> - -<p>“He was mad, then?” said Garnier.</p> - -<p>“Not he; he was as sane as I am—saner; for I believe I am cracked. No -matter, it’s not my fault; I did not make myself.”</p> - -<p>“Paint his face and wear stays and ashamed of being a banker,” murmured -Garnier. “You are not making an April fish of me? No, you can’t be, for -it is the second of June.”</p> - -<p>“No, I wish I was; but I have a lot more to tell. You know I came down -here to paint and live in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span> the Rue de Perpignan a little more than a -month ago. Well, I thought I was going to be a great artist. No, worse -than that: I thought I was a great artist.”</p> - -<p>“So do we all, till we find out the right side of our palettes,” said -Garnier.</p> - -<p>“Well, I am only a dauber; don’t say no—I have been finding it out in -the last week. I didn’t want that fellow Jolly to tell me; that’s what -made me so angry, I suppose, for I knew he was telling me the truth. -Well, I am sick of it all; the pleasure is all gone from my life. I -have a lot of anxieties; it is like being in prison. When I go out on -the street, even here in this quarter, where I am not likely to come -across anyone, I have to be always on the watch for fear of meeting -anyone I know; I always look down a street before I walk down it.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, yes! I know that feeling. There are three streets forbidden to me -just at present; they are barricaded by creditors.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it is not creditors I fear.”</p> - -<p>“What then?”</p> - -<p>“Friends<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Mon Dieu!</em> what a funny man you are! What is there pleasanter to meet -than a friend?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; but don’t you understand? I don’t want my friends to know that I -am an artist.”</p> - -<p>“And, for Heaven’s sake, why not?”</p> - -<p>“Well, for one thing, they would laugh at me.”</p> - -<p>“Laugh at you for being an artist! Sacred Heaven! what a funny man you -are, and what funny friends you must have! And why should they laugh at -you for being an artist?”</p> - -<p>“Well, you see, they don’t know anything about art, for one thing.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I can see those friends of yours!” said Garnier, with an inspired -air. “Old religious ladies, aunts, and what not,—they drive in -carriages with pug dogs,—and old gentlemen with the Legion of Honor.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all; my friends are quite young.”</p> - -<p>“Who are they, then?”</p> - -<p>“Well, there is Eugène Valfray, son of the railway man.”</p> - -<p>“Never heard of him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“Then there is the Prince de Harnac—Gustave.”</p> - -<p>“What, you know a Prince!”</p> - -<p>“Why, man, I am a Prince.”</p> - -<p>“You are a what?”</p> - -<p>“I am a Prince,” said Toto shamefacedly.</p> - -<p>“Ah, <em>mon Dieu!</em> what a droll you are!” cried Garnier, breaking into a -laugh. “First you are a bourgeois, then you are a banker, then you are -a Prince.”</p> - -<p>“I am not joking; I am what I say.”</p> - -<p>“But,” cried Garnier, sobered by the serious face of Toto, “you a -Prince, sitting here at the Trois Frères with me! Come now! a joke is -all very well up to a certain point; beyond that it makes one feel -giddy. Besides, you are not like a Prince.”</p> - -<p>“For Heaven’s sake, what <em>is</em> a Prince like?” asked Toto, half -laughing, half vexed. “I have never seen a Prince that was different -from anyone else; they are generally more stupid, perhaps, but that is -all.”</p> - -<p>“But what are you Prince of?” cried the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span> painter, belief and disbelief -battling in his mind.</p> - -<p>“My father was a prince of the Roman Empire. I am the same, of course, -now that he is dead.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear child!” cried the Provençal, to whom a Prince was a -Prince, no matter what empire he belonged to, “what made you come -amongst us at Melmenotte’s? it is like what one reads in a romance, -all this. I could not have believed it. And what made you come to live -in the Rue de Perpignan? And Célestin! Ah, <em>ciel!</em> I see it all now: -she is a Princess; that is what makes her different from other people. -A Princess! she has made me coffee, whilst I have talked to her as to -a child. I have carved for her a tulip out of a turnip, and I never -guessed who she was, when it was plain before me written all over her——”</p> - -<p>“You are wrong,” said Toto in a troubled voice. “She is not a Princess; -I wish she were. Listen, my friend, and I will tell you all. I want -your advice.”</p> - -<p>He told the little story of his meeting with Célestin,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span> everything; he -sketched rapidly a portrait of his mother; then he paused to let the -tale sink in, and Garnier rubbed his chin.</p> - -<p>“But what made you do all this?” asked the painter at last. “You could -have painted at home.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know; I was so sick of it all. I wanted a change, I wanted to -do for myself; it seemed so jolly to have an atelier, and live in a -blouse and work; then, besides—I can’t explain exactly, but I felt as -if I wanted to grow: a lot of people had deceived me. They did not mean -it, I suppose, but they praised my work; besides, I felt that they were -laughing at me behind my back.”</p> - -<p>He told the story of De Nani, and the truth that had escaped from him -in drink; he felt no shame in confiding his troubles to Garnier. All -great-minded people have this in common. They resemble priests; we -confess to them openly what we would not whisper to little minds.</p> - -<p>“Ah, well,” said Garnier, “there are rogues in every trade, and that -old man is a rogue. <em>Mon Dieu!</em> I am not straitlaced; but there are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span> -two things I cannot stand by and see: an old man drunk, and an old man -following a woman. Do not think of him, but tell me now, what does it -feel like to be a Prince? Oh, I should like to be a Prince just for an -hour! I would dress myself in ermine and walk down the Rue de Rivoli. -Ah! you are laughing, but I would. I would call my servants and give -them orders, just to hear them call me M. le Prince. I would call at -Melmenotte’s, and walk about the atelier trailing my skirts. <em>Mon -Dieu!</em> yes, I should like to be a Prince just for an hour.”</p> - -<p>“And then?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I would kick off my togs and come back and be an artist. Just as -you will kick off your togs and go back to be a Prince; one always -returns to one’s trade.”</p> - -<p>“You think I will go back to be a Prince?”</p> - -<p>“Why, of course.”</p> - -<p>“Would you advise me to?”</p> - -<p>“Why, of course, when you are tired of your atelier you will put on -your crown.”</p> - -<p>“I have no crown,” said Toto; “but I will no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span> doubt return and put on a -tall hat. What troubles me is Célestin.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Célestin!”</p> - -<p>“She does not know who I am.”</p> - -<p>Garnier frowned slightly.</p> - -<p>“She would not have loved me, I think, if I had told her, poor child! -She has a great awe of titled people; she makes hats for them. She will -never do that again, anyhow.”</p> - -<p>“Still,” said Garnier, “you ought to have told her.”</p> - -<p>“Why? I don’t see why.”</p> - -<p>“You have told me, yet you would hide what I know from that angel of -light. That is not as it should be. Take it as a man. How would you -like Mlle. Célestin to deceive you? The thing is impossible, but, -still——”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you are right; and I wish I had never met her.”</p> - -<p>Garnier frowned again.</p> - -<p>“You do not love her, then?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes; I do. It is not that, but my mother, and all the people I -know. Not that I care a button—not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span> a button; let them all go to the -devil.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, now you speak like a man! And will you tell Célestin all that you -have told to me?”</p> - -<p>“I will. I will tell her this evening.”</p> - -<p>But when evening came, and he sat alone with Célestin on the couch in -the lamplight, and when he took her hand saying “I want to tell you -something; I ought to have told it to you before,” the words dried up; -he could not tell her of his position in the world; besides, he knew -her inevitable answer, “What matter, so long as we love each other?” It -always came when difficulties arose—if the beef was understewed or the -wine sour, if the cats kept them awake or if the door of Dodor’s cage -got jammed.</p> - -<p>“Célestin, I ought to have told you before; but do you know that, -though we live here in this atelier and are happy enough, God knows—do -you know that I am—awfully poor?”</p> - -<p>“What matter? What does anything matter, so long as we love each -other?” sighed Célestin.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span></p> - -<p>“I will tell you all about myself some day,” said Toto. “I have not -told you I have a mother.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, how I would love to see her! How happy, that is, to have a mother! -As for me, I never had a mother.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps it is just as well you had not.”</p> - -<p>“I will tell you,” said Célestin: “we will share your mother. I will -take one-half of her heart, and you will have the other, like those -ogres in that fairy tale of dear M. Gaillard’s.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks,” said Toto; “you may have it all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span>.”</p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_III_CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE SHOWER.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">“Dodor</span>, we are very poor,” said Célestin next morning. She had taken -the lark from its cage, and was holding the little warm, brown body to -her breast.</p> - -<p>Toto had gone out to slink about the streets in a miserable state of -mind. He was deadly tired of his atelier—Art had pulled his ears; yet -he was ashamed to go home. Besides, how about Célestin?</p> - -<p>He felt like a child who had stolen a fiddle, unable to play on it, -tired of it, afraid to return it, and wavering for a moment ere he -throws it into the nearest ditch. It was ten o’clock in the morning.</p> - -<p>“So,” continued Célestin, putting the lark back in its cage, “I am -going to make some money.”</p> - -<p>Her head was full of echoes begotten of Toto’s words last night, “I am -very poor,” and plans begotten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span> of the echoes. She had all her life -been well-to-do; by some special provision of God’s, instead of her -seeking work, work had always stolen to seek her fingers; the winds -had blown tulle and artificial roses across her path; Mme. Hümmel had -supplied her with foundations, and art had done the rest.</p> - -<p>So it was a new sensation to hear the wolf scratch at the door, rather -fearful, yet almost pleasurable: for was not Toto with her, and so long -as they loved each other what did anything matter?</p> - -<p>She had three hats finished—four, in fact, but only three for sale. For -the fourth was the one she had made that morning,—the morning of the -honeymoon,—and it was not for sale. She could not think of allowing -another woman to wear it, so she put it on her head, determining to -wear it herself.</p> - -<p>She had on a dress of lilac-colored nun’s cloth. She made the three -hats up in a parcel, and then drew on a pair of lilac-colored gloves.</p> - -<p>“How grand Mme. Hümmel will think I have become!” said Célestin, as she -departed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span></p> - -<p>Even the old Rue de Perpignan looked young this morning. It was a -blissful and dreamy day; heavy showers had fallen in the early morning, -leaving a perfume in the air, faint, as if from the gardens of Paradise.</p> - -<p>She reached Verral’s in the Rue St. Honoré without any surprising -adventure, and entered by the side door that leads to the workrooms. -These lay behind the showrooms, the buzz and murmur of which penetrated -the thin partitions dividing the one from the other. The atmosphere was -warm and filled with that oppressive smell which comes from millinery -in a mass. Size, varnish, and glue contributed their odors, whilst the -air vibrated with the whir of sewing machines from the rooms above.</p> - -<p>“Ah, the little Célestin!” cried Mme. Hümmel, a stout Alsatian in black -silk, and with a good-natured face.</p> - -<p>“I sent a girl to the Rue de Babylone only last week to see if you were -dead, and they said you were married. Bad child not to have told me! I -was frightened. I could not sleep at night, saying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span> to myself, ‘Where -is that Célestin?’ So you have brought me some hats?”</p> - -<p>She led the way to her private room, and looked at the hats, and -praised them a little: for it does not do to lavish praise on -employees; they are apt to wax fat on it and kick for higher prices, as -Mme. Hümmel had learnt in the course of her experience.</p> - -<p>Then she ran away to get some money, and Célestin stood by the table, -on which lay feathers, patterns of silk, and those <em>pompons</em> which, -according to Gaillard, were the mainstay and support of the mysterious -Angélique.</p> - -<p>“This is for the work,” said Mme. Hümmel, paying the stipulated amount, -“and this is for yourself. It is a wedding gift. Poor child! are you -happy?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, very happy!” said Célestin, putting the napoleon just given to her -for a wedding gift into her glove, and the six francs into her purse. -“Happier than I can tell. How good it is of you! A whole napoleon! I -never thought—I——”</p> - -<p>“No, do not thank me. You are a good child, and I am sure you will make -him happy. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span> must bring him to see me some Saturday. I will lecture -him for you. And is he dark or fair? and what is his name?”</p> - -<p>“He is dark, and his name is Désiré.”</p> - -<p>“And his other name?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” said Célestin. “He told me once, and I have forgotten. -How stupid it is of me!”</p> - -<p>Mme. Hümmel smothered a little laugh.</p> - -<p>“So you do not know his surname? <em>Mon Dieu!</em> what a droll child you -are!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t remember it. My head will not hold names; it is like a sieve. -I am very silly.” And Célestin, blushing and shaking the good woman by -the hand, departed, whilst Madame cried after her, “Be sure and bring -him some Saturday for me to lecture him,” little thinking that this -young man with the forgettable surname was Toto, son of Verral’s best -customer, Mme. la Princesse de Cammora.</p> - -<p>Célestin walked away, so lost in her napoleon that she did not notice -the clouds hurrying up from the southwest. Like everything fortunate, -the napoleon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span> was a gift from the good God. Toto was one of these -gifts, or, rather, the chief of them; and as she made her way along the -busy street, she cast her eyes up several times as if returning thanks -through the brim of her hat to those favored angels, her guardians.</p> - -<p>A thought had crossed her mind. She would get a money-box for Toto and -save up for him, for what would happen if she were to die, and he were -left like the artist in that terrible play at the Porte St. Martin? -Already, in fancy, she was supporting him by her hats whilst he pursued -his beautiful art to fame.</p> - -<p>But if she were to die? Her lips trembled. Those two children of -hers, Toto and Dodor! They crossed her imagination together, feckless -creatures, one so like the other in character, either jumping about -on their perches, or moping, irresponsible, and terribly in need of -someone to tidy their cages, talk to them, and love them.</p> - -<p>She was passing a frightful criticism on Toto, but she did not know it. -Perhaps the only people who criticise us justly are the people who love -us,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span> for our perfections and imperfections are to them all one country, -and of that country perhaps our imperfections are the fairest part.</p> - -<p>Just as she reached the middle of the Place de la Concorde the clouds -burst. It was like a huge shower bath, of which the string had suddenly -been pulled. In a second the Madeleine and Rue Royale on one hand, and -the big letters announcing the Chamber of Deputies on the other, were -veiled by sheets of rain.</p> - -<p>Célestin awoke suddenly from her painful, half-pleasurable reverie, -to find herself drenched. She had no umbrella, and her friends the -omnibuses were not near, so she ran through sheets of rain, till her -hat was ruined, and then she hid in a doorway, panting, and with her -hand to her breast. The shower spent itself in ten minutes, and the -day smiled out again brighter than ever. So she pursued her way to -the Rue de Perpignan, wet to the skin, and rejecting the idea of an -omnibus because of the expense for one thing, and, besides, she was wet -already, and it was safer to walk and keep warm.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span></p> - -<p>When she reached the atelier she found Toto carefully drying himself at -the stove. He, too, had been caught by the rain, but not so badly.</p> - -<p>She insisted upon his taking off his coat, and whilst it was drying she -talked to him and laughed to cheer him up. Then she spread the cloth -on the table, for it was time for <em>déjeuner</em>, and lastly she went to -the bedroom, like a prudent person, and changed her things. But the -beautiful hat was ruined beyond redemption, and as she gazed at it she -gave a little shiver.</p> - -<p>That evening, when the lamp was lit, she told Toto all about Mme. -Hümmel, the selling of the hats, the gift of the napoleon, and the -desire of the forewoman to see him and lecture him.</p> - -<p>Toto listened half unconsciously. He was already revolving in his mind -plans of escape from his cage. He had fixed upon Gaillard as the man of -all others to help him, but he had not seen Gaillard now for four days.</p> - -<p>As Célestin finished her story—she was sitting upon the floor, her head -resting against Toto<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span>’s knee—a shudder ran through her, and her teeth -chattered.</p> - -<p>“Why,” cried Toto, “what is this? What makes you shiver so?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” said Célestin, half laughing. “I did not do it on -purpose;” and again the rigor seized her, as if someone were shaking -her by the shoulder. “I will go to bed,” she said, rising to her feet. -“My head swims.”</p> - -<p>“I hope she is not going to be ill,” thought the Prince to himself. -“And I do wish Gaillard would come. What can have happened to him?”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span></p> - -<h2 class="chapter padb2" id="Part_IV"><b>Part IV.</b></h2> - -<h3 class="no-break" id="Part_IV_CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.<br /> -<br /><span class="smaller">ADAM FROISSART.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nothing</span> in particular had happened to Gaillard, yet the poet was in -tribulation. To begin with, all his friends were too busy to attend -to or amuse themselves with him. Struve was writing his book, or, -rather, correcting the proof sheets, an employment that kept him short -of temper and time; Pelisson had only one idea—<em>Pantin</em>; Toto was -crabbedly finding out his own stupidity in the Rue de Perpignan; whilst -De Brie had turned very acid over his connection with the new journal, -and flung him commissions for little articles or volumes for review as -if they were bones to a dog.</p> - -<p>Then his publisher had informed him, with a very long face, that only -three hundred copies of “The Fall of the Damned” had sold in three -weeks,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span> whereas three thousand of “Satanitie” had gone off in the same -time.</p> - -<p>To make matters worse, Papillard had stopped working; De Nani had -frozen him. De Nani he felt to be the cause of all his misfortunes, and -he only continued to exist—so he told himself—that he might witness De -Nani’s downfall.</p> - -<p>You may imagine, then, how pleased he felt when, on the morning after -the same showery day that drenched Célestin, Pelisson appeared in his -rooms before eight o’clock, and pulled up his blinds.</p> - -<p>“Wake up! I want Adam Froissart’s address,” cried Pelisson, standing -over the poet, and poking him with his stick to rouse him.</p> - -<p>“Froissart!” cried Gaillard, rubbing his eyes. “He is not in Paris.”</p> - -<p>“Where is he, then?”</p> - -<p>“He is in—Amiens,” said Gaillard.</p> - -<p>Froissart was a spiteful genius who possessed the unsavory humor -of Papillard. No one had ever seen him, and his sole title to -consideration lay in three malevolent articles leveled against De Brie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span> -and his political tendencies. They had been submitted to Pelisson by -Gaillard, and so had found their way into the <em>Débats</em>. Pelisson, -who noted down everything, had made a memorandum of this gentleman’s -abilities. De Brie had done likewise, and though he hated this unknown -journalist, he would have given a good deal to secure him as a member -of his staff. He had expressed the desire in the hearing of Gaillard, -and he might have obtained his wish, only that Froissart’s genius for -malevolence was useless when expended against anyone else than De Brie.</p> - -<p>Needless to say, there was no Froissart. He belonged to the shadowy -band that included Fanfoullard, Mirmillard, Papillard, Églantine, and -Angélique.</p> - -<p>“This is a great nuisance,” grumbled Pelisson, rubbing his chin.</p> - -<p>“What do you want of Froissart?”</p> - -<p>“I am going to sack De Nani, and I want a man to take his place.”</p> - -<p>Gaillard’s countenance became glorified.</p> - -<p>“But, my dear Pierre, why seek for Froissart?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span> Are there not plenty of -men of ability in Paris to take the place of this silly old villain of -a De Nani?”</p> - -<p>“Hundreds, but no use to me. I don’t want one of your bright diamonds—I -want a man in the rough; I don’t want an editor—I want a creature, -a clever one, too, now: for, upon my soul, I am becoming exhausted -between keeping <em>Pantin</em> and De Nani going at the same time. You said -this Froissart was poor.”</p> - -<p>“Frightfully.”</p> - -<p>“That’s just what I want.”</p> - -<p>“But I believe he has an aunt who is very rich, and I heard she was -dying some little time ago. I would not seek Froissart, Pierre; believe -me, he is a very acid man, and quite unfit for an editor. If you want -the sort of person you say you want, why not try me? I will do whatever -you wish, and write whatever you wish.”</p> - -<p>“No, no!” cried Pelisson hastily; “it would not do. You are a -poet—stick to your last. Besides, I have been bombarded with your -creditors; I’ve had enough of that. That is one of the reasons I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span> am -sacking De Nani. The old fool has burst the bladder. Someone went to -Auteuil to make inquiries, and found he was living in three rooms, -and owed money to his laundress. You can fancy how the news has flown -amongst his creditors. Next thing someone will find out that he is a -fool.”</p> - -<p>“But why not edit the thing yourself?”</p> - -<p>“So I do; but I want a shield. <em>Pantin</em> will begin to bellow soon. -Well, no matter; I am off for Amiens. I won’t be back till to-morrow. -What’s this man’s address?”</p> - -<p>“He lives in a cottage near the railway station; you will easily find -it—there are roses on the porch. But, see here; who’s taking charge -till you return?”</p> - -<p>“De Nani, nominally; he cannot do any harm in one day. Besides, I have -left everything cut and dried.”</p> - -<p>“Does he know he is getting the sack?”</p> - -<p>“I should think so. He and I have been at the office all night talking -things over. He is quite resigned—going to cut and run. I left him -asleep<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span> on the sofa. Now good-by. The cottage near the railway station, -you say. <em>Mon Dieu!</em> I will scarcely have time to catch the train.”</p> - -<p>He darted off, and Gaillard sank down again in bed filled with the -bliss of satisfied hatred. De Nani was down at last; the little world -of æsthetic people who required “Satanities” and “Falls of the Damned” -would now, perhaps, give their Gaillard undivided attention. He never -once thought of Pelisson gone off on a wild-goose chase to Amiens, -and soon he forgot even De Nani, immersed in visions of an impossible -Gaillard worshiped by an impossible world.</p> - -<p>Mme. Plon came in and placed <em>Pantin</em> on the foot of his bed, and a -letter in a blue envelope. The letter looked like a bill, so he left -it whilst he glanced at the journal with languid interest. Then he -picked up the letter, which had been left by a messenger, and, to his -surprise, found that it was from De Nani.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“My Dear M. Gaillard [said De Nani]: May I -ask you to call upon me immediately on receipt of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span>this? It is of the utmost importance that I should -see you without a moment’s delay.”</p></div> - -<p>It was written upon the office paper, bearing the stamp “<em>Pantin</em>, No. -——, Rue Drouot. Rédacteur, M. le Marquis de Nani. Cable and telegraphic -address: ‘Pouf.’ Telephone: No. 1654320.” Over all, the motto and -watchword of the journal: “<em>Qui vive?</em>”</p> - -<p>“Now, what can he want?” murmured Gaillard. “It is like his -impertinence to send for me as if I were his footboy. I shall not go.”</p> - -<p>And he turned over on his side. But no mongoose was ever of a more -inquisitive nature than our friend Gaillard. What could De Nani want, -and without a moment’s delay? He tried to imagine and failed, and then -arose and dressed.</p> - -<p>M. le Marquis de Nani was in the inner office. Since the night of -Toto’s dinner-party at the Grand Café he had grown fat, or, at least, -decidedly fatter. His raiment was superb; he had adorned his stomach -with a gold and platinum watch-chain. He wore a shawl waistcoat, and -his cuff-links, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span> dull gold, were enameled with pictures of tiny -champagne bottles and opera dancers.</p> - -<p>He was standing before the indifferent looking-glass that adorned the -mantel, examining his face and informing Scribe, the cashier, that -<em>Pantin</em> had given him ten new wrinkles. A café near by had just sent -in <em>déjeuner</em> for two and a bottle of Pommery.</p> - -<p>“I am expecting M. Gaillard to breakfast,” explained De Nani. “A most -promising young man, whose interests I have at heart.”</p> - -<p>Scribe bowed and left the room. He was a shock-headed man, with musical -instincts and a genius for figures; he held the Marquis in great -reverence, and had an implicit faith in him that somewhat troubled -Pelisson. Yet what could Pelisson do? You cannot tell the cashier to -beware of the editor? This implicit faith of Scribe’s was perhaps one -factor in the sacking of De Nani, although goodness knows there were -others enough.</p> - -<p>“You sent for me, I believe,” said Gaillard rather stiffly, as he -entered the inner office and made a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span> little bow to his editor, whilst -he glanced at the nice little <em>déjeuner</em> on the table.</p> - -<p>“<em>Ma foi</em>, yes; I trust you will excuse the <em>brusquerie</em> of my note, -my dear M. Gaillard. Will you not join me at breakfast? That is right. -I will explain myself as we eat; we shall not be interrupted, for -Pelisson has gone off somewhere for the day.”</p> - -<p>“Pelisson will not be back till to-morrow,” said Gaillard, thawing -visibly as he flung a bundle of papers off a chair and took his seat at -the table. “He has gone to Amiens.”</p> - -<p>De Nani hid his satisfaction at this remark, as he unwired the -champagne. Then the two, hobnobbing across the table, shared a Perigord -pie, and conversation became general; it swiftly became indelicate, and -then confidential.</p> - -<p>“You are right,” said the Marquis, in answer to a remark dropped by his -<em>vis-à-vis</em>. “Pelisson has his limitations—ahu!”</p> - -<p>“Pelisson is a journalist, a recorder of this ill-written tragedy which -we are condemned to act in, and which we call, for want of a better -name, ‘life.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span>’ Oh, this life that they are always prating about! A -scoundrel only the other day accused me of insincerity to life. Could -he have paid me a higher compliment?”</p> - -<p>“No, egad. Ha! the infernal scamp said that, did he? What will you -have?—they must have ‘copy’; that is the watchword of this villainous -world, that stinks of printer’s ink. ‘Copy, copy’—I will give them some -copy. A word in your ear, M. Gaillard.”</p> - -<p>“I am all attention.”</p> - -<p>“I feel safe in admitting you into my little secret, for you are a man -of honor. I feel safe in admitting you into the secret of my little -surprise, inasmuch as it concerns Pelisson, who is not your friend, M. -Gaillard.”</p> - -<p>“Have you heard him saying things about me?” asked Gaillard, who was -under the fixed belief that one half of the world spent its existence -in slandering his works to the other half.”</p> - -<p>“I have heard him say——”</p> - -<p>“Yes?”</p> - -<p>“No matter; what is the use of repeating the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span> words of a man like -Pelisson—ahu! They are like the crackling of thorns under a pot, as -that delightfully humorous book, the Bible, has it. I should not have -mentioned the chattering of this magpie. Fill your glass, M. Gaillard.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear Marquis, I implore you to tell me what this Pelisson has -been uttering about me; it is always well to know one’s friends.”</p> - -<p>“Well, egad, he said so much I have forgotten half of it. One day—it -was last week—he said, ‘This Gaillard thinks himself a poet.’ Harmless -words, but it was the tone of his voice that set all the office -laughing. I did not laugh, it was bad form; but there is no form -in this journalistic world. I am leaving it, I have had words with -Pelisson; and before I take my departure it is my humble ambition to -make Pierre Pelisson dance.”</p> - -<p>“He ought to be dancing on an organ,” said Gaillard in a bitter voice. -“It is all he is fit for.”</p> - -<p>“He ought to be dancing on an organ, as you very truly remark; but I -will endeavor to find a broader platform from whence to amuse Paris. -And he will not dance a waltz, M. Gaillard, nor yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span> will he indulge -his limbs in the graceful movements of the mazurka. He will dance the -can-can, will Pierre Pelisson—ahu!”</p> - -<p>“You are going to play a practical joke on him?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no! I am only going to make him dance for my amusement; but to do -so, I want Prince Toto’s address. He is in Paris?”</p> - -<p>“He is living at No. 10, Rue de Perpignan,” said Gaillard, finishing -the champagne. “But I doubt if he will help you.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want him to,” said De Nani, entering the address in his -tablets. “I only want the number of the house and the name of the -street.”</p> - -<p>“I ought not to have told you!” cried Gaillard, suddenly remembering -his promise to Toto.</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“He made me promise to tell no one where he is living, nor about -Célestin.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, have no fear!” said De Nani, making another entry in his tablets. -“Toto will not object to my knowing his address; he knows that I am a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span> -safe man, a man to be trusted—ahu, <em>ventre St. Gris</em>! Could I tell you, -M. Maillard——”</p> - -<p>“Gaillard.”</p> - -<p>“Paillard,” continued De Nani, who, now that he had obtained all or -nearly all the information he wanted, began to put on frills and forget -names. “Could I tell you, M. Paillard, how I love this dear Toto, you -might with your genius make from it a little poem; it transcends the -love of David for Jonathan, this affection of mine for Toto. He is so -joyous, he is so young, he is such a charming host. You remember that -delightful dinner where we first made acquaintance; I feel I can never -repay Toto for that piece of hospitality. But I will try, as far as in -me lies—I will try.”</p> - -<p>“I tell you what,” said Gaillard, putting on his hat and lighting a -cigarette: “you would do Toto a great service if you could induce him -to leave that wretched hole he is in, and give up art and all that -nonsense.”</p> - -<p>“And Célestin?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; she is worse than art. Between you and me, I don’t know how he -can stand it, living with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span> an illiterate woman like that; she has not -two ideas in her head. I don’t believe she can read, and, what is -worse, I don’t believe she wants to. They do their own cooking. Imagine -a man of Toto’s position in the world—faugh! it makes me ill.”</p> - -<p>This was an untruth—cooking was rarely done in the atelier of Toto, for -Célestin was the worst cook in the world, excepting perhaps Toto; but -it was true enough for De Nani.</p> - -<p>“And this Célestin—what was she before Toto took her from the mud?”</p> - -<p>“She was a hat-maker—she is still. Trims hats and that sort of thing.”</p> - -<p>“Whilst Toto paints those delightful pictures of his?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. But the worst is, he cannot sell them,—I know by his face,—and he -is frightfully hard up.”</p> - -<p>“Soon,” said De Nani, with a horrid leer, “our friend Toto will cast -his brushes aside, and live upon the diligence of this pretty Célestin. -It is what all these artists do when unsuccessful. We must save him -from this.”</p> - -<p>“I wish you would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“Before to-morrow evening,” said De Nani, “I hope to cure this charming -Toto of his fever for fame and his hunger for art. Who is this? Why, it -is M. Wolf. I must bid you now good-day, M. Gaillard, as I have some -matters of importance to transact with M. Wolf.”</p> - -<p>Wolf came in, hat in hand and spectacles gleaming, as Gaillard went -out. De Nani removed the remains of the <em>déjeuner</em> from the table onto -the floor, and greeted the newcomer.</p> - -<p>“You are just the man I want,” said the Marquis. “I have an interview -to write, and I want you to assist me. I have all the facts. That is -right, take a seat and a pen.”</p> - -<p>Gaillard went off feeling rather huffed at the summary manner in -which De Nani had dismissed him. His hatred of the old man, which -had vanished before the champagne and the knowledge of his downfall, -returned somewhat. He determined, having nothing better to do, to -betake himself to Toto’s atelier, and spend the afternoon smoking -cigarettes and talking to Célestin about his poems. Célestin made -an admirable audience for a minor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">242</a></span> poet, even although she was an -illiterate woman and scarcely knew how to read. She had the power -of sympathy, and she listened to Gaillard just as she listened to -Dodor and Toto. When Gaillard would spout a sonnet, and then abuse -it, declaring that it was too full of color, or too sharp in sound, -or destitute of perfume, and that he wished he had never written it, -Célestin, raising her eyes from her work, would cry, “Oh, but I am sure -it is beautiful. It could not be more beautiful. I seem to see those -roses you speak of. And how sad, the roses were unhappy! That seems so -dreadful, does it not, Désiré?” And then Toto, if he were busy, would -give a grunt, and Gaillard would repeat again the sonnet, and declare -that the roses were glad now because Célestin had pitied them.</p> - -<p>But she would gladden no roses to-day.</p> - -<p>“She has a cold,” said Toto, pointing to the closed bedroom door. “She -got her feet wet yesterday. How glad I am that you have come!”</p> - -<p>He was sitting near the stove, and he rose and put on his hat. Someone -had a fit of coughing in the bedroom, and Gaillard stood staring at the -tulip<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span> manufactured by Gamier as though it were a dragon.</p> - -<p>“Surely, my dear Désiré, you have not descended to things like these!” -He touched the pot warily with the point of his stick, as if fearful of -infection.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that!” said Toto carelessly. “It is not mine; it is Célestin’s. Do -not touch it; she is awfully proud of it. Come out with me; I want to -talk to you.” In the street Toto took Gaillard’s arm. “I am so glad you -have come. I am in need of a friend. I am in a state of misery. What -shall I do with that girl?”</p> - -<p>“Why, has she been troubling you? <em>Mon Dieu!</em> Désiré, tell me, what is -this?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Toto, “she has not been troubling me. I only wish she had, I -only wish she had. That woman—pah! she is not a woman, she is an angel.”</p> - -<p>“So are all women till you find them out. But go on, Désiré. Why all -this terrible excitement?”</p> - -<p>“Why? My God! it is very easy for you to talk. She loves me. Well, -then, what am I to do? I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span> have been nearly mad these last few days, and -not a soul to speak to. You don’t care. You have been off to the Moulin -Rouge and Heaven knows where every night!”</p> - -<p>“I swear, Désiré,” cried Gaillard, “I have been in a worse condition -than you. I have been on the edge of suicide. Moulin Rouge! I have -not been to the Moulin Rouge. I took to my bed three days ago to read -‘Aucassin and Nicolete’ and try to forget that I was alive. I have not -eaten—morphia and cigarettes alone have passed my lips during the last -forty-eight hours. Then I thought of you; then I came, and for reward I -am accused like this! No matter.”</p> - -<p>“If she were an ordinary girl,” said Toto, disregarding Gaillard’s -fantasies, “I would give her five thousand francs and set her up in -business, and there would be an end of it.