Part 15 (1/2)

But the maid soon returned and said with a mocking air:

”Monsieur swore because I woke him, and sent me about my business; he says you must come again.”

”Did you give him my name?”

”Yes, monsieur, but that didn't do any good.”

”Ah! that didn't do any good? Very well, I will call again.”

And Robineau went away in a very ill humor, saying to himself:

”If that man had paid over all my money, I would change notaries instantly. Let's go to Alfred's.”

He arrived at the hotel De Marcey before seven o'clock and found the servants walking about the courtyard. Alfred's valet stopped Robineau, saying:

”My master is asleep, monsieur.”

”Bah! that doesn't matter; he won't be sorry to see me, he expects me,”

was the reply; and Robineau went upstairs, walked through various rooms and arrived at last in Alfred's bedroom, where he found his friend fast asleep. He shook him violently, crying:

”Well, my friend! aren't we ever going to get up? Come, come, lazybones!”

Alfred opened his eyes, looked up at Robineau, and exclaimed:

”Hallo! is it you? What in the devil do you want of me?”

”I have come to talk business with you. If I am not mistaken, you told me yesterday that you had seen a very fine estate near Mantes, which----”

”Eh! the devil take you and your estates! I was having the most delicious dream; I was coasting with Madame de Gerville, and the sled broke; but instead of being hurt, we were hugging each other so tight, we fell so softly; and I felt the pressure of her body. I touched----”

”I beg your pardon for waking you, my friend,” said Robineau, ”but----”

”And I,” said Alfred, ”beg you to pardon me if I go to sleep again.”

And he paid no further heed to Robineau, who cried:

”What, my friend! you are going to sleep again just on account of a dream of coasting and such nonsense?”

Seeing that it was useless to speak to him, Robineau decided to take his leave.

”Let's go to Monsieur Edouard Beaumont's,” he said to himself. ”A poet, an author ought to rise early; genius should be up with the lark. At all events, I'll ask him to breakfast with me, and they say that authors are very susceptible to such invitations.”

So he betook himself to Edouard's lodgings, where he had never been. He knew the address, however, and succeeded in finding it. The young author did not live at a hotel, nor did he occupy a first floor apartment; but he had lodgings in a pleasant house in Rue d'Enghien. The concierge did not stop Robineau, but merely said to him:

”Go up to the fourth floor.”

”The fourth floor--that's rather high,” said Robineau to himself. ”To be sure, the staircase is very clean and very pleasant. But a poet--there's no law compelling them to be rich. And yet I have heard Alfred say that Edouard was in comfortable circ.u.mstances, that he had about four thousand francs a year. That used to seem a fortune to me.”

On reaching the fourth floor Robineau rang once, twice; no answer. Not discouraged, he rang a third time, and at last heard Edouard's voice, calling: