“Maxime is right!” said Madame Schontz, looking at Arthur, who colored violently. “If I have saved you some thousand francs to invest, you could not spend them better. I should have secured the happiness of both husband and wife.—What a good-conduct stripe!”
“I never thought of it,” replied the Marquis. “But it is true; one is a gentleman first, and a husband after.”
“Let me advise you of the appropriate moment for your generosity,” said Maxime.
“Arthur,” said Aurélie, “Maxime is right. Our generous actions, you see, old boy, must be done as Couture’s shares must be sold,” and she looked in the glass to see who was coming in, “in the nick of time.”
Couture was followed by Finot, and in a few minutes all the guests were assembled in the handsome blue-and-gold drawing-room of the “Hôtel Schontz,” as the men called their place of meeting since Rochefide had bought it for his Ninon II. On seeing la Palférine come in the last, Maxime went up to him, drew him into a recess, and gave him the twenty banknotes.
“Above all, do not be stingy with them,” said he, with the native grace of a spendthrift.
“No one knows so well as you how to double the value of what appears to be a gift,” replied la Palférine.
“Then you agree?”
“Well, since I take the money!” replied the youth, with some pride and irony.
“Very well. Nathan, who is here, will take you within two days to call on the Marquise de Rochefide,” said Maxime in his ear.
La Palférine jumped as he heard the name.
“Do not fail to declare yourself madly in love with her; and, to rouse no suspicions, drink, wine, liqueurs no end! I will tell Aurélie to put you next to Nathan. Only, my son, we must now meet every night on the Boulevard de la Madeleine, at one in the morning; you to report progress, and I to give you instructions.”
“I will be there, master,” said the young Count, with a bow.
“What makes you ask a fellow to dine with us who comes dressed like a waiter?” said Maxime to Madame Schontz in a whisper, and looking at du Ronceret.
“Have you never seen ‘The Heir?’ Du Ronceret, from Alençon.”
“Monsieur,” said Maxime to Fabien, “you must know my friend d’Esgrignon?”
“Victurnien dropped the acquaintance long since,” replied Fabien, “but we were very intimate as boys.”
The dinner was such as can only be given in Paris, and in the houses of these perfectly reckless women, for their refined luxury amazes the most fastidious. It was at a supper of this kind, given by a rich and handsome courtesan like Madame Schontz, that Paganini declared that he had never eaten such food at the table of any sovereign, nor drunk such wine in any prince’s house, nor heard such witty conversation, nor seen such attractive and tasteful magnificence.
Maxime and Madame Schontz were the first to return to the drawing-room, at about ten o’clock, leaving the other guests, who had ceased to veil their anecdotes, and who boasted of their powers, with sticky lips glued to liqueur glasses that they could not empty.
“Well, pretty one,” said Maxime, “you are quite right. Yes, I came to get something out of you. It is a serious matter; you must give up Arthur. But I will see that he gives you two hundred thousand francs.”
“And why am I to give him up, poor old boy?”
“To marry that noodle, who came from Alençon on purpose. He has already been a Judge; I will get him made President of the Court in the place of old Blondet, who is nearly eighty-two, and if you know how to catch the wind, your husband will be elected deputy. You will be people of importance, and crush Madame la Comtesse du Bruel—”
“Never!” cried Madame Schontz; “she is a Countess.”
“Is he of the stuff they make counts of?”
“Well, he has a coat-of-arms,” said Aurélie, seeking a letter in a handsome bag that hung by the fireplace, and handing it to Maxime. “What does it all mean? There are combs on it.”
“He bears: Quarterly, the first argent three combs gules, second and third three bunches of grapes with stems and leaves all proper, fourth azure four pens or, laid in fret. Motto, Servir, and a squire’s helmet.—No great things! They were granted by Louis XV.—They must have had some haberdasher grandfather, the maternal ancestry made money in wine, and the du Ronceret who got the arms must have been a registrar.—But if you succeed in throwing off Arthur, the du Roncerets shall be Barons at least, I promise you, my pretty pigeon. You see, child, you must lie in pickle for five or six years in the country if you want to bury la Schontz in Madame la Présidente. The rascal cast eyes at you, of which the meaning was quite clear; you have hooked him.”
“No,” said Aurélie. “When I offered him my hand, he was as quiet as brandy is in the market.”
“I will make up his mind for him if he is tipsy. Go and see how they are all getting on.”
“It is not worth the trouble of going. I hear no one but Bixiou giving one of his caricatures, to which nobody is listening; but I know my Arthur; he thinks it necessary to be polite to Bixiou, and he is staring at him still, even if his eyes are shut.”
“Let us go back then.”
“By the by, for whose benefit am I doing all this, Maxime?” said Madame Schontz suddenly.
“For Madame de Rochefide,” replied Maxime bluntly. “It is impossible to patch up matters between her and Arthur so long as you keep hold of him. To her it is a matter of being at the head of her house and having four hundred thousand francs a year.”
“And
