Part 16 (1/2)
I knew by the sound of her voice that she was ready to weep. Had I spoken harshly to her? She was going away with a heavy heart, but I took her hand and detained her. She heaved a deep sigh. Poor Nicette! could it be for me? If so, I pitied her. In truth, I did not deserve to be loved by a sensitive, faithful heart; and yet, I wanted women to adore me and to be faithful to me: reconcile the two, if you can.
”Come, my dear Nicette, tell me all you have done since last night?”
”Won't it bore you, monsieur?”
”No, of course not; don't you know that I am interested in everything that concerns you?”
”Oh, monsieur! if you--but here goes: in the first place, I went home to my mother's, because, after all, she is my mother, and, although she turned me out of doors, I still owe her respect.”
”That is true; you did very well. How did Madame Jerome receive you?”
”Very badly, monsieur! oh! very badly! She didn't so much as ask me where I'd pa.s.sed the night. But she proposed to me again to marry Beauvisage, and said that then she'd forgive what she called my _caravanes_.[A] Has there been any _caravanes_ between you and me, monsieur?”
[A] In French slang, ”love adventures.”
”Certainly not; and then?”
”Oh! I refused; because, when it comes to marriage, I'm obstinate, too.
Then she beat me again, and that time you wasn't there to stop her.”
I could not restrain a smile at the artless way in which Nicette reminded me of the blow I had received in her behalf; but I was distressed by Madame Jerome's hard-heartedness: to think of turning her daughter out of doors, beating her, and abandoning her, utterly without resource, at the age when the simplest and often the only means of support are to be found in prost.i.tution! Ah! there are mothers unworthy of the name!
”Well, Nicette?”
”Well, monsieur, I packed up my clothes and left the house, without seeing my sister, who didn't dare to show her face before me. I says to myself: 'I mustn't whine about it; I haven't done anything to be sorry for. I refused the pork man, that's true; but when it's a matter of a girl's whole life, surely she has a right to do as she pleases.'--So I went off with my little bundle. I don't know how it happened, but after walking a while I found myself in your street. I looked round for a booth, and found one over yonder, close by, on Rue Saint-Honore, near the boulevard. I bought a bed and a chair; that's all I need. To-morrow, I'll get a table for my bouquets; as to the flowers, I know where to get them. I'll set up a stand on the corner of the street, on the boulevard; and when you want a bouquet, monsieur, I shall be there, close by your house; and it will be easy enough for you to let me know. Have I done well, monsieur?”
Nicette had finished speaking, but I still listened. I was touched by her attachment. She had wanted to be near me, I could see that; and there was something so simple and ingenuous in the way she told me about it, that it seemed that in acting thus she had simply done her duty.
”You don't say anything, monsieur; is it because you're angry at my leaving my old quarter to come--to this one? If that's it, why, I'll look for another room to-morrow; I'll go far away, ever so far, and you'll never find me in your path again!”
”What do you say? I, angry because you are near me? It's very wrong of you to say that, Nicette! I thought that I had shown you how deep an interest I take in you.”
”Oh! I beg your pardon, Monsieur Dorsan, I beg your pardon; perhaps I ought to have asked your permission--for you are my patron.”
”Hus.h.!.+ what a child you are! I am very glad that you live in this quarter. I shall see you often, and always with pleasure.”
”Oh! monsieur, and so shall I. But I won't take the liberty again to wait for you at your door. I only did it to-day because I wanted to tell you what I'd done, and to let you know where I am now.”
”Don't apologize, my dear girl; I am so glad to see you! Ah! Nicette, what a cruel, yet delicious, night I pa.s.sed so near you! I shall never forget it as long as I live. I know that I shouldn't have so much courage another time.”
”Let's not say anything more about that, Monsieur Dorsan. I must go home, for it's very late, and I'm keeping you from your sleep again. To be sure, this is the last time it will happen.”
”Dear Nicette, your alluring charms, your graces, and your delightful frankness, will always be with me in that room, where I should be glad to see you again.”
”Oh! don't say that, I beg of you, Monsieur Dorsan. I'm too far away from you--a poor flower girl!”
”Ah! Nicette; if you chose----”
”Adieu, Monsieur Dorsan! adieu!”