Volume I Part 60 (1/2)
”You are right. This time I will be a Don Juan, a Richelieu! I will hurl myself into the coupe like a bomb! The rest will take care of itself.”
”Bravo! I recognize you now.”
”My dearest wish is gratified.”
”You must tell us to-morrow how it goes off. That is all I ask for my reward.”
”I'll tell you everything; I will conceal nothing from my friends henceforth. Dear Freluchon! dear Edmond!--But what's the matter with Monsieur Edmond? he doesn't say anything.”
”Don't you know that he is in love, like you?”
”Oho! with whom, pray?”
”A young person--who lives with a lady who bought a country house at Ch.e.l.les.”
”The deuce! Mademoiselle Agathe!”
Edmond emerged from his reverie, crying:
”Agathe! who mentioned her name?--Have you seen those ladies again, Chamoureau? have you been to their house?”
”I? not once. What would you have me go there for, now? Madame Dalmont insisted on paying me my fee on the spot, and the transaction is concluded.”
”She's a widow, isn't she, Chamoureau?”
”Yes, she's a widow.”
”And she hasn't a large fortune?”
”No; she told me herself that her means were small, and that she was going into the country to live as a matter of taste and for economy's sake.”
”And Agathe--that lovely girl?”
”Mademoiselle Agathe is an orphan, and has no other friend or protector than the lady with whom she lives. That's all I know about them.--But, pardon me, my friends, it's three o'clock already; allow me to take my leave. I will take my clothes away; I'll wear them to-night; these trousers, anyhow, are not too tight for me.”
”What! you are going to carry that bundle?”
”I shall take a cab. Your hand, Freluchon. Now I am yours, in life and in death!--Au revoir, messieurs, until to-morrow.”
Chamoureau returned home. The day, although far advanced, seemed mortally long to him. He set about curling his hair, perfuming himself, in short, trying to make himself most seductive.
He went out at five o'clock, to dine; but joy took away his appet.i.te.
When caused by love, joy sometimes produces that effect.
While he toyed aimlessly with a beefsteak, he said to himself:
”How strange women are in their whims! This one refuses to receive me at her house, and waits for me at night, in a carriage, on the Champs-Elysees! Still, she may have reasons for being afraid to receive me at home. Who knows that she isn't afraid of that Monsieur Beauregard, who used to be her lover, as he says? perhaps it isn't true; there are so many men who brag of triumphs they never obtained! It matters little to me, after all! if she shares my flame, am I not too fortunate?”
Chamoureau left the restaurant and entered a cafe, called for all the newspapers, did not read one, looked at his watch every instant, and finally exclaimed: