Upon Dalrymple, who had been all day silent, abstracted, and unlike his usual self, this joyous influence acted like a tonic. As entertainer, he was bound to exert himself, and the exertion did him good. He threw off his melancholy; and with the help, possibly, of somewhat more than his usual quant.i.ty of wine, entered thoroughly into the pa.s.sing joyousness of the hour. What a _recherche_, luxurious extravagant little dinner it was, that evening at the Maison Doree! We had a charming little room overlooking the Boulevard, furnished with as much looking-gla.s.s, crimson-velvet, gilding, and arabesque painting as could be got together within the s.p.a.ce of twelve-feet by eight. Our wine came to table in a silver cooler that Cellini might have wrought. Our meats were served upon porcelain that would have driven Palissy to despair. We had nothing that was in season, except game, and everything that was out; which, by-the-way, appears to be our modern criterion of excellence with respect to a dinner. Finally, we were waited upon by the most imposing of waiters--a waiter whose imperturbable gravity was not to be shaken by any amount of provocation, and whose neckcloth alone was sufficient to qualify him for the church.
How merry we were! How Muller tormented that diplomatic waiter! What stories we told! what puns we made! What brilliant things we said, or fancied we said, over our Chambertin and Johannisberger! Muller knew nothing of the substratum of sadness underlying all that jollity. He little thought how heavy Dalrymple"s strong heart had been that morning.
He had no idea that my friend and I were to part on the morrow, for months or years, as the case might be--he to carry his unrest hither and thither through distant lands; I to remain alone in a strange city, pursuing a distasteful study, and toiling onward to a future without fascination or hope. But, as the gla.s.s seals tell us, "such is life." We are all mysteries to one another. The pleasant fellow whom I invite to dinner because he amuses me, carries a scar on his soul which it would frighten me to see; and he in turn, when he praises my claret, little dreams of the carking care that poisons it upon my palate, and robs it of all its aroma. Perhaps the laughter-loving painter himself had his own little tragedy locked up in some secret corner of the heart that seemed to beat so lightly under that braided blouse of Palais Royal cut and Quartier Latin fashion! Who could tell? And of what use would it be, if it were told? Smiles carry one through the world more agreeably than tears, and if the skeleton is only kept decently out of sight in its own unsuspected closet, so much the better for you and me, and society at large.
Dinner over, and the serious waiter dismissed with the dessert and the empty bottles, we sat by the open window for a long time, sipping our coffee, smoking our cigars, and watching the busy life of the Boulevard below. There the shops were all alight and the pa.s.sers-by more numerous than by day. Carriages were dashing along, full of opera-goers and ball-room beauties. On the pavement just under our window were seated the usual crowd of Boulevard idlers, sipping their _al fresco_ absinthe, and _grog-au-vin._ In the very next room, divided from us by only a slender part.i.tion, was a noisy party of young men and girls. We could hear their bursts of merriment, the c.h.i.n.king of their gla.s.ses as they pledged one another, the popping of the champagne corks, and almost the very jests that pa.s.sed from lip to lip. Presently a band came and played at the corner of an adjoining street. All was mirth, all was life, all was amus.e.m.e.nt and dissipation both in-doors and out-of-doors, in the "care-charming" city of Paris on that pleasant September night; and we, of course, were gay and noisy, like our neighbors. Dalrymple and Muller could scarcely be called new acquaintances. They had met some few times at the _Chicards_, and also, some years before, in Rome. What stories they told of artists whom they had known! What fun they made of Academic dons and grave professors high in authority! What pictures they drew, of life in Rome--in Vienna--in Paris! Though we had no ladies of our party and were only three in number, I am not sure that the merry-makers in the next room laughed any louder or oftener than we!
At length the clock on the mantelpiece warned us that it was already half-past nine, and that we had been three hours at dinner. It was clearly time to vary the evening"s amus.e.m.e.nt in some way or other, and the only question was what next to do? Should we go to a billiard-room?
Or to the Salle Valentinois? Or to some of the cheap theatres on the Boulevard du Temple? Or to the Tableaux Vivants? Or the Cafe des Aveugles? Or take a drive round by the Champs Elysees in an open fly?
