Baron Trigault's Vengeance [83]
times Paris was like some great shop where she could select whatever she chose. She said: 'I want this,' and she got it. She saw a handsome young fellow and wanted him for her husband; her father, who could refuse her nothing, consented, and now behold the result!"
He had lingered longer at the window than he had meant to do, perhaps because he could see that the young woman was talking with some person in a back room, the door of which stood open. Chupin tried to find out who this person was, but he did not succeed; and he was about to go in when suddenly he saw Madame Paul rise from her seat and say a few words with an air of displeasure. And this time her eyes, instead of turning to the open door, were fixed on a part of the shop directly opposite her. "Is there some one there as well, then?" Chupin wondered.
He changed his post of observation, and, by standing on tiptoe, he succeeded in distinguishing a puny little boy, some three or four years old, and clad in rags, who was playing with the remnants of a toy-horse. The sight of this child increased Chupin's indignation. "So there's a child?" he growled. "The rascal not only deserts his wife, but he leaves his child to starve! We may as well make a note of that: and when we settle up our accounts, he shall pay dearly for his villainy." With this threat he brusquely entered the shop.
"What do you wish, sir?" asked the woman.
"Nothing; I bring you a letter, madame."
"A letter for me! You must be mistaken."
"Excuse me; aren't you Madame Paul?"
"Yes."
"Then this is for you." And he handed her the missive which Florent had confided to his care.
Madame Paul took hold of it with some hesitation, eying the messenger suspiciously meanwhile; but, on seeing the handwriting, she uttered a cry of surprise. And, turning toward the open door, she called, "M. Mouchon! M. Mouchon! It's from him--it's from my husband; from Paul. Come, come!"
A bald-headed, corpulent man, who looked some fifty years of age, now timidly emerged from the room behind the shop with a cap in his hand. "Ah, well! my dear child," he said, in an oily voice, "what was I telling you just now? Everything comes to those who know how to wait."
However she had already broken the seal, and she was now reading the letter eagerly, clapping her hands with delight as she finished its perusal. "He consents!" she exclaimed. "He's frightened--he begs me to wait a little--look--read!"
But M. Mouchon could not read without his spectacles, and he lost at least two minutes in searching his pockets before he found them. And when they were adjusted, the light was so dim that it took him at least three minutes more to decipher the missive. Chupin had spent this time in scrutinizing--in appraising the man, as it were. "What is this venerable gentleman doing here?" he thought. "He's a middle class man, that's evident from his linen. He's married--there's a wedding-ring on his finger; he has a daughter, for the ends of his necktie are embroidered. He lives in the neighborhood, for, well dressed as he is, he wears a cap. But what was he doing there in that back room in the dark?"
Meanwhile M. Mouchon had finished reading the letter. "What did I tell you?" he said complacently.
"Yes, you were right!" answered Madame Paul as she took up the letter and read it again with her eyes sparkling with joy. "And now what shall I do?" she asked. "Wait, shall I not?"
"No, no!" exclaimed the elderly gentleman, in evident dismay. "You must strike the iron while it's hot."
"But he promises me----"
"To promise and to keep one's promises are two different things."
"He wants a reply."
"Tell him----" But he stopped short, calling her attention with a gesture to the messenger, whose eyes were glittering with intense curiosity.
She understood. So filling a glass with some liquor, she placed it before Chupin, and offered him a cigar, saying: "Take a seat-- here's something to keep you from feeling impatient while you wait here." Thereupon she followed the old gentleman into
He had lingered longer at the window than he had meant to do, perhaps because he could see that the young woman was talking with some person in a back room, the door of which stood open. Chupin tried to find out who this person was, but he did not succeed; and he was about to go in when suddenly he saw Madame Paul rise from her seat and say a few words with an air of displeasure. And this time her eyes, instead of turning to the open door, were fixed on a part of the shop directly opposite her. "Is there some one there as well, then?" Chupin wondered.
He changed his post of observation, and, by standing on tiptoe, he succeeded in distinguishing a puny little boy, some three or four years old, and clad in rags, who was playing with the remnants of a toy-horse. The sight of this child increased Chupin's indignation. "So there's a child?" he growled. "The rascal not only deserts his wife, but he leaves his child to starve! We may as well make a note of that: and when we settle up our accounts, he shall pay dearly for his villainy." With this threat he brusquely entered the shop.
"What do you wish, sir?" asked the woman.
"Nothing; I bring you a letter, madame."
"A letter for me! You must be mistaken."
"Excuse me; aren't you Madame Paul?"
"Yes."
"Then this is for you." And he handed her the missive which Florent had confided to his care.
Madame Paul took hold of it with some hesitation, eying the messenger suspiciously meanwhile; but, on seeing the handwriting, she uttered a cry of surprise. And, turning toward the open door, she called, "M. Mouchon! M. Mouchon! It's from him--it's from my husband; from Paul. Come, come!"
A bald-headed, corpulent man, who looked some fifty years of age, now timidly emerged from the room behind the shop with a cap in his hand. "Ah, well! my dear child," he said, in an oily voice, "what was I telling you just now? Everything comes to those who know how to wait."
However she had already broken the seal, and she was now reading the letter eagerly, clapping her hands with delight as she finished its perusal. "He consents!" she exclaimed. "He's frightened--he begs me to wait a little--look--read!"
But M. Mouchon could not read without his spectacles, and he lost at least two minutes in searching his pockets before he found them. And when they were adjusted, the light was so dim that it took him at least three minutes more to decipher the missive. Chupin had spent this time in scrutinizing--in appraising the man, as it were. "What is this venerable gentleman doing here?" he thought. "He's a middle class man, that's evident from his linen. He's married--there's a wedding-ring on his finger; he has a daughter, for the ends of his necktie are embroidered. He lives in the neighborhood, for, well dressed as he is, he wears a cap. But what was he doing there in that back room in the dark?"
Meanwhile M. Mouchon had finished reading the letter. "What did I tell you?" he said complacently.
"Yes, you were right!" answered Madame Paul as she took up the letter and read it again with her eyes sparkling with joy. "And now what shall I do?" she asked. "Wait, shall I not?"
"No, no!" exclaimed the elderly gentleman, in evident dismay. "You must strike the iron while it's hot."
"But he promises me----"
"To promise and to keep one's promises are two different things."
"He wants a reply."
"Tell him----" But he stopped short, calling her attention with a gesture to the messenger, whose eyes were glittering with intense curiosity.
She understood. So filling a glass with some liquor, she placed it before Chupin, and offered him a cigar, saying: "Take a seat-- here's something to keep you from feeling impatient while you wait here." Thereupon she followed the old gentleman into