"Not at all; we will take a hack."
"Really! Oh, how it would amuse me to go in a carriage, if I had not so much sorrow. And I must have sorrow, for this is the first day since I lived here that I have not sung. My birds are all astonished.
Poor little things! they do not know what it means; two or three times Papa Cretu has sung a little to entice me. I wished to amuse him; but after a moment I began to weep; Ramonette then tried, but I could answer no more."
[Ill.u.s.tration: MENACED IN PRISON]
"What singular names you have given your birds--Papa Cretu, Ramonette?"
"M. Rudolph, my birds are the joy of my solitude; they are my best friends. I have given them the names of good people who were the joy of my childhood, my best friends. Without reckoning, to finish the resemblance, that Papa Cretu and Ramonette were as gay and tuneful as the birds of heaven. My adopted parents were thus called. They are ridiculous names for birds, I know; but it only concerns me. Now, it was on this very subject that I saw Germain had a good heart."
"He had, eh?"
"Certainly; M. Girandeau and M. Cabrion--M. Cabrion, above all--were forever making jokes on the names of my birds. "To call a canary Papa Cretu, did you ever?" M. Cabrion never finished, and then he would laugh--such laughs. "If it were a c.o.c.k," said he, "very well, you I might call it Cretu (combed). It is the same with the other one; Ramonette sounds too much like Ramoneur (chimney sweep)." At length he made me so angry that I would not go out with him for two Sundays, just to teach him; and I told him, very seriously, that if he recommenced his jokes, which were unpleasant to me, we should never go out together again."
"What a courageous resolution!"
"It cost me a good deal, M. Rudolph--I looked so eagerly for my Sunday excursions. I had a sorrowful heart, I tell you, to remain home all alone of a fine day; but never mind, I preferred rather to sacrifice my Sunday than to continue to hear M. Cabrion make fun of what I respected. Except for this, and the ideas attached to it, I would have preferred to give other names to my birds. There is, above all, one name I should have loved to adoration--Humming-Bird. Well, I cannot do it, because I never shall call my birds otherwise than Cretu and Ramonette; it would seem to me that I sacrificed them, that I forgot my kind adopted parents-wouldn"t it, M. Rudolph?"
"You are right-a thousand times right. Germain did not make fun of these names?"
"On the contrary; only the first time it appeared droll to him, as to every one else--it is very simple; but when I explained my reasons, as I had explained them to M. Cabrion, the tears came into his eyes. From that day I said, "M. Germain has a kind heart; he has nothing against him but his sadness." And do you see, M. Rudolph, that he has brought me misfortune to reproach him for his sadness. Then I did not comprehend how one could be sad. Now I comprehend it but too well. But now my work is finished, will you give me my shawl, neighbor It is not cold enough for a cloak, is it?"
"We shall go in a carriage, and I will bring you back."
"It is true, we shall go and return quicker; it will be so much time gained."
"But, on reflection, how are you going to manage? Your work will suffer from your visit to the prisons?"
"Oh no, no! I have laid my plans. In the first place, I have my Sundays; I will go and see Louise and Germain on these days--it will serve me for a walk and recreation; then, in the week, I shall go to the prison once or twice; each time will cost me three good hours a day. Well, to make up for this, I will work one hour more each day, and I will go to bed at twelve o"clock instead of eleven; that will give me a clear gain of seven or eight hours each week, which I can use in going to see Louise and Germain. You see, I am richer than I appear to be," added Rigolette, smiling.
"And do you not fear this will fatigue you?"
"Bah! I can do it--one can do anything; and, besides, it will not last forever."
"Here is your shawl, neighbor. I shall not be so indiscreet as to bring my lips too close to this charming neck."
"Oh, neighbor! take care, you p.r.i.c.k me."
"Come, the pin is crooked."
"Well, take another--there, on the pincushion. Oh, I forget! Will you do me a favor, neighbor?"
"Command, neighbor."
"Make me a good pen, very coa.r.s.e, so that I can, on my return, write to poor Germain that his commissions are executed. He shall have my letter to-morrow morning early."
"And where are your pens?"
"There, on the table; the knife is in the drawer. Stop, I am going to light my candle, for it grows quite dark."
"I shall want it to mend the pen."
"And, besides, I can"t see to tie my bonnet."
Rigolette took a match, and lit an end of candle, which was in a very shining candlestick.
"Dear me! wax candle, neighbor--what luxury!"
"The little I burn costs me a trifle more than a tallow candle, but it is so much neater."
"Not much dearer?"
"Oh, no. I buy these ends of candles by the pound, and a half-pound serves me a month."
"But," said Rudolph, mending the pen carefully, while the grisette tied her bonnet before the gla.s.s, "I see no preparations for your dinner."
"I haven"t a shadow of hunger. I took a cup of milk this morning; I will take another to-night, with a little bread! I shall have enough."
"Will you not come and eat dinner with me when we come away from Germain"s?"
"I thank you, neighbor; I have my heart too full; another time with pleasure. What do you say to the evening of the day that poor Germain comes out of prison? I invite myself, and afterward we will go to the play. Is it agreed?"
"It is, neighbor; I a.s.sure you that I shall not forget this engagement. But to-day you refuse me?"
"Yes, M. Rudolph; I should be too stupid to-day; besides, it would take up too much time. Only think--it is now, if ever, that I must not be lazy."
"Come, I will give up this pleasure for to-day."
"Here, take my bundle, neighbor; go before, I will shut the door."
"Here is an excellent pen--now, your bundle."
"Take care you don"t tumble it--it is poult de soie--it shows the folds--hold it in your hand--that way--lightly. Well, pa.s.s on, I will light you."
Rudolph descended, preceded by Rigolette. As they pa.s.sed the lodge they saw Pipelet, who, with his arms hanging down, advanced toward them from the bottom of the alley. In one hand he held the sign, which announced to the public that he would "deal in friendship" with Cabrion; and in the other, the portrait of the infernal painter.
The despair of Alfred was so overwhelming that his chin rested on his breast, and nothing could be seen but the top of his hat. On seeing him approach, with his head down, toward Rudolph and Rigolette, one would have said it was a goat or a negro b.u.t.t preparing for combat.
Anastasia appeared on the threshold, and cried at the sight of her husband. "Well, old darling! here you are, hey? What did the commissary say to you? Alfred, pay attention; now you are going to poke yourself against my prince of lodgers. Who has stolen your eyes?
Pardon, M. Rudolph; that beggar Cabrion stupefies him more and more-- he certainly will make him turn to a jacka.s.s, my poor love! Alfred, answer!"
At this voice, so dear to his heart, Pipelet raised his head; his features were imprinted with a melancholy bitterness.
"What did the commissary say to you?" repeated Anastasia.
"Anastasia, we must collect the little that we possess, clasp our friends in our arms, pack our trunks, and expatriate ourselves from France-from my "belle France!"-for, sure now of impunity, the monster is capable of pursuing me everywhere."
"Then, the commissary!"
"The commissary!" cried Pipelet, with savage indignation; "the commissary laughed in my face."