But my troubles were not to be so speedily ended. Among the ten or fifteen equipages which I found drawn up in file, there was not one hackney vehicle. They were private carriages, and all, therefore, inaccessible.
Did I say inaccessible?
A bold idea occurred to me. The rain was so heavy that it could scarcely be expected to last many minutes. The carriage at the very end of the line was not likely to be the first called; and, even if it were, one could spring out in a moment, if necessary. In short, the very daring of the deed was as attractive as the shelter! I made my way swiftly down the line. The last carriage was a neat little brougham, and the coachman, with his hat pulled down over his eyes, and his collar drawn up about his ears, was too much absorbed in taking care of himself and his horses to pay much attention to a foot-pa.s.senger. I pa.s.sed boldly by--doubled back stealthily on my own steps--looked round cautiously--opened the door, and glided in.
It was a delightfully comfortable little vehicle--cushioned, soft, yielding, and pervaded by a delicate perfume of eglantine. Wondering who the owner might be--if she was young--if she was pretty--if she was married, or single, or a widow--I settled myself in the darkest corner of the carriage, intending only to remain there till the rain had abated. Thus I fell, as fate would have it--first into a profound reverie, and then into a still profounder sleep. How long this sleep may have lasted I know not. I only remember becoming slowly conscious of a gentle movement, which, without awaking, partly roused me; of a check to that movement, which brought my thoughts suddenly to the surface; of a stream of light--of an open door--a crowded hall--a lady waiting to come out, and a little crowd of attentive beaux surrounding her!
I comprehended my position in an instant, and the impossibility of extricating myself from it. To get out next the house was to brave detection; whilst at the other side I found myself blocked in by carriages. Escape was now hopeless! I turned hot and cold; I shrank back; I would have gone through the bottom of the carriage, if I could.
At this moment, to my horror, the footman opened the door. I gave myself up for lost, and, in a sudden access of desperation, was on the point of rushing out _coute que coute_, when the lady ran forward; sprang lightly in; recoiled; and uttered a little breathless cry of surprise and apprehension!
"_Mon Dieu_, Madame! what is it? Are you hurt?" cried two or three of the gentlemen, running out, bareheaded, to her a.s.sistance.
But, to my amazement, she unfastened her cloak, and threw it over me in such a manner as to leave me completely hidden beneath the folds.
"Oh, nothing, thank you!--I only caught my foot in my cloak. I am really quite ashamed to have alarmed you! A thousand thanks--good-night."
And so, with something of a slight tremor in her voice, the lady drew up the window. The next instant the carriage moved on.
And now, what was to be done? I blessed the accident which rendered me invisible; but, at the same time, asked myself how it was to end.
Should I wait till she reached her own door, and then, still feigning sleep, allow myself to be discovered? Or should I take the bull by the horns, and reveal myself? If the latter, would she scream, or faint, or go into hysterics? Then, again, supposing she resumed her cloak ... a cold damp broke out upon my forehead at the mere thought! All at once, just as these questions flashed across my mind, the lady drew the mantle aside, and said:--
"How imprudent of you to hide in my carriage?"
I could not believe my ears.
"Suppose any of those people had caught sight of you ... why, it would have been all over Paris to-morrow! Happily, I had the presence of mind to cover you with my cloak; otherwise ... but there, Monsieur, I have a great mind to be very angry with you!"
It was now clear that I was mistaken for some one else. Fortunately the carriage-lamps were unlit, the windows still blurred with rain, and the night intensely dark; so, feeling like a wretch reprieved on the scaffold, I shrank farther and farther into the corner, glad to favor a mistake which promised some hope of escape.
"_Eh bien_!" said the lady, half tenderly, half reproachfully; "have you nothing to say to me?"
Say to her, indeed! What could I say to her? Would not my voice betray me directly?
"Ah," she continued, without waiting for a reply; "you are ashamed of the cruel scene of this morning! Well, since you have not allowed the night to pa.s.s without seeking a reconciliation, I suppose I must forgive you!"
I thought, at this point, that I could not do better than press her hand, which was exquisitely soft and small--softer and smaller than even Madame de Marignan"s.