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Désiré! ah, Désiré!” gasped Gaillard, like a man trying to speak -in a shower bath. “Can it be that at last you are going to return to -us? Can——”</p> - -<p>“Call me Toto,” cried the Prince. “I hate that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span> vile name Désiré. I put -it on with this foolishness—this rotten art business. Don’t mind me, -my dear fellow; let me rave. I have had no one to talk to for days but -Garnier and Célestin. They do not understand me.”</p> - -<p>“Go on, go on,” said Gaillard, as if Toto had swallowed poison and he -was urging him to vomit. “Speak away, it will do you good; relieve your -mind—it will save you perhaps from madness. Ah, I can understand—I -can understand what you must have suffered, my poor Toto! I have been -through it all myself.”</p> - -<p>“Come in here,” said Toto, stopping at a small café; “we can sit down -and talk.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, let us enter,” said Gaillard. “No, do not touch absinthe in a -place like this; if you wish to die, choose an easier poison. Beer? -Yes, let us have some beer. And now, Toto, continue your troubles.”</p> - -<p>“I have only one trouble,” said Toto, “and that is Célestin.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, <em>mon Dieu!</em> that is a trouble easily got rid of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“How?”</p> - -<p>“Leave Célestin to me.”</p> - -<p>“What would you do with her?”</p> - -<p>“I?—nothing. I would simply say, ‘Mlle. Célestin, M. Désiré has been -called away to the death-bed of an aunt in the country. She will leave -him her entire fortune if he marries at once and according to her -desires.’ Then I would say, ‘The girl upon whom his aunt has fixed——’”</p> - -<p>“Oh, rubbish! I could do that myself. Do you think if I wanted to I -could not kick Célestin over in half an hour? You do not understand. -She is like no one else. She is like a child. I cannot hurt her. She -would haunt me forever, she and that lark. Oh, why did I ever meet her? -But for her I would have been back days ago out of this abominable Rue -de Perpignan. If it had not been for her, I would never have come here -at all. She drove me on to this stupidity, I don’t know why.”</p> - -<p>“If,” said Gaillard rather stiffly, “you still love this girl so much——”</p> - -<p>“But I don’t. I mean this: I thought I was in love with her, and, -somehow, now everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span> seems to have gone to pieces all at once; the -pleasure went out of my life all at once. I am lingering on in this -infernal part of the town like a thing with a broken back. I don’t know -what I am to do.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” said Gaillard.</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“Take a little cottage in the country and put your Célestin there with -her lark.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I might do that; only I will have to go there every day or live -there.”</p> - -<p>“In the name of Heaven, why?”</p> - -<p>“Because it will break her heart if I leave her. I tell you you do not -know her. She has wound herself round me.”</p> - -<p>“Well, unwind her.”</p> - -<p>“She lives for me—I can see it. I did not know that there were such -women in the world, and, of course, it is my luck to meet one of them -and get myself in this tangle with her. It is very easy for you to sip -your beer and say ‘Unwind her.’ Suppose a child were to run up to you -and put its arms round you, could you box its ears? And, besides, I -have wound myself a bit round her. I have an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span> affection for her, though -I am weary of this love business. I do love her as a child, but then -one does not want to spend one’s life in the nursery.”</p> - -<p>“Take a little cottage,” reiterated Gaillard; “place her in it. We -will go down together, you and I, each day for a fortnight. Then we -will drop a day by degrees, and wean her, so to speak. It will take -you the whole summer. Well, it is an idealistic way of spending the -warm weather. We will have a cottage with clematis on the porch, and a -garden filled with old-fashioned flowers. There she will, so to speak, -gain her legs, and when she is able to run alone, trust her, she will -find a playmate.”</p> - -<p>“The first thing to be done,” said Toto thoughtfully, “is to get away -from this part of the town before anyone finds out I am here. I do not -want this affair advertised all over Paris. You are certain that no one -knows about it. You have hinted it to no one?”</p> - -<p>“Absolutely certain—no one. You are in Corsica; that is enough.”</p> - -<p>“Have you seen my mother lately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span>?”</p> - -<p>“I dined with her only yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“Why, I thought you said you had been in bed for the last four days.”</p> - -<p>“So I have; but I got up yesterday evening and called upon Mme. la -Princesse in reply to a summons. She detained me to dinner.”</p> - -<p>“What did she want?”</p> - -<p>“Only to make inquiries as to you.”</p> - -<p>“And you said?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I said you were progressing charmingly.”</p> - -<p>“I hope no one else was there?”</p> - -<p>“No, we dined <em>tête-à-tête</em>.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I think it is the best thing I can do.”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“That idea of yours about the country. I could take rooms for a while -somewhere. The only thing is, Célestin cannot be moved till this cold -is better. Isn’t it vile luck? It will mean several days before I can -get away from this place.”</p> - -<p>“Could you not move her in a cab?”</p> - -<p>“No, she is not strong, and if she got another cold on top of this one -it might kill her.”</p> - -<p>“Have you given her any medicine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span>?”</p> - -<p>“I gave her some lozenges, and Garnier brought her some sugar-candy.”</p> - -<p>“Who is Garnier?”</p> - -<p>“He is a painter.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, one of these wretched <em>rapins</em>. Take my advice, Toto, and have a -doctor in; he will cure her more quickly than if she were left alone.”</p> - -<p>“I wanted to, but she implored me not. She has a horror of doctors and -medicine.”</p> - -<p>“Have you put poultices on her chest?”</p> - -<p>“Mercy, no!”</p> - -<p>“You ought to poultice her. I frequently suffer from colds in the early -spring, and Mme. Plon declares that I would not be alive but for her -poultices. It will cut it short. Have you a bronchitis kettle?”</p> - -<p>“No; she hasn’t got bronchitis; she has only got a cough and a pain in -the side.”</p> - -<p>“No matter; it would stop her from getting bronchitis. You ought also -to give her sweet spirits of niter. I assure you, Toto, you never can -tell what a cold turns to; and this girl, should she get really ill, -may keep her bed for a month, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span> then where would you be? In cases -like this, we ought to act on the principle of the firemen, who play on -unconsumed buildings in order to prevent them from catching fire. If I -were you, I would insist on a doctor. Well, well, I do not press the -point—she is not mine. Let us talk on other things. Have you heard that -Pelisson has cut De Nani adrift? No, of course you have not.”</p> - -<p>“How can I know what is going on in this place?”</p> - -<p>“True; but, even so, it only occurred last night. De Nani seems quite -resigned, but I would not wonder if he played some trick upon our -friend Pelisson. He wanted your address.”</p> - -<p>“Pelisson?”</p> - -<p>“No, De Nani,” said Gaillard, who almost bit his tongue for letting -this cat out of its bag.</p> - -<p>“I hope you did not give it to him.”</p> - -<p>Gaillard shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“For that old man is my evil star. I do not believe I would have been -here now but for his insult that night. You remember? Well, I am going -back to the atelier<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“How much money have you left, Toto?”</p> - -<p>“I have only five hundred francs.”</p> - -<p>“You had better let me bring you some more. Give me a check. You have -not your check-book? Well, write one out for five hundred francs on a -piece of paper, and I will take it and cash it for you, and bring you -the money to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“You will not turn up again if I let you have all that.”</p> - -<p>“Toto!”</p> - -<p>“I know you so well. See here, what time will you promise to turn up, -if I give you my check?”</p> - -<p>Gaillard debated with himself.</p> - -<p>“I will be at your atelier at one o’clock, punctually.”</p> - -<p>“You promise?”</p> - -<p>“I promise.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_IV_CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE STORY OF FANTOFF AND BASTICHE.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">They</span> went back to the atelier, and Toto, who had not breakfasted, got -together some wine and bread and cold stewed beef. Gaillard sat down -to table also, to keep him company. Then the poet ventured into the -bedroom to talk to the sick girl and cheer her up.</p> - -<p>Célestin was lying on her side, facing the door, with very bright eyes -and flushed cheeks. On the wall over the bed hung a colored print -of our Lord Jesus carrying a lamb; she had brought it with her from -her room near the Rue de Babylone. An orange lay on the quilt, one -of six brought by Garnier that morning; she had eaten the other five -and swallowed the pulp, an act which would have caused a physician to -shudder. On a rush-bottomed chair near by lay the lozenges given to her -by Mme. Liard,—redoubtable lozenges, according<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span> to the label on the -box,—also the sugar candy of Garnier.</p> - -<p>Gaillard sat down beside the bed; he took the sick girl’s hand, and, -stroking it like a mother, called her his <em>pauvre petite</em> Célestin. She -quite touched his heart—her sickness, her pitiable air of helplessness; -the orange on the quilt, and the picture of the Lord Jesus watching -over her.</p> - -<p>She had been in great pain all the morning,—a cruel pain, like a -hot-iron, in her right lung,—but she was better of the pain now and the -cough; she told him so in a mutter, and then asked for a fairy tale.</p> - -<p>Toto looked in, munching a biscuit; he nodded his head as if satisfied -and withdrew, whilst Gaillard in a fit of genius improvised a fairy -tale. It was about a green giant called Fantoff. He was quite green, -his hair was grass, and his feet were like roots uprooted in some -terrible upheaval; his fingers were like carrots, and he turned brown -every autumn with the leaves, the larks in spring mistaking his head -for a field built on it; so that in this happy season of the year -wherever he walked larks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span> sang above him, and whenever he scratched -his head a dozen nests were destroyed. At this Célestin, with Dodor in -her mind, said “No, no.” So the poet passed on to the cat Mizar and -the dwarf Blizzard, whom the giant had, one day in a fit of idleness, -carved from a forked carrot; and Célestin, remembering Garnier’s tulip, -believed that this might possibly be true.</p> - -<p>Blizzard, forgetful of the debt of creation, dared to fall in love -with the lady beloved by Fantoff, whose name was Primavera, and whose -abode was the Castle of Flowers. A hundred thousand tulips defended -this castle from behind a holly hedge. They were divided into five -armies—red, white, yellow, chocolate, and striped; and Célestin in a -half-dream beheld the valiant host whilst Gaillard rambled on.</p> - -<p>The gardener generalissimo of this army was blind,—he had been blinded -by the beauty of Primavera,—and one day as he was wheeling back to the -castle a barrow full of roses, who had gone out to fight the camellias -and had been badly beaten. Blizzard the dwarf slipped into it under -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span> roses, intent on gaining an entrance to the castle at all hazards, -there to declare his love. What happened? Simply this: Algebar, the -bird of Paradise, flapped its sapphire wings and shrieked out, “Beware! -A carrot is trying to enter the Castle of Flowers. Beware, beware!” and -before the faithful bird could call it thrice the door opened, and out -came Bastiche, the porter.</p> - -<p>Bastiche was a giant, who had once been a clothes basket; he was seven -hundred feet high, and creaked as he walked. Primavera in a fit of -foolishness had endowed him with life, and as he stood on the castle -steps he opened his lid and shut it again. He also quite forgot the -warning of Algebar, for at that moment rose up from behind the holly -hedge the great green head of Fantoff, the larks singing above it -merrily.