Part 131 (1/2)
Near Grantaire, an almost silent table, a sheet of paper, an inkstand and a pen between two gla.s.ses of brandy, announced that a vaudeville was being sketched out.
This great affair was being discussed in a low voice, and the two heads at work touched each other: ”Let us begin by finding names. When one has the names, one finds the subject.”
”That is true. Dictate. I will write.”
”Monsieur Dorimon.”
”An independent gentleman?”
”Of course.”
”His daughter, Celestine.”
”--tine. What next?”
”Colonel Sainval.”
”Sainval is stale. I should say Valsin.”
Beside the vaudeville aspirants, another group, which was also taking advantage of the uproar to talk low, was discussing a duel. An old fellow of thirty was counselling a young one of eighteen, and explaining to him what sort of an adversary he had to deal with.
”The deuce! Look out for yourself. He is a fine swordsman. His play is neat. He has the attack, no wasted feints, wrist, dash, lightning, a just parade, mathematical parries, bigre! and he is left-handed.”
In the angle opposite Grantaire, Joly and Bah.o.r.el were playing dominoes, and talking of love.
”You are in luck, that you are,” Joly was saying. ”You have a mistress who is always laughing.”
”That is a fault of hers,” returned Bah.o.r.el. ”One's mistress does wrong to laugh. That encourages one to deceive her. To see her gay removes your remorse; if you see her sad, your conscience p.r.i.c.ks you.”
”Ingrate! a woman who laughs is such a good thing! And you never quarrel!”
”That is because of the treaty which we have made. On forming our little Holy Alliance we a.s.signed ourselves each our frontier, which we never cross. What is situated on the side of winter belongs to Vaud, on the side of the wind to Gex. Hence the peace.”
”Peace is happiness digesting.”
”And you, Jolllly, where do you stand in your entanglement with Mamselle--you know whom I mean?”
”She sulks at me with cruel patience.”
”Yet you are a lover to soften the heart with gauntness.”
”Alas!”
”In your place, I would let her alone.”
”That is easy enough to say.”
”And to do. Is not her name Musichetta?”
”Yes. Ah! my poor Bah.o.r.el, she is a superb girl, very literary, with tiny feet, little hands, she dresses well, and is white and dimpled, with the eyes of a fortune-teller. I am wild over her.”