At length Muller remembered that some fellow-students were giving a party that evening, and offered to introduce us.
"It is up five pairs of stairs, in the Quartier Latin," said he; "but thoroughly jolly--all students and grisettes. They"ll be delighted to see us."
This admirable proposition was no sooner made than acted upon; so we started immediately, and Dalrymple, who seemed to be well acquainted with the usages of student-life, proposed that we should take with us a store of sweetmeats for the ladies.
"There subsists," observed he, "a mysterious elective affinity between the grisette and the chocolate bon-bon. He who can skilfully exhibit the latter, is almost certain to win the heart of the former. Where the chocolate fails, however, the _marron glace_ is an infallible specific.
I recommend that we lay in a liberal supply of both weapons."
"Carried by acclamation," said Muller. "We can buy them on our way, in the Rue Vivienne. A capital shop; but one that I never patronize--they give no credit."
Chatting thus, and laughing, we made our way across the Boulevard and through a net-work of by-streets into the Rue Vivienne, where we laid siege to a great bon-bon shop--a gigantic depot for dyspepsia at so much per kilogramme--and there filled our pockets with sweets of every imaginable flavor and color. This done, a cab conveyed us in something less than ten minutes across the Pont Neuf to the Quartier Latin.
Muller"s friends were three in number, and all students--one of art, one of law, and one of medicine. They lodged at the top of a dingy house near the Odeon, and being very great friends and very near neighbors were giving this entertainment conjointly. Their names were Gustave, Jules, and Adrien. Adrien was the artist, and lived in the garret, just over the heads of Gustave and Jules, which made it very convenient for a party, and placed a _suite_ of rooms at the disposal of their visitors.
Long before we had achieved the five pairs of stairs, we heard the sound of voices and the sc.r.a.ping of a violin, and on the fifth landing were received by a pretty young lady in a coquettish little cap, whom Muller familiarly addressed as Annette, and who piloted us into a very small bed-room which was already full of hats and coats, bonnets, shawls, and umbrellas. Having added our own paletots and beavers to the general stock, and having each received a little bit of pasteboard in exchange for the same, we were shown into the ball-room by Mademoiselle Annette, who appeared to fill the position of hostess, usher, and general superintendent.
It was a good-sized room, somewhat low in the ceiling, and brilliantly lighted with lots of tallow candles in bottles. The furniture had all been cleared out for the dancers, except a row of benches round the walls, and a chest of draws in a recess between the windows which served as a raised platform for the orchestra. The said orchestra consisted of a violin and accordion, both played by amateurs, with an occasional _obligato_ on the common comb. As for the guests, they were, as Muller had already told us, all students and grisettes--the former wearing every strange variety of beard and blouse; the latter in pretty light-colored muslins and bewitching little caps, with the exception of two who wore flowers in their hair, and belonged to the opera ballet.
They were in the midst of a tremendous galop when we arrived; so we stood at the door and looked on, and Dalrymple flirted with Mademoiselle Annette. As soon as the galop was over, two of our hosts came forward to welcome us.
"The Duke of Dalrymple and the Marquis of Arbuthnot--Messieurs Jules Charpentier and Gustave Dubois," said Muller, with the most _degage_ air in the world.
Monsieur Jules, a tall young man with an enormous false nose of the regular carnival pattern, and Monsieur Gustave, who was short and stout, with a visible high-water mark round his throat and wrists, and curious leather mosaics in his boots, received us very cordially, and did not appear to be in the least surprised at the magnificence of the introduction. On the contrary, they shook hands with us; apologized for the absence of Adrien, who was preparing the supper upstairs; and offered to find us partners for the next valse. Dalrymple immediately proposed for the hand of Mademoiselle Annette. Muller, declining advent.i.tious aid, wandered among the ladies, making himself universally agreeable and trusting for a partner to his own una.s.sisted efforts. For myself, I was indebted to Monsieur Gustave for an introduction to a very charming young lady whose name was Josephine, and with whom I fell over head and ears in love without a moment"s warning.
