"I am certainly not likely to live for more than five or six years longer. I am nearly seventy-three, and far from strong, even considering my age. The other evening I thought I was going to die, and could hardly manage to crawl into bed."
But Chicot was not going to be taken in.
"Come, come, old lady, you are as strong as the church tower, and will live till you are a hundred at least; you will be sure to see me put underground first."
The whole day was spent in discussing the money, and as the old woman would not give way, the landlord consented to give the fifty crowns, and she insisted upon having ten crowns over and above to strike the bargain.
Three years pa.s.sed by, and the old dame did not seem to have grown a day older. Chicot was in despair, and it seemed to him as if he had been paying that annuity for fifty years, that he had been taken in, done, that he was ruined. From time to time he went to see his annuitant, just as one goes in July to see when the harvest is likely to begin. She always met him with a cunning look, and one would have felt inclined to think that she was congratulating herself on the trick she had played him. Seeing how well and hearty she seemed, he very soon got into his tilbury again, growling to himself:
"Will you never die, you old brute?"
He did not know what to do, and he felt inclined to strangle her when he saw her. He hated her with a ferocious, cunning hatred, the hatred of a peasant who has been robbed, and began to cast about for means of getting rid of her.
One day he came to see her again, rubbing his hands like he did the first time when he proposed the bargain, and, after having chatted for a few minutes, he said:
"Why do you never come and have a bit of dinner at my place when you are in epreville? The people are talking about it, and saying that we are not on friendly terms, and that pains me. You know it will cost you nothing if you come, for I don"t look at the price of a dinner. Come whenever you feel inclined; I shall be very glad to see you."
Old Mother Magloire did not need to be told twice, and the next day but one, as she was going to town in any case, it being market-day, in her gig, driven by her man, she, without any demur, put her trap up in Chicot"s stable, and went in search of her promised dinner.
The publican was delighted, and treated her like a lady, giving her roast fowl, blackpudding, leg of mutton, and bacon and cabbage. But she ate next to nothing. She had always been a small eater, and had generally lived on a little soup and a crust of bread and b.u.t.ter.
Chicot was disappointed, and pressed her to eat more, but she refused, and she would drink next to nothing either, and declined any coffee, so he asked her:
"But surely, you will take a little drop of brandy or liqueur?"
"Well, as to that, I don"t know that I will refuse." Whereupon he shouted out:
"Rosalie, bring the superfine brandy,--_the special_,--you know."
The servant appeared, carrying a long bottle ornamented with a paper vine-leaf, and he filled two liqueur gla.s.ses.
"Just try that; you will find it first-rate."
The good woman drank it slowly in sips, so as to make the pleasure last all the longer, and when she had finished her gla.s.s, draining the last drops so as to make the pleasure last all the longer, she said:
"Yes, that is first-rate!"
Almost before she had said it, Chicot had poured her out another gla.s.sful. She wished to refuse, but it was too late, and she drank it very slowly, like she had done the first, and he asked her to have a third. She objected, but he persisted.
"It is as mild as milk, you know; I can drink ten or a dozen without any ill effects; it goes down like sugar, and leaves no signs in the head, one would think that it evaporated on the tongue. It is the most wholesome thing you can drink."
She took it, for she really wished to have it, but she left half the gla.s.s.
Then Chicot, in an excess of generosity, said:
"Look here, as it is so much to your taste, I will give you a small keg of it, just to show that you and I are still excellent friends." So she took one away with her, feeling slightly overcome by the effects of what she had drunk.
The next day the innkeeper drove into her yard, and took a little iron-hooped keg out of his gig. He insisted on her tasting the contents, to make sure it was the same delicious article, and, when they had each of them drunk three more gla.s.ses, he said, as he was going away:
"Well, you know, when it is all gone, there is more left; don"t be modest, for I shall not mind. The sooner it is finished, the better pleased I shall be."
Four days later he came again. The old woman was outside her door cutting up the bread for her soup.
He went up to her, and put his face close to hers, so that he might smell her breath; and when he smelt the alcohol he felt pleased.
"I suppose you will give me a gla.s.s of _the special_?" he said. And they had three gla.s.ses each.
Soon, however, it began to be whispered abroad that Mother Magloire was in the habit of getting drunk all by herself. She was picked up in her kitchen, then in her yard, then in the roads in the neighborhood, and she was often brought home like a log.
Chicot did not go near her any more, and, when people spoke to him about her, he used to say, putting on a distressed look:
"It is a great pity that she should have taken to drink at her age; but when people get old there is no remedy. It will be the death of her in the long run."
And it certainly was the death of her. She died the next winter. About Christmas-time she fell down, unconscious, in the snow, and was found dead the next morning.
And when Chicot came in for the farm he said:
"It was very stupid of her; if she had not taken to drink she might very well have lived for ten years longer."
HOW HE GOT THE LEGION OF HONOR
Some people are born with a predominant instinct, with some vocation or some desire which has been evoked as soon as they begin to speak or to think.
Ever since he was a child M. Caillard had only had one idea in his head--to be decorated. When he was still quite a small boy he used to wear a zinc Cross of the Legion of Honor in his tunic, just like other children wear a soldier"s cap, and he took his mother"s hand in the street with a proud look, sticking out his little chest with its red ribbon and metal star so that it might show to advantage.
His studies were not a success, and he failed in his Examination for Bachelor of Arts; so, not knowing what to do, he married a pretty girl, as he had plenty of money of his own.
They lived in Paris, like many rich middle-cla.s.s people do, mixing with their own particular set, without going among other people, and proud of knowing a Deputy, who might perhaps be a Minister some day, while two Chiefs of Division were among their friends.
But Mons. Caillard could not get rid of his one absorbing idea, and he felt constantly unhappy because he had not the right to wear a little bit of colored ribbon in his b.u.t.tonhole.
When he met any men who were decorated, on the boulevards, he looked at them askance, with intense jealousy. Sometimes, when he had nothing to do in the afternoon, he would count them, and say to himself: "Just let me see how many I shall meet between the Madeleine and the Rue Druot."
Then he would walk slowly, looking at every coat with a practiced eye for the little bit of red ribbon, and when he had got to the end of his walk he always said the numbers out aloud. "Eight officers and seventeen knights. As many as that! It is stupid to sow the Cross broadcast in that fashion. I wonder how many I shall meet going back?"
And he returned slowly, unhappy when the crowd of pa.s.sers-by interfered with his seeing them.
He knew the places where most were to be found. They swarmed in the Palais Royal. Fewer were seen in the Avenue de l"Opera than in the Rue de la Paix, while the right side of the boulevard was more frequented by them than the left.
They also seemed to prefer certain cafes and theaters. Whenever he saw a group of white-haired old gentlemen standing together in the middle of the pavement, interfering with the traffic, he used to say to himself: "They are officers of the Legion of Honor," and he felt inclined to take off his hat to them.
He had often remarked that the officers had a different bearing to the mere knights. They carried their head differently, and one felt that they enjoyed a higher official consideration, and a more widely-extended importance.