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WHILE 
 PARIS LAUGHED 
 
 Being Pranks and Passions of 
 The Poet Tricotrin 
 
 BY 
 LEONARD MERRICK 
 
 AUTHOB OP "CONRAD IN QUEST OP HIS YOUTH," "THE VAN WHO 
 UNDERSTOOD WOUEN," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 
 
 681 FIFTH AVENUE 
 
COPTHIGHT, 1918, 
 BT E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANT 
 
 AU Rights Reserved 
 
 Printed In the United States of America 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTEB PAOB 
 
 I "Onest MiEux Ici Qu'en Face" ... 11 
 
 II. "At Home, Beloved, At Home" ... 29 
 
 III. Monsieur Blotto and the Lions ... 54 
 
 IV. The Meeting in the Gal^eies Lafayette 78 
 V. The Woman in the Book 102 
 
 VI. The Piece of Sttgab 127 
 
 VII. The Banquets of Kiki 150 
 
 VIII. The Poet Grows Practical 173 
 
 IX. A Reformed Character 205 
 
 X. Antiques and Amoretti 228 
 
 XL Waiting for Heneiette 251 
 
 XII. Antenuptial 274 
 
WHILE PARIS LAUGHED 
 
WHILE PARIS LAUGHED 
 
 "On Est Mibxjx Ici Qu'en Face" 
 
 ON the quai de Passy, in Paris, stands an nn- 
 .attractive little cafe with a witty window. 
 A faded announcement in the language of the land 
 informs the observant that "One is Better Off in 
 Here than Opposite." And when one glances 
 opposite, the alternative is — ^the river. 
 
 Without a premonition that he was to discover 
 this humble cafe, so remote from his lodging off 
 the avenue du Maine, monsieur Xavier Mariquot, 
 on an evening of his twenty-fourth summer, bad© 
 farewell to the world. 
 
 On the table, explaining the motives for his 
 suicide, lay an epistle that he had been revising 
 for some hours. It was directed to a friend, but 
 as Mariquot was an aspiring poet, it was intended 
 primarily for the Press. Now that it was finished 
 and sealed, the cheerfulness induced by its com- 
 position deserted him; he reflected wistfully that 
 he himself would never see his pathetic letter in 
 print, and regretted that it could not appear be- 
 ll 
 
12 While Paris Laughed 
 
 fore he died. He wondered whether the public 
 would do justice to his metaphors. Also, he won- 
 dered whether the news would be headed "Suicide 
 Of A Poet," or "Lovers Drown Together." He 
 hoped for the former. 
 
 The artistry of Mariquot had moved him to 
 make such a host of alterations in the letter before 
 the fair copy was finally accomplished that the 
 floor was strewn with the rough drafts. He col- 
 lected these, and, having burnt them carefully — 
 all of us would wish our letter on the brink of 
 suicide to be regarded as spontaneous — ^took his 
 hat from the accustomed peg. 
 
 "For the last time!" said the youth thought- 
 fully. He cast a backward glance at the room 
 and slammed the door. 
 
 A full moon shone over Montpamasse, and life 
 did not look repellent to him. He couldn't avoid 
 remembering that this double tragedy had been 
 the suggestion of the lady whom he was walking 
 very slowly to meet, and that when he dramati- 
 cally agreed to it he had, so to speak, been 
 "rushed." Originally it had been her Southern 
 temperament, plus her Southern beauty, that en- 
 slaved him, but at that time he had not foreseen 
 his father wrenching him from Poetry and Paris 
 and convulsing two kindred souls. In view of his 
 implacable parent, perhaps a gramme or two less 
 temperament in the lady might have made for 
 good? To be sure, a career of commerce in Eennes 
 would have been disgusting, but the river would 
 
"On Est Mieux Ici Qu'en Face" 13 
 
 be very deep. Aad he was touchingly young to 
 die. 
 
 Well, all Paris ■would say as much, when they 
 read his letter in the newspapers! The reflec- 
 tion encouraged him. "So young! Poor boy!" 
 Boulevardiers would shake their heads compas- 
 sionately over their aperitifs; lovely women would 
 utter his name in salons: "Xavier Mariquot, evi- 
 dently a genius, gone to his grave!" Yes, he 
 was going to create a sensation at last ! , . . Still, 
 he wouldn't be here to enjoy it. ' ' There 's always 
 something!" sighed Mariquot, glowering at the 
 heavens. 
 
 She was waiting for him by the BuUier-Nou- 
 veau. She wore a simple frock of black, and 
 though she usually affected hats with a sweeping 
 brim, had donned a toque for this occasion. She 
 was on the stage — ^when she got engagements — 
 and realised the kind of garments becoming to a 
 heroine on the road to drown. In the glitter of 
 the entranoe, to which happier couples were has- 
 tening, with their pumps wrapped in copies of La 
 Patrie, her oval face was very pale; there was 
 perhaps a tinge of indecision in her sombre eyes. 
 She slipped her arm through his without speak- 
 ing, and he said politely : "I hope I am not late ? ' ' 
 
 His affinity shook her head, and they turned 
 slowly to the boulevard St-Miehel. 
 
 "Enfin, the night has come, Xavier!" she said 
 in contralto tones. 
 
 "It has come!" echoed the youth in the bass. 
 
14 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "We have danced our last measure in there, you 
 and I." And, with a transition to the minor, he 
 continued: "Do you recall our first polka, Del- 
 phine, the evening that we first met? It was a 
 wet Saturday " 
 
 "A Thursday," she murmured, "a gala night — 
 the Thursday before the Eeveillon." 
 
 "I think it was a Saturday," he dissented, "be- 
 cause I remember vividly that I had gone to be 
 shaved late in the afternoon, with the idea of 
 making it do for the morrow as well and saving 
 a copper or two. I remember, also, how dull I 
 had found the ball, and that I had intended to say 
 sarcastically, in leaving: 'Le Bullier-Nouveau,* 
 you call it? You should call it'Le BuUier- 
 Mort!' And then my path crossed yours, and 
 epigrams were forgotten, and coppers were as 
 naught." 
 
 "How it comes back to me !" she said pensively. 
 "You were standing by the punching-machine. Is 
 it not strange how a woman's instinct prognosti- 
 cates? Mysteriously, I knew that Fate did not 
 mean us to be strangers long." 
 
 "To me it seemed that Fate would forbid me 
 ever to address you. How haughty you looked — 
 so disdainful ! Nine times I meandered round, to 
 beg you for a dance, before I found the pluck to 
 say a syllable." 
 
 "I began to think you must be a foreigner who 
 knew no French. And then the bouquetiere came 
 by with her basket — do you remember? — and you 
 
"On Est Mieux Id Qu'en Face" 15 
 
 stuttered: *Do you like violets, mademoiselle I' 
 And next it was cherry-brandy, and next it was 
 the polka — and next it was our love. Oh, Xavier, 
 if the bouquetiere had not come by with her basket, 
 we might not now be on our way to die!" 
 
 * ' Do you regret ? ' ' demanded Mariquot, MndHng 
 with hope. 
 
 "For myself, no!" she affirmed. "What eould 
 existence yield to me if we were parted? But to 
 you? I have wondered in harassed moments 
 whether the years might not bring happiness to 
 jfouf" Her clasp on his arm tightened eagerly. 
 * ' I would not be selfish. Sweet Ideal. It is aU your 
 bright young future I am aiding you to sacrifice, 
 all the glorious promise of your flowering man- 
 hood. If time could teach you to forget me in my 
 wretchedness, to find joy without me, I would 
 steel myself, even now, to bear the martyrdom of 
 life alone." 
 
 "The way you put it amounts to asking me 
 whether I have been deceiving myself all along," 
 objected Mariquot. "Am I a ridiculous boy, to 
 mistake a passing fancy for the great passion of 
 a lifetime? Have my vows been bosh? Is my 
 masterpiece pickles — ^the epic of my devotion for 
 you, throb by throb, from that first Saturday, or 
 Thursday, whichever it was? No, Delphiue, I 
 cannot subscribe to that! Yet," he went on 
 persuasively, "there is this to be said. To you 
 time might grant compensations which would be 
 denied to me. To me it could afford nothing save 
 
l6 While Paris Laughed 
 
 a comfortable salary from a permanent source — 
 by degrees, a solid income, a cosy appartement in 
 a pleasant quarter, a sound bordeaux witb my 
 dinner. Wbat are such things worth? Are you 
 aiding me to sacrifice anything for vhich you 
 might be severely censured — for which you might 
 reproach yourself bitterly, if age had endowed 
 you with more wisdom and self-control? But to 
 yourself ! Who shall say to what effulgent heights 
 your beauty and your histrionic powers might not 
 elevate you? I can see you crowned with laurels, 
 if you are but patient to endure a while. I see 
 you reigning at the Frangais ! I see you gliding 
 through the Arc de Triomphe in your car ! I see 
 these sights with thrilling clearness. My adoration 
 must not blind me to my duty. If you could be 
 strong to wait for laurels without me, I would 
 even now be man enough to submit to the Philis- 
 tine plenty that my father offers in Rennes." 
 
 The hand upon his coat-sleeve trembled some- 
 what. There was a brief pause. Then she re- 
 turned a shade sullenly: 
 
 "In plain French, you suggest that I have been 
 making a mountain out of a molehill. You ask 
 me whether my resolve to drown myself was any- 
 thing more serious than a fit of hysterics ! I am 
 no more a sentimental idiot than you are!" 
 
 Their progress for some distance was made 
 silently, if one omits to count Mariquot's groan. 
 Each coptemplated the climax with increased dis- 
 
"On Est Mieux Ici Qu'en Face" 17 
 
 affection, but each, felt the loophole indicated by 
 the other to be undignified. 
 
 With relief, they noted that the quays were not 
 deserted at this early hour, and they wandered 
 aimlessly along the boulevard du Palais. On the 
 pont au Change the girl suddenly halted — ^her face 
 upturned, then bowed. 
 
 "Not here!" panted Mariquot. "What are 
 you thinking about? Look at the people !" 
 
 "I am only fancying," she told him. "How 
 the Seine calls to me — ^how it calls, Xavier ! Look 
 down, beloved ! Below the quiver there is peace." 
 
 "Peace!" concurred Mariquot, clenching his 
 teeth to stop their chattering. 
 
 "One plunge together, and then^oblivion!" 
 
 "You will suffer first, my own," he muttered. 
 "You will flounder frightfully." 
 
 "You also," she darted; "your tortures will 
 be atrocious. Yes, it will be excruciating for both 
 of us. You will be a green and repulsive object 
 when we are found. Yet, speaking for myself, 
 better death together than life apart! You feel 
 that, too, Xavier?" 
 
 "Do I feel it?" stammered Mariquot. "Do 
 I feel it?" No adequate answer presenting itself, 
 he repeated impressively, "Do I feel it? ... If 
 I bewail anything, other than your loss of the 
 triumphant future that you might know, it is 
 just this," he added: "Paris may not understand 
 how violently I reciprocated your devotion — peo- 
 ple may not grasp the true inwardness of my 
 
i8 While Paris Laughed 
 
 tragedy. The fact is, that in the few Last Words 
 that I have scribbled to a comrade, I touched upon 
 the detail that the publishers have rejected all my 
 work. If, by a fatal mischance, the letter should 
 be profaned by print, it may lead shallow thinkers 
 to regard me as a despairing poet rather than as 
 an anguished lover. I know how proud you are — 
 it is poignant to me to reflect that, after you have 
 cast away your exquisite young life solely because 
 I am all in all to you, the world may fail to realise 
 that you were all in all to me. I writhe in recog- 
 nising that multitudes may say you bestowed a 
 more single-hearted passion than you aroused." 
 Again he regarded her expectantly. "I do not 
 even disguise from myself that you have the right 
 to resent my alluding to my literary ambitions 
 with what may be termed my last breath. No, I 
 do not deny it ! Your indignation would be justi- 
 fied. You are entitled perhaps to declare that I 
 have slighted you, to pronounce me unworthy of 
 the splendid sacrifice that you are about to make 
 for me!" 
 
 Delphine frowned darkly; her displeasure was 
 plain, and some seconds passed, in which encour- 
 agement held him breathless. 
 
 "My king," she said at last tartly, "the grand- 
 eur of your soul compels me to admit a similar slip 
 on my part. I, too, have scribbled a few Last 
 Words, and by some wandering impulse I referred 
 to the managers having overlooked my abilities 
 as an actress. If, by any abominable indiscretion, 
 
"On Est Mieux Ici Qu'en Face" 19 
 
 the letter gets into the papers, it may appear that 
 my suicide was due to my professional afflictions 
 rather than to my idolatry of you! Your self- 
 respect is more precious to me than my own — ^my 
 blunder wrings my heart when I reflect that, after 
 you are green and ghastly, everybody may con- 
 clude that you were incapable of inspiring a love 
 as absorbing as you gave. In my turn, I am open 
 to reproaches! In my turn, I am defenceless if 
 you proclaim me to be unworthy of your death!" 
 
