Part 9 (2/2)
said Alfred, filling his friend's gla.s.s.
”Pretty, messieurs! Why, I don't mean to say that her face is absolutely beyond criticism; and there are some defects in the contour, too. But her figure! oh! it's like a model! If she was here, I'd have her stand up on this table, so that you could admire her. In short, she is Fifine!
that tells the whole story!”
”Ah! her name is Fifine, is it?”
”Yes, messieurs; a charming girl! a regular dragon! who has never been able to resist an invitation to drink,--that is when she took a fancy to the man.”
”And she took a fancy to you at once, I suppose?”
”Oh, yes! instantly; that is to say, she made me run about a good deal.
And the boxes I carried! and the rolls I paid for! How I did pay for them! She is decidedly fond of rolls, is Fifine.--No matter; here's her health, messieurs!”
”Fifine's health!” replied the young men. This toast moved Robineau to tears; he took out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes, and pulled from his pocket with it, and scattered about the floor and on the table, all the cakes he had purloined, which had became as flat as pie crust. The young men roared with laughter, and Alfred emptied Robineau's other pocket on his plate, crying:
”Here's a provident fellow, messieurs; he put his dessert in his pocket.”
”It was for my canary, messieurs,” faltered Robineau, dumfounded for an instant by the spectacle of the little cakes; ”for Fifine's canary, I mean, who says 'kiss me quick' like a starling.--Still, you understand, it was only a joke, a wager; I am not reduced to that means of getting bird food. Not that the loss of my twenty-one francs doesn't embarra.s.s me a good deal; but----”
”I thought you had lost more than three hundred?” said Alfred.
”The deuce! three hundred francs! A copying clerk at fifteen hundred francs a year! Why, that would be more than two months' salary!”
”You are mistaken; you earn a hundred louis, and you are soon to have an increase.”
”Nonsense! A hundred louis! And as for getting an increase, my deputy-chief, who rules the roost, told me only this morning that, if I didn't write better, they would be obliged to discharge me. That sounds well from him, when his writing is like fly tracks, and he earns six thousand francs! It seems to me that he ought to write better than me.--Well, messieurs, you don't seem to be drinking; I was sure that I would beat you all!”
The young men were, in fact, beginning to yawn; Alfred tried in vain to wake them up--he too was overcome with drowsiness. The young men took their hats and bade one another good-night, pretending to be very firm on their legs.
It was broad daylight, and the streets were already alive with workingmen on their way to work; the peasants were returning leisurely to the country from the market, where they had been to sell their vegetables. The fresh, ruddy faces of the husbandman and the mechanic formed a striking contrast to the pallid faces of our young rakes; but the former had slept, while the latter had been up all night and were about to retire when the others were already beginning their day's work.
Robineau left the hotel with the young men. When he was alone in the street, he had some difficulty in making up his mind what to do; the houses seemed to be moving about, and the very earth to be unstable beneath his feet. He gazed with a frightened expression at the people who pa.s.sed; and it is probable that they detected something peculiar in his face or his costume, for they laughed as they looked at him.
Determined, however, to overcome what he took for a pa.s.sing dizziness, Robineau pulled his hat over his eyes, and, exerting himself to the utmost to maintain the perpendicular, ran all the way home without stopping, and arrived there completely exhausted.
The first person Robineau met on the staircase was Fifine, who was going down to buy some milk for her breakfast.
”What! have you just come home?” she asked Robineau, who was trying vainly to put his key in the lock.
”Yes, my dear love, the party is just done.”
”The party! why, it's been daylight a long while; it's after six o'clock.--Well! what makes you fumble at your door like that?”
”I don't know what's got into my key, Fifine, but it simply won't go into the lock.”
”Give it to me; I'll find a way to unlock it.”
Fifine opened the door, and exclaimed, after looking at Robineau more attentively:
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