She said to him, in an unctuous tone, while she drew forth from her purse three square slips of paper:
“You will take these from me?”
They were three tickets for Delmar’s benefit performance.
“What! for him?”
“Certainly.”
Mademoiselle Vatnaz, without giving a further explanation, added that she adored him more than ever. If she were to be believed, the comedian was now definitely classed amongst “the leading celebrities of the age.” And it was not such or such a personage that he represented, but the very genius of France, the People. He had “the humanitarian spirit; he understood the priesthood of Art.” Frederick, in order to put an end to these eulogies, gave her the money for the three seats.
“You need not say a word about this over the way. How late it is, good heavens! I must leave you. Ah! I was forgetting the address—’tis the Rue Grange-Batelier, number 14.”
And, at the door:
“Goodbye, beloved man!”
“Beloved by whom?” asked Frederick. “What a strange woman!”
And he remembered that Dussardier had said to him one day, when talking about her:
“Oh, she’s not much!” as if alluding to stories of a by no means edifying character.
Next morning he repaired to the Maréchale’s abode. She lived in a new house, the spring-roller blinds of which projected into the street. At the head of each flight of stairs there was a mirror against the wall; before each window there was a flower-stand, and all over the steps extended a carpet of oilcloth; and when one got inside the door, the coolness of the staircase was refreshing.
It was a manservant who came to open the door, a footman in a red waistcoat. On a bench in the anteroom a woman and two men, tradespeople, no doubt, were waiting as if in a minister’s vestibule. At the left, the door of the dining-room, slightly ajar, afforded a glimpse of empty bottles on the sideboards, and napkins on the backs of chairs; and parallel with it ran a corridor in which gold-coloured sticks supported an espalier of roses. In the courtyard below, two boys with bare arms were scrubbing a landau. Their voices rose to Frederick’s ears, mingled with the intermittent sounds made by a currycomb knocking against a stone.
The manservant returned. “Madame will receive Monsieur,” and he led Frederick through a second anteroom, and then into a large drawing-room hung with yellow brocatel with twisted fringes at the corners which were joined at the ceiling, and which seemed to be continued by flowerings of lustre resembling cables. No doubt there had been an entertainment there the night before. Some cigar-ashes had been allowed to remain on the pier-tables.
At last he found his way into a kind of boudoir with stained-glass windows, through which the sun shed a dim light. Trefoils of carved wood adorned the upper portions of the doors. Behind a balustrade, three purple mattresses formed a divan; and the stem of a narghileh made of platinum lay on top of it. Instead of a mirror, there was on the mantelpiece a pyramid-shaped whatnot, displaying on its shelves an entire collection of curiosities, old silver trumpets, Bohemian horns, jewelled clasps, jade studs, enamels, grotesque figures in china, and a little Byzantine virgin with a vermilion ape; and all this was mingled in a golden twilight with the bluish shade of the carpet, the mother-of-pearl reflections of the footstools, and the tawny hue of the walls covered with maroon leather. In the corners, on little pedestals, there were bronze vases containing clusters of flowers, which made the atmosphere heavy.
Rosanette presented herself, attired in a pink satin vest with white cashmere trousers, a necklace of piasters, and a red cap encircled with a branch of jasmine.
Frederick started back in surprise, then said he had brought the thing she had been speaking about, and he handed her the banknote. She gazed at him in astonishment; and, as he still kept the note in his hand, without knowing where to put it:
“Pray take it!”
She seized it; then, as she flung it on the divan:
“You are very kind.”
She wanted it to meet the rent of a piece of ground at Bellevue, which she paid in this way every year. Her unceremoniousness wounded Frederick’s sensibility. However, so much the better! this would avenge him for the past.
“Sit down,” said she. “There—closer.” And in a grave tone: “In the first place, I have to thank you, my dear friend, for having risked your life.”
“Oh! that’s nothing!”
“What! Why, ’tis a very noble act!”—and the Maréchale exhibited an embarrassing sense of gratitude; for it must have been impressed upon her mind that the duel was entirely on account of Arnoux, as the latter, who believed it himself, was not likely to have resisted the temptation of telling her so.
“She is laughing at me, perhaps,” thought Frederick.
He had nothing further to detain him, and, pleading that he had an appointment, he rose.
“Oh! no, stay!”
He resumed his seat, and presently complimented her on her costume.
She replied, with an air of dejection:
“ ’Tis the Prince who likes me to dress in this fashion! And one must smoke such machines as that, too!” Rosanette added, pointing towards the narghileh. “Suppose we try the taste of it? Have you any objection?”
She procured a light, and, finding it hard to set fire to the tobacco, she began to stamp impatiently with her foot. Then a feeling of languor took possession of her; and she remained motionless on the divan, with a cushion under her