 Mariquot had listened to this rejoinder in pro- 
 found despondence. Twice he had opened his 
 mouth to interrupt her; and when he spoke, his 
 voice had distinctly an angry ring: 
 
 "Look here, if you figure yourself that I am 
 going to be the first to back out, you are vastly 
 mistaken!" he exclaimed. "I am every bit as 
 keen on dying as I was when I consented to it." 
 
 "If you imagine that I am going to sing small 
 first, you had better think again!" retorted the 
 girl scornfully. "It would take more than a drop 
 into the Seine to make me look a fool. If you 
 don't want to back out, why do you keep talking 
 about it so much? I'm ready." 
 
 "Well, suppose we get a move on us, then?" 
 he said, with a scowl. 
 
 They lagged from the bridge glumly, arm in 
 arm no longer, and their eyes averted from each 
 other. Viewing the lights of the Theatre Sarah- 
 Bernhardt, Mariquot was reminded of a perform- 
 ance that he had witnessed there, with an order, 
 
20 While Paris Laughed 
 
 in blither days, and he reflected that suicides, in 
 relation to one's self, were less gorgeously grati- 
 fying than in the works of the dramatists. Del- 
 phine's gaze dwelt upon the lamps of the Chatelet, 
 and memory reanimated an engagement, agree- 
 able, if undistinguished, that she had once fulfilled 
 on its stage as a fairy. Now she could not aspire 
 to become even a fairy again ! 
 
 The quai de la Megisserie was also populous: 
 
 ' ' Peste ! — ^more people ! ' ' cried Mariquot. ' ' We 
 should certainly be rescued. What a misfortune 
 that the moon is shining!" 
 
 "I much fear," she responded, "that we shall 
 be obliged to wait a long time. See, couples every- 
 where ! It would have been less wearisome if you 
 had made a later appointment." 
 
 "I had no private iatimation that all the idiots 
 of the quartier were to select the quays to spoon 
 on this evening," he growled. "We should find it 
 lonelier much further on. Would it fatigue you 
 to walk?" 
 
 "Probably," she said. "But we shall have a 
 long rest!" 
 
 Their promenade offered few distractions. By 
 the time they had trudged as far as the quai de 
 Passy the lovers paused simultaneously. The co- 
 incidence occurred in the glimmer of a cafe win- 
 dow, and Mariquot remarked, with a dry mouth: 
 "Do you know, I am inclined to think that we 
 might enter this place? Providentially I have a 
 franc on me. We can make our consommations 
 
"On Est Mieux Ici Qu'en Face" 21 
 
 last till all is quiet enough, for us to do the deed." 
 
 "You may be right," Delphine acknowledged. 
 "Our last glass together. So be it!" 
 
 The little cafe boasted no more than one other 
 customer — a young man who sat writing ardently, 
 an intellectual brow supported by a restless hand. 
 The shade of his luxuriant locks commended it- 
 self to Delphiae's attention almost before she had 
 drunk half her beer at a draught, and when, in 
 moments, he raised his head to seek inspiration 
 of the ceiling, the melancholy countenance that he 
 displayed was so engaging that she would have 
 welcomed a continuous view. 
 
 Meanwhile Mariquot had been prompted to con- 
 template the last franc that he was ever to finger, 
 and as he did so disquietude assailed him. The 
 franc was bad. 
 
 "Have you, by chance, any cash in your purse, 
 Delphine?" he inquired. 
 
 "I have no purse either," she said. "I left it 
 carefully in my lodging, directed to my family. 
 Why should I drown with purses in my pocket?" 
 
 "I made the same reflection myself. Well, the 
 only coin that I did bring is a wrong 'un, and we 
 have drunk the best part of our bocks ! I foresee 
 trouble.' 
 
 Unwittingly he had drawn the waiter's eye to 
 them, and when their impecuniosity was manifest, 
 the trouble became acute. At this juncture the 
 young man, who, having finished his letter, was 
 observing the discussion, rose and approached 
 
22 While Paris Laughed 
 
 them. Casting a five-franc piece upon the table 
 with a courtly air, he said : "Permit me to come to 
 the rescue, I pray you, monsieur!" 
 