She was somewhat under the middle height, slender, supple, rosy-lipped, and coquettish to distraction. Her pretty mouth dimpled round with smiles at every word it uttered. Her very eyes laughed. Her hair, which was more adorned than concealed by a tiny muslin cap that clung by some unseen agency to the back of her head, was of a soft, warm, wavy brown, with a woof of gold threading it here and there. Her voice was perhaps a little loud; her conversation rather childish; her accent such as would scarcely have pa.s.sed current in the Faubourg St. Germain--but what of that? One would be worse than foolish to expect style and cultivation in a grisette; and had I not had enough to disgust me with both in Madame de Marignan? What more charming, after all, than youth, beauty, and lightheartedness? Were Noel and Chapsal of any importance to a mouth that could not speak without such a smile as Hebe might have envied?
I was, at all events, in no mood to take exception to these little defects. I am not sure that I did not even regard them in the light of additional attractions. That which in another I should have called _bete_, I set down to the score of _navete_ in Mademoiselle Josephine. One is not diffident at twenty--by the way, I was now twenty-one--especially after dining at the Maison Doree.
Mademoiselle Josephine was frankness itself. Before I had enjoyed the pleasure of her acquaintance for ten minutes, she told me she was an artificial florist; that her _patronne_ lived in the Rue Menilmontant; that she went to her work every morning at nine, and left it every evening at eight; that she lodged _sous les toits_ at No. 70, Rue Aubry-le-Boucher; that her relations lived at Juvisy; and that she went to see them now and then on Sundays, when the weather and her funds permitted.
"Is the country pretty at Juvisy, Mademoiselle?" I asked, by way of keeping up the conversation.
"Oh, M"sieur, it is a real paradise. There are trees and fields, and there is the Seine close by, and a chateau, and a park, and a church on a hill, ... _ma foi!_ there is nothing in Paris half so pretty; not even the Jardin des Plantes!"
"And have you been there lately?"
"Not for eight weeks, at the very least, M"sieur. But then it costs three francs and a half for the return ticket, and since I quarrelled with Emile...."
"Emile!" said I, quickly. "Who is he?"
"He is a picture-frame maker, M"sieur, and works for a great dealer in the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre. He was my sweetheart, and he took me out somewhere every Sunday, till we quarrelled."
"And what did you quarrel about, Mademoiselle?"
My pretty partner laughed and tossed her head.
"Eh, _mon Dieu_! he was jealous."
"Jealous of whom?"
"Of a gentleman--an artist--who wanted to paint me in one of his pictures. Emile did not like me to go to his _atelier_ so often; and the gentleman gave me a shawl (such a pretty shawl!) and a canary in a lovely green and gold cage; and...."
"And Emile objected ?"
"Yes, M"sieur."
"How very unreasonable!"
"That"s just what I said, M"sieur."
"And have you never seen him since!"
"Oh, yes--he keeps company now with my cousin Cecile, and she humors him in everything,"
"And the artist--what of him, Mademoiselle?"
"Oh, I sat to him every day, till his picture was finished. _Il etait bien gentil_. He took me to the theatre several times, and once to a fete at Versailles; but that was after Emile and I had broken it off."
"Did you find it tiresome, sitting as a model?"
"_Mais, comme ci, et comme ca_! It was a beautiful dress, and became me wonderfully. To be sure, it was rather cold!"
"May I ask what character you were supposed to represent, Mademoiselle?"
"He said it was Phryne. I have no idea who she was; but I think she must have found it very uncomfortable if she always wore sandals, and went without stockings."
I looked down at her little foot, and thought how pretty it must have looked in the Greek sandal. I pictured her to myself in the graceful Greek robe, with a chalice in her hand and her temples crowned with flowers. What a delicious Phryne! And what a happy fellow Praxiteles must have been!
"It was a privilege, Mademoiselle, to be allowed to see you in so charming a costume," I said, pressing her hand tenderly. "I envy that artist from the bottom of my heart."
Mademoiselle Josephine smiled, and returned the pressure.
"One might borrow it," said she, "for the Bal de l"Opera."
"Ah, Mademoiselle, if I dared only aspire to the honor of conducting you!"
"_Dame_! it is nearly four months to come!"
"True, but in the meantime, Mademoiselle----"