</p> - -<p>Fantoff, be it observed, was quite unconscious of the scheme of -Blizzard. He had determined to raid the castle that day on his own -account, just as Blizzard had determined to sneak in. Well, listen. -There stood Fantoff in all his glory. The tulips shuddered at the -sight, and the blind gardener put<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span> down his barrow, for he felt in some -manner that something was about to happen; and there stood Bastiche, -creaking with anger, whilst little Blizzard in the barrow shook the -dead roses with laughter. Fantoff and Bastiche stared at each other, -Fantoff with derision, Bastiche with envy and hate, whilst Algebar flew -through the garden and screamed.</p> - -<p>Bastiche, then, as if oblivious of the presence of a foe, gazed up at -the clouds and sniffed, and asked the sky where could the smell of -manure be coming from; whilst Fantoff inquired of the tulips whether -this was the washing-day at the castle? This allusion to his birth -quite upset the calm of Bastiche, who descended the steps, opened the -garden gate, and like a fool left the protection of the tulip army and -holly hedge.</p> - -<p>Then, on the plain before the Castle of Flowers, ensued a battle such -as never before was witnessed in Fairyland. The mushrooms formed a -ring seven miles in diameter, and in this ring the heroes struggled; -the sound filled the air for many miles, mixed with the sounds of many -things hastening to see the fight. At the end of an hour the plain was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span> -strewn with unwashed clothes, and the battle was with Fantoff. He tore -the lid off Bastiche, and, not content with this, what must he do but -insert his great green head into the yawning opening, to tear the heart -of his enemy out with his teeth. But Bastiche had no heart, and here -lies one of the morals of the story. For Fantoff had no knowledge of -anatomy and he did not know the impossibility of slaying a man without -a heart—a critic for instance, or a Bastiche. What did he do? Burrowing -deeper and deeper to find his heart, he got his shoulders implicated -in the creaking body of Bastiche, and burrowing deeper still he was -implicated to the loins.</p> - -<p>“He creaks,” cried Fantoff, “so he is still alive!” and went deeper -till he was in to the knees. Then he found that he could not get out, -for Bastiche had in death taken upon him the revenge of a clothes -basket. The fairies tried to pull him out, and also the cat Mizar, -but it was of no avail; so they wheeled him away, and the cat Mizar -followed to the grave.</p> - -<p>In the Castle of Flowers the Lady Primavera<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span> turned from watching the -fight and its miserable conclusion; she saw an object at her feet. It -was Blizzard the dwarf; he had left the barrow during the fight, and, -entering the castle by the scullery door, sneaked upstairs, and now -upon one knee was declaring his love; and she returned his passion, it -seems. But their bliss was of short duration. For one day, chancing to -fall asleep in the kitchen, the cook, who was short of vegetables, cut -him up and put him in the pot, and the Lady Primavera ate him in her -soup, and so there was an end of Blizzard.</p> - -<p>For Fantoff read genius; Primavera, fame; Bastiche, the spiteful -critics; Blizzard, the popular author, whose books sell by the ton; -Mizar, the faithful few. The story also as told by Gaillard had several -immoral meanings quite Greek to Célestin. It was, in fact, the work of -Papillard, for the downfall of De Nani had thawed that humorist in his -cell.</p> - -<p>“That is all,” said Gaillard. “To-morrow, if you are better, I will -tell you of the adventures of the cat Mizar, and of all that happened -when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">260</a></span> saw his reflection in the looking-glass of the wizard Fantoum. -Fantoum had a blue face; he was half-brother to Fantoff, and his enemy -was the giant Boum-Boum, whose children under the spell of the wizard -were turned into drums before the age of twenty; that is to say, the -boys—the girls turned into drumsticks. I will tell you a story each -day, my little Célestin, and then we will print them all in a pretty -volume bound in butterfly-blue vellum, and call them ‘Tales Told to -Célestin.’ With the money from its sale we will buy a cottage at -Montmorency and keep bees; we will support ourselves on bees and fairy -tales. And now I must say adieu, and run away until to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Montmorency!” murmured Célestin, as Gaillard’s high collar and -frock-coat vanished and the door closed on them, leaving her alone.</p> - -<p>Toto gave the poet his check, imploring him to wait a little longer and -keep him company.</p> - -<p>But Gaillard had now the check in his pocket, and the vision of -Pleasure was kicking her skirts before his eyes, a box of cigars in one -hand, a bottle of champagne in the other. So he took the opportunity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span> -of Garnier’s entrance to make his exit, swearing to return on the -morrow at noon, and ran down the Rue de Perpignan, making for the right -side of the Seine just as a thirsty animal makes for water.</p> - -<p>Then Garnier, like the poet, came in to see the patient; his pockets -were bulging with things, and he held in his hands a square paper -parcel; it was a little picture he had painted for Célestin—a droll -little picture of a Cupid with a cold, an ominous little picture, -perhaps, for, as Gaillard truly said, who can tell what a cold may turn -to?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_IV_CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE REVENGE OF M. DE NANI.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">That</span> night Célestin, it would seem, grew worse. Toto, who had made his -bed on the couch in the atelier, slept so soundly that he did not hear -her delirious and rambling conversation.</p> - -<p>Gaillard’s fairy people visited her, and Bastiche and Fantoff commanded -her terrified attention as they did battle once more on the greensward -in front of the Castle of Flowers, whilst Fantoum watched them across -the holly hedge. Then the battle scene vanished, and Mizar the cat -came and took his seat upon her chest. His eyes were pale blue, and -flickered like spirit lamps in a draught; she implored of him to give -her water to drink, and for answer he changed into Gaillard.</p> - -<p>Through all these fancies ran the form of an old man. It was De Nani, -whom she had seen once for a moment as he talked to Toto at the Gare -du<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span> Nord: his lascivious and painted face peeped at her here and there -from behind hedges and trees in this phantom land, whilst over all flew -Algebar, the paradisiacal bird, rending the attenuated air with the -constant mournful cry, “Beware! beware! A carrot is trying to enter the -Castle of Flowers.”</p> - -<p>With daylight all these strange fancies vanished, and at seven o’clock, -when Toto entered her room to inquire how she felt, she answered that -she was quite well, but had been dreaming terrible things. She implored -him in her husky whisper to bring in Dodor, and having placed the cage -close to the bed and removed the green cover, he made some coffee and -brought her some with half a buttered roll.</p> - -<p>She drank the coffee, and when he was gone she hid the buttered roll -so that he might think she had eaten it. At all hazards she must keep -up the appearance of not being “very bad,” for if Toto were alarmed he -would, without doubt, send for a doctor, and that meant spending money. -Fully five hundred times had Mme. Liard recounted to her the frightful -expense M. Liard had put her to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span> in his last illness; she always spoke -of the doctor’s bill with hands outstretched a yard wide.</p> - -<p>“Pills—a little box not bigger than a thimble, three francs—three -francs, as I am an honest woman! and plasters a yard wide that did -nothing, as far as I could see, but put the good man in pain; and not -only plasters, but bottles of stuff, sometimes twice a day, red and -brown and yellow, and always changing till one grew giddy; and then -when he had killed him wanted to cut him open to see what he died of. -May I never reach heaven if I tell a lie! That is what doctors are!”</p> - -<p>No wonder Célestin dreaded the craft, and much preferred Choiseul’s -lozenges and Garnier’s sugar candy to the ruinous bottles and the pills -at three francs a thimbleful, and the chance of being cut open “to see -what she died of.”</p> - -<p>Cough lozenges and sugar candy are not perhaps the most effective -remedies for acute pneumonia, especially when the patient has only one -lung; but perhaps, taking that fact into consideration, they were as -serviceable as any others.</p> - -<p>At nine o’clock the concierge, a stolid woman,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span> deaf as a stone, -came up to settle the bedroom and see to the patient. She brought up -with her a newspaper that had just been left in by a little boy. The -wrapper was addressed in a crabbed hand to “M. Cammora, No. 10, Rue de -Perpignan,” and Toto wondered whose the handwriting could be, for he -had never seen the scrawl of M. le Marquis de Nani.</p> - -<p>It was a copy of that morning’s <em>Pantin</em>. The first page was occupied -with foreign news and a heavy leading article by Pelisson on the -prospects of beet sugar turning foreign sugars out of the market, and -ending with a regret that the Minister of Agriculture had let several -chances slip for the betterment of the prospects of France.</p> - -<p>Toto turned to the second page and came upon a long article marked -with pencil. He thought at the first glance that it was the review of -a novel, for it was headed “Painter and Prince.” Then after six lines -he discovered it was an interview, after twelve lines that it was an -interview with himself.</p> - -<p>The interviewer, it seems, had discovered that a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</a></span> certain illustrious -young Prince whom the whole world had imagined to be in Corsica -stalking the nimble moufflon, was in fact in Paris, stalking -art—working, in fact, like any child of the people in an attic, Rue de -Perpignan, No. 10. And as Toto saw his address thus publicly proclaimed -the hair of his head stood on end.</p> - -<p>The interview was written in Wolf’s chatty manner. Wolf had three -manners: the worshipful manner, which he applied to geniuses, great -statesmen, and successful tradesmen, when those gentry fell into his -hands; the cut-and-dried, for strike leaders, members of the chamber, -people whose houses had caught fire suspiciously; and the chatty, for -actresses, successful clowns, prominent divorcees, etc. The chatty -interview generally began on the stairs, with a short description of -first impressions.</p> - -<p>The stairs of Toto’s house, it seems, gave one the impression of abject -poverty.</p> - -<p>“When we reached the first floor,” said this mouthpiece of De Nani, -“we inquired of a charwoman for the young Prince ——. She declared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span> her -ignorance of such a person, no Prince to her knowledge having ever -inhabited the house.</p> - -<p>“The interviewer, thus left to his own resources, pursued his quest -through this frightful house, which recalled nothing so much as the -Maison Corbeau of Victor Hugo. On the fourth floor, a hissing sound -rewarded his ear, and knocking at a door, a well-known voice desired -him to enter. Here he found a picture that would have gladdened the -heart of Jean Jacques Rousseau.</p> - -<p>“By the window of a poverty-stricken room sat a girl trimming hats—a -girl of the people, exquisitely pretty, and possessing that innate -refinement common to all Parisiennes, no matter how humble their -origin. By the little stove stood a handsome young man, preparing the -modest meal they were evidently to share together.</p> - -<p>“It was the Prince, who laughed joyously, and placed the little pan -upon the floor, whilst he shook the interviewer warmly by the hand.”</p> - -<p>The whole thing had a most horribly actual air. The teeming brain of -Wolf had supplied little details impossible, one would say, to be -false. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</a></span> foolish lovers who had renounced, one her home, the other -his world, for the sake of art and love in an attic, stood before one -in the flesh. Wolf, inspired by champagne and the dictation of his -editor, had worked with the fervor and insight of a poet; and one -almost wept over the struggling pair, till one remembered that the -Prince was worth half a million of money, and then one laughed till -one’s sides ached.</p> - -<p>“We are very happy,” said the Prince, at the conclusion of this weird -interview. “Tell all my friends to come and see me, now that you have -found me out. Tell them also that there is only one true happiness—to -be young and poor, and mated to the woman one loves.”</p> - -<p>“That last line,” had murmured De Nani to himself, “will, I have no -doubt, vastly amuse Mme. la Princesse and Mlle. Powhair.”