 "Oh, monsieur!" ejaculated Mariquot, embar- 
 rassed. "It is princely, it is unparalleled! But, 
 at the same time " 
 
 "You need feel no hesitation," insisted the 
 stranger. "To me the coin is valueless, for I am 
 at the point of leaving France." 
 
 "There are always money-changers," men- 
 tioned Mariquot. 
 
 "In the Land for which I am bound," retumea 
 the other, with a dreamy smile, "there is neither 
 money-changer nor money." 
 
 "Oh, mon Dieu!" gasped Mariquot, jumping. 
 "■What> you, too?" 
 
 In the breathless instant succeeding this double 
 revelation, which held three customers spell- 
 bound, the waiter picked up the five-franc piece. 
 
 " '■Too' you said!" murmured the young man, 
 finding his voice at last. "So you and I are fel- 
 low-travellers, monsieur? And — and madame?" 
 
 "Madame is leaving with me." 
 
 "You are blessed." His protracted glance at 
 Delphine proclaimed it no empty compliment. "7 
 go loveless and alone." With a deep sigh, he con- 
 tinued: "My few Last Words have just been 
 scribbled, and I have nothing to do until I drown 
 myself at twelve o'clock. May I beg you to join 
 me in a bottle with the change? Waiter, the wine.- 
 list!" 
 
"On Est Mieux Ici Qu'en Face" 23 
 
 The pathos of his situation stirred Delphine 
 deeply, and she broke in now: "But, monsieur, 
 cannot we induce you to revoke your rash resolve? 
 Do not think me presumptuous, but might not our 
 counsel serve you in this crisis? So young!" she 
 whispered to Mariquot. 
 
 "He is no younger than I am," said Mariquot 
 shortly. 
 
 "Alas! I have already pondered the matter 
 in all its bearings, madame," replied the other 
 boy, with folded arms. "My resolution is inex- 
 orable, and at midnight there will be in Paris one 
 poet less." 
 
 " 'Poet,' did you say?" ^bbered Mariquot, 
 aghast. 
 
 "Yes, monsieur. I am called Gustave Trico- 
 trin. To-night the name is not significant, but it 
 is soon to figure largely in the papers !" 
 
 Mariquot 's blood ran cold. What if his own 
 drowned body should be fished out later than this 
 chap's? His own effect would be crushingly dis- 
 counted. How much sensation could then be 
 hoped for? "Another Poet Commits Suicide" — 
 he would be "another," an anti-climax, a plagiar- 
 ist! .. . Death was robbed of its one grace. 
 
 "Nevertheless your compassion is sweet to 
 me," admitted monsieur Tricotrin. "And if it 
 will distract your minds from your calamities, I 
 shall be honoured to confide my own." Without 
 awaiting an affirmative, which he obviously took 
 for granted, he continued: "Do not assume that 
 
24 While Paris Laughed 
 
 the purblind editors have spurred me to this pass, 
 for editors, I defy! It is Woman who has laid my 
 career in ruins. " 
 
 "A 'plagiarist'!" moaned Mariquot vacantly, 
 
 "You said, monsieur?" 
 
 "Nothing," explained Mariquot, with a start. 
 "I was but soliloquising. Pray resume!" 
 
 "Though of noble descent, and dowered with 
 great gifts," monsieur Trieotrin resumed, "I 
 have never possessed a safety razor; and if you 
 are acquainted with, the literary world, monsieur, 
 you may be aware that the alternative of resorting 
 to a barber is often a strain on the Budget. For 
 this reason, it was my custom to betake myself 
 to the cheapest rotter revealed to me — until one 
 fatal day. Accident forced me to enter an estab- 
 lishment above my means, and — ^I assure you, 
 madame — ^never should I have patronised it again 
 but that, in the mirror, I beheld the reflection of a 
 woman's face ! She sat enthroned behind me, tak- 
 ing the money. She was the widow of the late 
 coiffeur." 
 
 "So attractive?" inquired Delphine, with a 
 strange pang at her heart. 
 
 "Ah, madame! And the way her hair was 
 done ! Her beauty was, if I may say so, of a type 
 similar to your own. On the morrow, too, I 
 weakly went there, waiting till the desired chair 
 was vacant. Daily I squandered ten sous for the 
 exquisite pain of viewing her in the glass. She 
 marked my homage ; she fostered it. She sold to 
 
"On Est Mieux Id Qu'en Face" 25 
 
 me combs and pomatmns that I never used ; I paid 
 for perfmnes whicli I presented after purchase. 
 To prolong the perfect vision in the mirror, I was 
 shampooed, and singed, and frizzed. Finally I 
 was shaved twice a day, and she accepted my es- 
 cort to the Odeon." 
 
 "And when you owned you loved her?" asked 
 Delphiae, 
 
 "She gave me hope. *Twas aU she gave. She 
 feigned to regard her bereavement as too recent 
 to allow decision. For months she has sported with 
 my worship. My life has been passed in her es- 
 tablishment ! With the solitary exception of hair- 
 cutting, there is not a process practised in the 
 place to which I have not submitted myself ad in- 
 finitum. Enfin, she has wedded the head assistant 
 — and when I sobbed 'Coquette!' she derided me 
 with'CKent!'" 
 
 To this harangue Mariquot had paid no atten- 
 tion whatever, his abstraction passing unobserved 
 owing to the sympathetic interest yielded by Del- 
 phine. His brains were racked for a pretext to 
 elude the watery grave, which no longer guaran- 
 teed him posthumous distinction, and scarcely had 
 she set appreciative lips to the burgundy that had 
 been placed before them, than he leapt to his feet. 
 
 "Come!" he exclaimed, with a gesture of un- 
 controllable despair. "Monsieur, I entreat you 
 to excuse us — ^it is time we died." 
 
 "Why, what are you talking about?" fal- 
 
26 While Paris Laughed 
 
 f ered Delphine, dismayed. " It is nothing like late 
 enough yet!" 
 
 "It is thoroughly late enough; it is the ideal 
 hour. I can curb my impatience no longer. 
 Come!" he persisted. 
 
 * * But it is crazy ! ' ' Her voice was vexed. * * We 
 • enter here to wait for the middle of the night, 
 and we are no sooner comfortable than you want 
 to go!" 
 
 "Do you refuse?" he demanded, reeling. 
 
 "I refuse to do any more stumping about che 
 quays too soon," she said. "Sit down and be 
 mannerly; what will monsieur Tricotrin think of 
 you?" 
 
 "A — ah!" cried Mariquot. "It is for him you 
 fain would linger; it is his companionship that 
 makes you craven? Oh, Heaven! Maybe that 
 'woman's instinct' of yours 'prognosticates' 
 again?" 
 
 "Monsieur" — Tricotrin rose superbly — "it ap- 
 pears to me that you are insolent. I should in- 
 dulge myself by sending you my second, but the 
 mutual circumstances forbid an appointment." 
 
 "False girl!" pursued Mariquot, disregarding 
 the interruption. "You jilt me on the brink of 
 the tomb. And is it for one so fickle that Xavier 
 Mariquot would perish? Ah, no, tay dignity re- 
 strains me ! Though Lethe were sweet, my pride 
 protests. I shall bear the burden of life. Better 
 had I died before your perfidy was known ! Fare- 
 Veil for ever!" And, upsetting a chair in his 
 
"On Est Mieux Id Qu'en Face" 27 
 
 haste, he was gone and skipping along the pave- 
 ment before Delphine or Tricotrin could utter so 
 much as another word. 
 
 Their eyes met widely, A physiognomist might 
 have said that relief lightened the mood of both. 
 
 "He was looking for a 'way out,' that's all," 
 she said with a laugh. "It wasn't that he was 
 really jealous." 
 
 "Could I aspire to dream otherwise? I should 
 be vainglorious, indeed!" returned the host. In 
 a tone of profound solicitude, he went on: "And 
 you will be brave to rally from the blow of his 
 unworthiness, will you not? I hope with all my 
 broken heart you do not mean to waste your death, 
 as well as your life on him, madame?" 
 
 " 'Mademoiselle'!" she murmured shyly. 
 
 "Let me prevail upon you to take your wine," 
 said Tricotrin, drawing nearer. . . . "It is cosy 
 here?" 
 
 "Yet there is a skeleton at the feast," repined 
 Delphine. 
 
 "You think of hours gone beyond recall?" 
 
 "I think of the next hour to strike," she owned. 
 "The skeleton that I see is yours." 
 