"Naughty Hippolyte!" murmured my companion. "Confess, now, that you were unreasonable."
I sighed heavily, and caressed the little hand with both of mine.
"And are you very penitent?"
I expressed my penitence by another prodigious sigh, and ventured, this time, to kiss the tips of the dainty fingers.
"_Ciel_!" exclaimed the lady. "You have shaved off your beard! What can have induced you to do such a thing?"
My beard, indeed! Alas! I would have given any money for even a moustache! However, the fatal moment was come when I must speak.
"_Mon cher ange_," I began, trying a hoa.r.s.e whisper, "I--I--the fact is--a bet--"
"A bet indeed! The idea of sacrificing such a handsome beard for a mere bet! I never heard of anything so foolish. But how hoa.r.s.e you are, Hippolyte!"
"All within the last hour," whispered I. "I was caught in the storm, just now, and ..."
"And have taken cold, for my sake! Alas! my poor, dear friend, why did you wait to speak to me? Why did you not go home at once, and change your clothes? Your sleeve, I declare, is still quite damp! Hippolyte, if you fall ill, I shall never forgive myself!"
I kissed her hand again. It was much pleasanter than whispering, and expressed all that was necessary.
"But you have not once asked after poor Bibi!" exclaimed my companion, after a momentary silence. "Poor, dear Bibi, who has been suffering from a martyrdom with her cough all the afternoon!"
Now, who the deuce was Bibi? She might be a baby. Or--who could tell?--she might be a poodle? On this point, however, I was left uninformed; for my unknown friend, who, luckily, seemed fond of talking and had a great deal to say, launched off into another topic immediately.
"After all," said she, "I should have been wrong not to go to the party!
My uncle was evidently pleased with my compliance; and it is not wise to vex one"s rich uncles, if one can help it--is it, Hippolyte!"
I pressed her hand again.
"Besides, Monsieur Delaroche was not there. He was not even invited; so you see how far they were from laying matchmaking plots, and how groundless were all your fears and reproaches!"
Monsieur Delaroche! Could this be the Delaroche of my special aversion?
I pressed her hand again, more closely, more tenderly, and listened for what might come next.
"Well, it is all over now! And will you promise _never, never, never_ to be jealous again? Then, to be jealous of such a creature as that ridiculous Delaroche--a man who knows nothing--who can think and talk only of his own absurd self!--a man who has not even wit enough to see that every one laughs at him!"
I was delighted. I longed to embrace her on the spot! Was there ever such a charming, sensible, lively creature?
"Besides, the c.o.xcomb is just now devoting himself, body and soul (such as they are!) to that insufferable little _intriguante_, Madame de Marignan. He is to be seen with her in every drawing-room and theatre throughout Paris. For my part, I am amazed that a woman of the world should suffer herself to be compromised to that extent--especially one so experienced in these _affaires du coeur_."
Madame de Marignan! Compromised--experienced--_intriguante_! I felt as if I were choking.
"To be sure, there is that poor English lad whom she drags about with her, to play propriety," continued she; "but do you suppose the world is blinded by so shallow an artifice?"
"What English lad?" I asked, startled out of all sense of precaution, and desperately resolved to know the worst.
"What English lad? Why, Hippolyte, you are more stupid than ever! I pointed him out to you the other night at the Comedie Francaise--a pale, handsome boy, of about nineteen or twenty, with brown curling hair, and very fine eyes, which were riveted on Madame de Marignan the whole evening. Poor fellow! I cannot help pitying him."
"Then--then, you think she really does not love him?" I said. And this time my voice was hoa.r.s.e enough, without any need of feigning.
"Love him! Ridiculous! What does such a woman understand by love?
Certainly neither the sentiment nor the poetry of it! Tush, Hippolyte! I do not wish to be censorious; but every one knows that ever since M. de Marignan has been away in Algiers, that woman has had, not one devoted admirer, but a dozen; and now that her husband is coming back...."
"Coming back! ... her husband!" I echoed, half rising in my place, and falling back again, as if stunned. "Good heavens! is she not a widow?"
It was now the lady"s turn to be startled.
"A widow!" she repeated. "Why, you know as well as I that--_Dieu_! To whom I am speaking?"