</p> - -<p>Toto let <em>Pantin</em> drop, and turned his white face to the window, as -if he expected to see all Paris looking in and laughing. He knew, -as indeed was the fact, that men were tumbling out of bed bursting -with laughter, and running into their wives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span>’ bedrooms <em>Pantin</em> in -hand; that starch-faced valets were shaking under their starch, as -they handed <em>Pantin</em> to their masters on silver salvers with cups of -chocolate; that young De Harnac, who was more English than his own -bulldog, was crying “My Gawd!” and kicking his legs about in bed with -delight as he read <em>Pantin</em>; that Mme. la Princesse was prostrated, -and Mlle. Powhair—he could not imagine what Helen Powers was saying or -thinking. The thought of her was somehow the worst part of all this -trouble.</p> - -<p>His lips were dry, and they felt as if they never could become moist -again. He was quite calm, but this calmness of Toto’s would have -frightened his mother to behold. He neither shrieked nor tore his -hair; but, indeed, the latter feat would have been impossible, for a -fortnight ago he had had it cropped to the bone in imitation of Garnier.</p> - -<p>The hilt of this dagger was the ingratitude of Pelisson, Gaillard & -Co.—the men who had been his guests, to whom he had lent money, and -who had now stabbed him in this cruel manner before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span> all Paris. Little -did he know of the raving Pelisson, who, having sought vainly for -Froissart, had returned by the night mail, which stops at Amiens and -arrives in Paris at seven in the morning, only to find this horrible -snake curled in <em>Pantin</em>. Pelisson at this moment was dragging the -terrified Gaillard out of bed, who was protesting that he knew nothing -of the matter, just as Scribe ten minutes ago had protested that -eighteen thousand francs were missing from the safe, he could not tell -how; and as Saxe, the German foreman, had declared that the usual big -edition of <em>Pantin</em> was out, and could not be got back, not if God came -out of Himmel, and that it was not Saxe’s fault that this <em>schweinhund</em> -article had crawled into print—whilst Struve, whose practical joke -had long ago laid the seeds of all this mischief, was the only man -unconcerned by it as he lay asleep after a hard night’s work, and -dreaming of stained-glass windows and saints who had strayed into art.</p> - -<p>But Toto knew nothing of all this: he thought this cruel and spiteful -trick the work of his friends. He had always liked Pelisson, and he had -liked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</a></span> Gaillard. Gaillard had been, in fact, a kind of necessity to -him—a sort of dry-nurse, who wiped his nose and said “There, there!” -when he was fretful, and listened to his secrets, and told him tales, -and put him up to resist his mother.</p> - -<p>A man of the world would have seen at once that some trick had been -played on <em>Pantin</em>. Pelisson, of all men in the world, was the last to -let such an article appear in his paper; especially as it was leveled -against a man who was virtually part proprietor. Gaillard, too, was -entirely out of court. But Toto was not a man of the world, and the -bitterest thing to him in this severe humiliation was the supposed -authorship.</p> - -<p>He took up <em>Pantin</em>, folded it, and hid it under one of the cushions of -the couch. The act, performed on the impulse of a moment, revealed to -him in a dramatic manner his position. Of what use was the hiding of -one copy of <em>Pantin</em> under a cushion when fifty thousand <em>Pantins</em> were -bellowing his shame all over Paris? So he snatched it out and flung -it open on the table as if for everyone to read—a useless act, for -everyone was reading it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">272</a></span></p> - -<p>Then he smoked a cigarette. In an hour of semi-delirium he smoked -ten. The thing was so immensely vile, so wanton, such bad form, that -the very enormity of it calmed him. A man who learns that the bank -has smashed, that his wife has eloped, and that his house is burnt to -the ground all at the same moment, ten to one receives the news with -calmness—the blow stuns him. He feels that Fate and Death and other -heroic personages have condescended to turn their undivided attention -for a moment to his affairs—he is almost a hero, in fact.</p> - -<p>So Toto turned from blank horror to the heroic mood. The whole world -was against him; well, he would stick to his guns. He almost felt glad -that all this had happened, and lit another cigarette just as Garnier -entered, bearing in his hand a huge bunch of black grapes for Célestin. -They were muscatels, and must have cost him a little fortune, unless he -stole them, or, what is more probable, obtained them on credit.</p> - -<p>“Garnier,” said Toto, his cheeks flushing slightly, “see here,” and he -pointed his cigarette<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">273</a></span> with a wave at <em>Pantin</em> lying open on the table.</p> - -<p>“And she?” asked Garnier, as he made a sign towards the closed door of -Célestin’s room, laying his grapes down on the table and taking up the -paper all at the same time.</p> - -<p>“She is better.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, this which is marked with crosses?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, read it.”</p> - -<p>Garnier began to read, standing under the top-light and holding the -paper at full length before him. In a moment he folded the sheet in -a more comfortable manner and continued reading calmly and without -any sign of astonishment. At one place he frowned slightly, where -Célestin’s name appeared, then when he had finished he laid <em>Pantin</em> -back on the table beside the grapes.</p> - -<p>“Well?” inquired Toto.</p> - -<p>“I do not think that is in very good taste,” said Garnier dryly.</p> - -<p>“What! is that all you have to say—not in very good taste?”</p> - -<p>“My friend,” said Garnier, “it is no affair of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">274</a></span> mine; but it makes my -fingers tingle none the less. Were it an affair of mine, I would make -you eat that journal and all it contains—<em>vé</em>! I have spoken.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, stupid!” cried Toto, uncrossing his legs and moving his arms -about. “You think <em>I</em> have written that!” and the corners of his mouth -went up in a very mirthless rictus.</p> - -<p>“But surely——”</p> - -<p>“I? Why, cannot you see that it is a hoax? No one came here to see me—I -was not frying things over the stove. Do you think for a moment I would -expose myself like that, and give my address? It was done to make fun -of me—everyone will be laughing at me. Can’t you see?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, my friend,” said Garnier, “forgive me, forgive me! How could I -have been so stupid and so blind? Ah, owl that you are!” and he gave -his great chest a thump with his great fist, and then came to the -couch and sat by Toto, and rested his hand on his knee, and poured out -consolation in the language of Arles, punctuated with explosive oaths.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">275</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, it does not matter. Do you think that I care? I do in a way, for -it shows me the villainy of the world.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, you are right; this villain of a world—it is a beast! But <em>tenez</em>! -my dear friend, I hear the little Célestin coughing. I will give her a -grape.”</p> - -<p>He ran into Célestin’s room with the bunch of grapes, and Toto heard -his voice murmuring to her, mixed with Dodor’s voice trying over a few -bars of a song in a despondent sort of manner; for Célestin’s illness -seemed to have put him out of heart during the last couple of days. -Then Garnier came back, closing the door softly behind him, and raising -up his hands at Célestin’s weakness.</p> - -<p>“Say, my dear friend,” said Garnier, “do you not think a doctor ought -to see her? As for me, I do not believe in them, but still—but still——”</p> - -<p>He stopped speaking, and followed the direction of Toto’s frozen stare.</p> - -<p>At the door of the atelier, just pushed open, appeared the -semi-hysterical figure of Gaillard, his hat tilted back, his long -frock-coat hanging loose, and his necktie hastily put on. He had -evidently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">276</a></span> dressed in a hurry, for he wore odd boots—one patent leather -and the other plain kid.</p> - -<p>“Do you see that man?” said Toto, clutching Garnier’s arm. “Do you see -that man?”</p> - -<p>“<em>Mais oui.</em>”</p> - -<p>“Then you see the biggest scoundrel in Paris,” said Toto, and he struck -a match and lit a cigarette to show his coolness, averting his eyes at -the same time from the apparition at the door.</p> - -<p>Gaillard raised up his two hands like one of Struve’s stained-glass -saints, and then dropped them with a flop. He did not cross the -threshold, for he was perhaps afraid of being kicked out.</p> - -<p>“Do not be afraid to come in,” said Toto; “I will not assault you. I -am too utterly lost in admiration of your charming insolence—it is a -masterpiece.”</p> - -<p>“Afraid!” said Gaillard, coming in very slowly. “Afraid—afraid of -what? I have no fear left; Toto, Désiré, my friend, we are all ruined. -Pelisson is in despair; Wolf is committing suicide—I saw him myself -being held down by four men. That villain—that villain—that villain of -a De<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">277</a></span> Nani, the cause of it all, has vanished. All the money is gone -from the safe; Scribe is in a state of dementia. I escape from this -inferno and rush to you for sympathy, and I am greeted as a scoundrel!”</p> - -<p>“What do I care about De Nani?” inquired Toto. “Look at that.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Gaillard, “look at that; but I have no need to look at -that—it is burnt into my brain. I could have slain Wolf with my two -hands when he confessed an hour ago, but, <em>ma foi!</em> he was too much -slain already; besides, it was not his fault. Whose fault? Why, De -Nani’s. Pelisson left him in charge; did I not tell you so yesterday?”</p> - -<p>“De Nani?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Wolf has confessed he wrote the article under the inspiration of -that scoundrel. The old man dictated it word for word; it was a parting -shot at Pelisson. My back feels broken. Why, who is this?”</p> - -<p>A sound of cackling laughter came from outside, and the foolish and -foppish form of young De Harnac appeared at the door, followed by the -figure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">278</a></span> of Valfray, his little black mustache twisted up at the ends -and his eyeglass in his eye.</p> - -<p>They saw Toto seated on the chintz-covered couch beside Gaillard, a -momentary vision ere they found themselves being led like two naughty -children across the dusty landing towards the stairs by a huge man with -a Provençal accent.</p> - -<p>“It is not good to laugh at one’s friends when they are in trouble,” -said Garnier in his large way, and with a perfume of garlic. “You -will go, please, immediately, and call another day. These are the -stairs—yes, <em>if</em> you please.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, what have you done?” said Toto, when he came back. “Those two -fools will run all over Paris telling lies about me now—no matter! -Gaillard, my dear friend, come with me into the street; I must speak to -you alone. Garnier, my friend, you will see to Célestin till I return, -will you not?”</p> - -<p>He ran into her room for a moment. She tried to hold up her arms to -him, and he kissed her, but he did not see her face; her sunken eyes, -the blueness of her lips, all those signs which spoke of that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">279</a></span> terrible -pneumonia which kills like the dagger of an unskillful assassin—with -great pain, but none the less surely. He saw only the smooth head of De -Harnac, the black mustache and glittering monocle of Valfray, and the -broad back of Garnier interposing.</p> - -<p>“I am going out for a little; I will not be long, and Garnier will see -that you want nothing till my return.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Désiré, do not leave me! I am very ill—not so very ill, but -still—— Oh, what will become of you should I die—and Dodor? Is he in -the cage? I have not heard him move.”</p> - -<p>“I will be back soon,” said Toto, “and Dodor is all right.”</p> - -<p>“But I have not heard him move.”</p> - -<p>He lifted the parrot cage, and held it up to show that the bird was -safe, and Dodor spread his wings like a little eagle, as if indignant -that anyone should touch his house but Célestin. She glanced at him as -if satisfied.</p> - -<p>“Does it rain?”</p> - -<p>“No<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">280</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“I hear the sound of rain—do not get wet. You will return?”</p> - -<p>“Very soon.”</p> - -<p>He did not know what he was saying; it was like a conversation in a -dream. Then he left her and took his hat, and left the atelier leaning -on Gaillard’s arm, whilst Garnier sat on the couch and mused.</p> - -<p>“I must leave Paris at once—I must leave Paris at once!” burst out -Toto when they were in the Rue de Perpignan. “I must leave it forever; -nothing like this ever happened to anyone before. My God! I am going -mad. It is like one of those dreams when we seem to be walking about -the streets naked. Did you see that fool De Harnac’s face, and Valfray -looking all round with his eyeglass?”</p> - -<p>“It is all dreadful,” said Gaillard. “Let us, for Heaven’s sake, sit -down somewhere and think—let us, in the name of Heaven, get some brandy -somewhere. I was drunk last night,—I confess it without shame,—and my -nerves are in pieces. Look at my hand—is that the hand of a person -who ought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">281</a></span> to be troubled? Suppose a fit were to overtake me? Well, -then—yes, let us leave Paris. Oh, my God, I have odd boots on! Did you -see that woman?—she laughed at them. I must have been absolutely insane -all this morning not to have noticed them before. I have been walking -about all the morning like this.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I must leave Paris at once. Come in here and sit down. <em>Garçon</em>, -brandy, a decanter, and some Apollinaris water.”</p> - -<p>“It is the first warning—I knew it was coming; ataxia always begins -like this. My dear Toto, you know nothing about it; I have read -the whole subject up in the Bibliothèque Nationale. It begins with -forgetfulness in little things; one finds one’s self walking down the -street in slippers, or forgetting how to spell one’s name, and one dies -like a raving maniac. Then, one has tremor of the hand—look at my hand.”</p> - -<p>“Drink some brandy,” said Toto, rousing up a bit from his own misery. -“You will be all right; I have often been like that myself.”</p> - -<p>“No matter; if I die, Pelisson will have killed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">282</a></span> me. He burst into -my room absolutely like a tiger; you can fancy the shock to one in -my condition. I was absolutely dragged from my bed—threatened with -violence if I did not divulge all that I knew about this infamous -article.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t <em>speak</em> of it!” cried Toto, “don’t, don’t! I want to get to some -quiet place where I know no one. Come, I am going to Struve’s rooms; I -must see him and ask him to take some money to this girl. I will write -you a check at his rooms and you can go and cash it; then I will go to -some country place. You will come with me, will you not? You are the -only friend I have.”</p> - -<p>“To the ends of the earth,” answered Gaillard. “This brandy has saved -my reason if not my life; I will finish what is in the little decanter -if you will not.”</p> - -<p>He finished the brandy, and then, rising, took Toto’s arm.</p> - -<p>It was half-past eleven now, and the day promised to be very warm—a -perfect summer’s day with scarcely a breeze or cloud. The narrow street -was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">283</a></span> black in the shadow, gold in the sunshine, and a barrel-organ was -playing “Santa Lucia.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I am better now; the world is not so distinctly horrible as it -was a moment ago. But, Toto, if you are intent on going to Struve’s -rooms, how are we to get there? We are sure to meet people we know.”</p> - -<p>“We must take a carriage. Curse it! I wish it were winter; there are no -closed carriages. You can get a brougham to take me to the station when -we reach Struve’s, but how are we to get there? I can’t parade myself -before Paris. I know,—it is the only thing we can do,—we will take an -omnibus from the Boul’ Miche. We shall meet no one that we know in an -omnibus.”</p> - -<p>In the Boul’ Miche they were fortunate enough to find an omnibus just -stopped and disgorging some passengers—one, moreover, that would drop -them actually at Struve’s door; but they had to wait whilst three other -passengers got in before them. There was a girl in a summer hat that -would have brought tears to Célestin’s eyes, a priest, and a fat lady -bearing a lobster tied to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</a></span> string; then they found that there was -only one inside place left.</p> - -<p>“You must go outside,” said Toto.</p> - -<p>“But, Désiré, think for a moment. I cannot possibly do this; everyone -will see me. Let us wait and take the next.”</p> - -<p>“Struve may be out if we delay,” said Toto, getting into the vehicle -wearily, and, as it was starting, Gaillard was forced to mount on the -outside, where he sat with his handkerchief to his face as if his nose -were bleeding and his hat tilted over his eyes. Fortunately, no one saw -him, though he imagined in his agony that all Paris was watching him -from the sky, the housetops, the windows, and the street.</p> - -<p>Struve was at breakfast. He had evidently been reading <em>Pantin</em>, for -it was open before him, and he put a dish of kidneys over the damnable -article in a pathetic attempt to hide it as the poet and the painter -entered his room, with all the dejection of a couple of cats that have -just been washed.</p> - -<p>“We are going away,” said Gaillard.</p> - -<p>“Sit down,” lisped Struve, jumping up. “Toto, I am very glad to see -you—have a cigar, have a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</a></span> cigarette? Now what is all this nonsense I -have heard? Gaillard, for goodness’ sake put your head straight; you -are not a lily. Pelisson has been here—I know all this cursed nonsense; -he has been let in by old De Nani. I always told him he would; everyone -is cursing poor old Pelisson for a fool. Well, then, what matter? it -will soon blow over.”</p> - -<p>“We are going away,” said Toto, taking up Gaillard’s whine; “at least, -I am—forever!”</p> - -<p>“So,” said Struve, lighting a cigarette, “you are going away forever; -and when are you coming back? Toto, for goodness’ sake, don’t think -that I am joking. I know what Paris is, and for Heaven’s sake don’t go -about with that long face! Laugh, laugh, and you are clad in triple -brass; no one ever laughs at a man who is laughing—they always laugh -with him. Laugh at Pelisson, laugh at De Nani, do as they do at the -carnival ball; a jester strikes me with his bauble, I strike Jules, -Jules Alphonse, and so it goes on. Don’t take this thing seriously.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot laugh,” said Toto, looking at his boots with the air of a -martyr.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, then, smoke.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks, yes, I will take a cigarette. I want to speak to you; but -first I want Auguste to do something for me.”</p> - -<p>He sat down at the writing table and made out a holograph check for ten -thousand francs, and dispatched Gaillard with it to the bank.</p> - -<p>“Go to Porcheron’s and get a brougham, and come back in it, my dear -fellow.”</p> - -<p>“But your luggage?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I will buy things wherever I go.”</p> - -<p>Gaillard departed, and Toto resumed his seat.</p> - -<p>“I want to tell you all,” he said. “There is a girl; she brought this -mischief upon me, though it was not entirely her fault.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, these girls!” murmured Struve.</p> - -<p>“I know they are frightful, but, still, I must do something for this -girl.”</p> - -<p>“Pah! Give her five hundred francs—I know what girls are—and forget -her.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, for the matter of that, she is not—she loves me, I think, in her -way—of course she does not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</a></span> know all the mischief she has done: how -could she? No matter. I want you to call this afternoon and explain -that I am gone away for a while.”</p> - -<p>“I say, you know,” said Struve, who did not relish the idea of acting -as ambassador between Toto and some hussy, who would probably pull his -hair for his pains, “would it not be better for you to write? There is -something much more final about a letter left in by a postman than a -message taken by a friend.”</p> - -<p>“I could not write to her, and I want you to give her some money. -Gaillard is bringing ten thousand francs back; I will give her three. -Of course I will provide for her afterwards. Do, my dear fellow, help -me in this, and I will be forever grateful; besides, you will never see -me again.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” said Struve; “I will do as you ask.”</p> - -<p>The three thousand francs decided him. There were few women of this -kind who would pull the hair of a messenger armed with the consolation -of a three-thousand-franc note; besides, he felt a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</a></span> sympathy for the -unfortunate Toto, this sparrow who had built too high. They sat for -half an hour smoking.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” said Toto, “the affair does not end here between De Nani -and me. When I have time to breathe I will find him out.”</p> - -<p>“What for?”</p> - -<p>“To make him fight.”</p> - -<p>The idea of a duel between Toto and De Nani was almost too much for -Struve’s gravity. However, he did not laugh.</p> - -<p>“You will not find De Nani; he has vanished. Pelisson says the safe -has been cleaned out. It was that fool Scribe, the cashier; he lent De -Nani the keys for a moment the day before yesterday, and the old fellow -must have taken an impression of them in wax. The worst of it is, -Pelisson cannot prosecute—the old fellow knows too much about the inner -workings of <em>Pantin</em>. And yet Pelisson always thought him a fool. No, -you will not find De Nani; and if you did, he would not fight. It is my -impression that he is a very deep card, this Marquis. You see, Pelisson -thought him only a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</a></span> drunken old man who would be wax in his hands. Who -is this?”</p> - -<p>Gaillard appeared.</p> - -<p>“I have a brougham at the door,” said Gaillard in a mournful voice, -“and here is the money, dear Toto, partly in notes, partly in gold.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">290</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="Part_IV_CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">ENVOY.</span></h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Meanwhile</span>, Garnier, left alone in the atelier, sat musing on the -strangeness of things, and waiting for Toto’s return. Ten minutes -passed by, and half an hour. Through the top-light, which was pulled -a bit open, he could hear the sparrows bickering on the roof, and the -voice of a hawker in the Rue de Perpignan crying “Strawberries!” whilst -a broad dash of sunlight, falling upon the lower part of the wall -opposite to him, lit the place with an effulgence of its own, like a -great lamp radiating sunbeams.</p> - -<p>It seemed such a pity that Célestin should be ill this glorious -weather. Presently he heard her voice calling for Désiré in a muffled -manner.</p> - -<p>“He will be back very soon, my little Célestin,” said Garnier, as he -stood beside the bed, smiling down upon the patient. “<em>Mon Dieu!</em> my -poor child, how blue your lips have become, even within<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</a></span> so short a -time. Say to me, Célestin, how you feel.”</p> - -<p>“I feel choking,” murmured Célestin, with a terrible look of appeal, -as though she had but that moment recognized the extent of her illness -with the fact that Toto had gone out.</p> - -<p>Garnier made a little dramatic back-step, which he corrected by folding -his hands loosely in front of him and rubbing them slightly one upon -the other as if nothing was the matter. The frightful truth suddenly -broke upon him that Célestin, his little Célestin, was terribly ill.</p> - -<p>“I feel choking—it is terrible—my friend.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” said Garnier, dropping beside her on his knees. “What is it? -You frighten me. Have you pain? Speak, Célestin, and tell me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no pain, but I cannot breathe. Stay, I am better now—the weight -has gone a bit; but it will come back. I am afraid to die; what will -he do? I would have worked for him; but it is no use—I cannot if I am -dead. And he was in trouble; I could see it on his face. We are so -poor, you know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>Garnier felt horrified, paralyzed in the knees and unable to move.</p> - -<p>“What is this you say? what is this you say?” he murmured.</p> - -<p>“Is it raining?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, it is very fine. What is this I hear you say, Célestin? Are -you very ill? It is bright sunshine outside; there is no rain.”</p> - -<p>“I hear the sound of rain.”</p> - -<p>“It does not rain,” said Garnier in a heart-broken voice as he watched -her eyes wandering about the room as if pursuing some fugitive vision. -“Can you not see the sun shining at the window?”</p> - -<p>Célestin sighed.</p> - -<p>“Désiré has gone out. When did he go? Ah, yes, I remember now; he would -not be a moment, he said.”</p> - -<p>“He will not be a moment,” said Garnier, stumbling to his feet. “I will -run and see if I can fetch him. I will not be absent one little moment.”</p> - -<p>He stole out of the bedroom, through the atelier, and rushed down the -stairs, hatless and as if the top of the house were on fire. There was, -fortunately,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</a></span> a doctor in the street; he lived but a few doors away, -and by good luck had just returned from his round of morning visits.</p> - -<p>He was a depressed-looking young man with a pointed beard, somewhat -like Gaillard in face, but not nearly so well dressed. He came at once -with Garnier, and as he took his seat beside Célestin he laid his -polished silk hat, crown downwards, upon the floor.</p> - -<p>Garnier stood at the end of the bed looking on. He suddenly felt a -strong belief in doctors. Dr. Fénélon seemed to him a god; his manner -was so assured, and he had the air of one who knew, coupled with the -gravity of a judge. He noticed that the doctor wore a bone stud in -his white shirt front, and every little detail of his dress, to the -patent-leather toecaps of his dull kid boots.</p> - -<p>The doctor spoke to Célestin, just a few words by way of introducing -himself, and then drew out a watch to assist him in feeling her -pulse. The watch had a large spider hand which went hopping along, -making sixty hops to the minute. This spider hand deepened Garnier’s -confidence, as did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</a></span> the binaural stethoscope which the doctor drew out -of his breast pocket and swung about his neck.</p> - -<p>Garnier turned his face away whilst the physician unbuttoned Célestin’s -nightdress at the neck. A moment he paused, as if undecided as to -stripping her to the waist, Hôtel Dieu fashion, then shook his head, -and, slipping the ear-pieces in his ears, began his auscultation.</p> - -<p>Garnier, standing with his face averted, heard the sparrows on the roof -and an occasional pr-rt, pr-rt from Dodor’s cage, as the lark changed -his perch, also a piano-organ, the thinnest of sounds fluctuating on -the faint breeze blowing from the direction of the Seine.</p> - -<p>Sometimes Dr. Fénélon cleared his throat, or said “Pardon.” Then he -began to percuss, and the little blows sounded as if against something -solid.</p> - -<p>Garnier turned; the examination was over, and the doctor, the -stethoscope swinging still from his neck, was buttoning the top button -of the nightdress. This accomplished, he stood just for a second with -hands folded, overlooking the patient<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</a></span> from head to feet; one might -almost have imagined him measuring her with his eye.</p> - -<p>Célestin, whose eyes had been half closed, suddenly opened them, and -muttered something in an alarmed manner.</p> - -<p>“What is it?”</p> - -<p>“Fantoum,” she muttered, shrinking slightly as if from some vision in -the air.</p> - -<p>The doctor led Garnier into the atelier, and by the way he closed the -bedroom door Garnier knew that it was all up.</p> - -<p>“Your wife?” asked the doctor, removing the instrument from his neck -and placing it folded in his breast-pocket.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, the wife of a friend—simply that. Ah, my God! I fear she is -worse than we thought.”</p> - -<p>“So then I can speak: she is moribund. I can absolutely do nothing. -You understand? What can I do? One lung is gone. Well, then, the other -is greatly touched at the apex—absolutely solid with pneumonia at the -base. She is living by a piece of lung not so large as my hand. We -cannot change all that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">296</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“Can nothing be done?”</p> - -<p>“My dear friend, she is to all intents and purposes dead. She has been -dying some time—probably since yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I hear you say all that; you say she is dead. I have never heard -a thing like that before so frightful. I have heard of doctors keeping -people alive. Well, then, look: it is not the question of payment; it -is not a question of one, two, three napoleons, but thousands! You are -not speaking to a fool; I am a great painter. I have only to close my -hands on the money, and half of what I earn is yours. I am Gustave -Garnier; I never told a lie. Ask Melmenotte what I can do.”</p> - -<p>“My dear friend,” sighed Dr. Fénélon, “I would save her for nothing, -but I am not God.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing can be done?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Brandy?”</p> - -<p>“I would not trouble her with brandy—it might even put the flame out; -she is just trembling;” and he held out his hand, imitating the motion -of a butterfly poised.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">297</a></span></p> - -<p>“How long?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps not for hours, possibly a day; perhaps in half an hour—a few -minutes. Were she to sit up in bed, she would expire as if shot.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, well, we must face it. You will come in again? Oh, my God!”</p> - -<p>“I will come in this evening. My dear child,” continued the doctor, -taking the great arm of Garnier in his thin hand, “I would stay if I -could be of use; I can only leave her to you. No, I would not trouble -her with a priest; she is, I am afraid, delirious.”</p> - -<p>Garnier returned to the bedroom, a look of terrible perplexity on his -face. He could not grasp the facts. Full of life and strength, he had -never troubled to think of death, it was all so remote; and here it was -grasping Célestin.</p> - -<p>She was semi-conscious again, and the one word kept repeating itself on -her lips, “Désiré, Désiré!” It was like a person crying for water.</p> - -<p>“Oh, why does he not come?” murmured Garnier, remembering again of a -sudden the existence of Toto and his long absence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">298</a></span></p> - -<p>“He is coming,” he murmured, holding her hand; “he will be here in a -little while. Oh, my dear little Célestin, what can I give you—what can -I do for you?”</p> - -<p>He saw the bunch of grapes, and plucked one off and held it to her -lips. She sucked it feebly, and then cast her eyes up to heaven in the -old familiar way, an action that tore Garnier’s heart as if a knife had -ripped it up. Then she seemed to forget Toto, for she lay still, and -the man beside her prayed God to send him quickly, for nothing could be -more frightful than her reiterated request for this man who had gone -away.</p> - -<p>He did not feel jealous; it was all one now. She wanted Toto. It was as -if she had wanted water to drink; he would not have felt jealous of the -water, so why should he feel jealous of Toto? He would have given his -whole prospects in life for the return of the Prince.</p> - -<p>As if in answer to his prayer came the sounds of footsteps in the -atelier, and Dodor moved restlessly in his cage as the door was -cautiously opened. It was a priest whom the deaf concierge had sent -for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">299</a></span> after inquiring of Dr. Fénélon the state of his patient.</p> - -<p>He was an elderly man with a large stomach and a kind, sweet face. -Garnier glanced at him, and threw up his eyes, as if to say “No use,” -but he felt glad of the presence of the holy man.</p> - -<p>The priest took a chair on the opposite side of the bed, as if to rest -his stomach for a moment, and breathed hard and pursed out his lips; -then he knelt by the chair to pray. Garnier, kneeling by his side of -the bed, was as still as the effigy of the Lord Jesus which hung above. -And so the time went on, Célestin rousing herself occasionally to call -for Toto, and relapsing into stupor. Once she cast her eyes at the bird -moping in its cage, and moved her lips at it, as if trying to tell it -of her trouble.</p> - -<p>It was now late in the afternoon. To Garnier it seemed a very long -time since, stopping near the Panthéon, he had bought the grapes for -his little Célestin, and brought them so joyously to the atelier. -His hearing, strained to the utmost for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">300</a></span> footsteps of Toto, was -rewarded by all sorts of futile sounds, far away and near.</p> - -<p>At five Dr. Fénélon looked in again, and found his patient unconscious. -He shook his head and vanished, for Garnier did not attempt to detain -him; he had lost all faith in doctors.</p> - -<p>“But who is this Désiré she has been calling for?” whispered the good -priest, leaning towards Garnier. “Could we not send for him?”</p> - -<p>Garnier shook his head. He had gone out with Gaillard—where he could -not tell.</p> - -<p>Towards six, Célestin, still unconscious, gave a little shiver, as if -at the coldness of her lover, and Dodor in the cage fluttered his wings -as if in fear.</p> - -<p>The priest, who had been standing patiently, fell upon his knees, and -prayed with fervor for the passing soul.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Struve told me most of this story as we sat one day before a café on -the boulevards.</p> - -<p>“That is the man,” he said, indicating a good-looking young fellow on a -coal-black horse, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">301</a></span> was riding by, accompanied by a girl with auburn -hair, mounted on a magnificent gray; “that is Toto.”</p> - -<p>“But the girl?”</p> - -<p>“His wife, the Princesse; she was Helen Powers.”</p> - -<p>“But surely—is she married to him?”</p> - -<p>“Very much so. He confessed all his sins, and she gave him absolution. -No woman, you see, can withstand a confession of folly; you see, it is -a far more genuine thing than a confession of love—with ordinary men.”</p> - -<p>“You do not think Toto an ordinary man?”</p> - -<p>“I have never thought of him as a man. Come, it is five o’clock; I am -tired of sitting still.”</p> - -<p>“A moment. Where has old De Nani gone to?”</p> - -<p>“He is living at Monte Carlo. He lost a hundred thousand francs there, -and they have pensioned him; they give him sixty francs a week, I -believe.”</p> - -<p>“Pelisson did not prosecute him?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no! all that did <em>Pantin</em> a lot of good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">302</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“If I had been Toto, I would have made him fight.”</p> - -<p>“Thank goodness we were saved from that! A duel between Toto and De -Nani was the only thing wanted to cap the business and kill everyone -outright.”</p> - -<p>“Kill them?”</p> - -<p>“With laughter.”</p> - -<p>“And about Garnier?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Garnier—he only wanted one thing before he met Célestin.”</p> - -<p>“What was that?”</p> - -<p>“Célestin—she has made him. Célestin is not dead; she will never die -so long as men have eyes and Garnier’s pictures exist. She might have -lived with Toto and produced little Totos; she lives instead with -Garnier, and through him will live forever.”</p> - -<p>“A moment. What of Gaillard?”</p> - -<p>“He has grown very fat. You know, Toto shook him off when he married, -Pelisson forsook him, De Brie gave him the cold shoulder; and what did -he do? He sat down and wrote ‘Poum-Poum,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">303</a></span>’ and turned all the minor -poets into ridicule, and sold a hundred thousand copies in a month, and -‘slew art,’ to use his own expression, because it tried to slay him. He -is making eighty thousand francs a year, if he is making a sou. I am -glad of it; he is not a bad sort—Gaillard.”</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="transnote"><p>Transcriber’s Notes:</p> -<p>The original spelling, hyphenation, accentuation and punctuation has -been retained, with the exception of apparent typographical errors -which have been corrected.</p></div> - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rapin, by Henry De Vere Stacpoole - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RAPIN *** - -***** This file should be named 54483-h.htm or 54483-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/4/8/54483/ - -Produced by Roger Frank, Brian Wilcox and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from images made available by the -HathiTrust Digital Library.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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