 "Can it be possible?" cried the boy, moved. 
 "You feel for me so deeply, Child?" He drew 
 nearer still. "Ah, if I had been granted your in- 
 fluence earlier, I should have been a happier 
 man ! ' ' 
 
 Five minutes afterwards, when her influence 
 had matured and his arms encircled her: "Is it 
 
28 While Paris Laughed 
 
 not mysterious?" he exclaimed devoutly. "All 
 the time, even while I traced my Last Words, 
 something has seemed to insist that I should not 
 die!" 
 
 Her tranquil gaze deciphered a sign backwards 
 on the window. 
 
 "How true!" breathed the young girl, in the 
 harbour of her new friend's enibrace. " 'One is 
 Better Off in Here than Opposite' I" 
 
n 
 
 "At Home, Beloved, At Home" 
 
 EVIDENCE is lacking that Triootrin's devo- 
 tion for the young woman whom he encoun- 
 tered in such grievous circumstances was of a 
 lasting nature. Having related how she preserved 
 him from his dread resolve, one would rejoice to 
 add that thereafter she exercised upon his career 
 an exalting and abiding influence, but all ascer-', 
 tainable facts seem to indicate that the attach-i 
 ment was brief. It is said, indeed, that on thei 
 morrow she referred to the dread resolve in terms! 
 of derision. Be this as it may, the girl appears! 
 to have transferred her interest to another suitor 
 at a date which points painfuUy to lightness of 
 conduct. Moreover, there is reason to fear that 
 Tricotrin's laments at her desertion must be 
 ascribed to poetic licence. Nothing in the follow- 
 ing records, gathered impartially from the next 
 three or four years of a youth which alas! can 
 only be described as ill-spent, leads us to infer 
 that Delphine remained the dominant factor in 
 the poet's life. 
 
 Tricotrin was residing at Montmartre. It was 
 in this quarter of Paris that he had established 
 
 29 
 
30 While Paris Laughed 
 
 himself when he spumed the path of commerce in 
 Lyons to write the blank verse tragedies which 
 have not been performed yet; it was here that 
 he displayed later such base ingratitude towards 
 the excellent uncle who had offered him a future 
 in silk that the worthy monsieur Eigaud had 
 elaborately cursed him. Though it has been af- 
 firmed by Anglo-Saxon commentators more than 
 once that he was a denizen of the Quartier Latin, 
 the statement may be dismissed as erroneous; 
 the poet's choice was ever Montmartre. Financial 
 considerations impelled him to manifold changes 
 of domicile, but he was constant to the locality. 
 
 As usual, he was residing in a garret. The 
 room contained two beds, of which the second 
 was occupied by his best friend, Nicolas Pitou, 
 the Futurist composer. Little Pitou was respon- 
 sible for half the rent. The comrades' social cir- 
 cle, which was both artistic and extensive, con- 
 sisted chiefly of young men who had also acquired 
 a wide experience of Parisian garrets in a com- 
 paratively short space of time. 
 
 On a certain wet day in June, when Paris had 
 begun to give up all hope of seeing a self-respect- 
 ing summer that year, Tricotrin chanced to meet 
 one of these young men — Didier by name, a 
 painter. And the painter remarked to the poet, 
 "Do you know there is something mysterious 
 about our pal the novelist? That silly ass La- 
 jeunie is very queer lately." 
 
 "He gets up thinner every morning," replied 
 
"At Home, Beloved, At Home" 31 
 
 Tricotrin. "It is sad, but I should not describe 
 it as 'mysterious.' Experience has proved to me 
 that ambition and high thoughts constitute a mea- 
 gre diet." 
 
 "Well, but listen! he does not buy nourishment 
 when he has the means — that is the strange part. 
 A few days ago he called upon me to confide that 
 he was starving, and I lent him sixteen sous. I 
 do not say it vaingloriously, but I was touched 
 and I lent him sixteen sous." 
 
 "It was a handsome action." 
 
 "Well, a few minutes afterwards I chanced to 
 see him on the boulevard, and his furtive air 
 prompted me to keep an eye on him. Figure 
 yourself my feelings when he slunk into the es- 
 tablishment where you drop discs into a slot to 
 listen to tunes on the Pathephone! It costs 
 four sous a melody, that distraction; and, as 
 heaven is my witness, he squandered the-whole 
 of my loan before he left the place. Trembling 
 with indignation I stood and watched him through 
 the window.^' 
 
 "Really? That was scandalous of him to bor- 
 row your sixteen sous and squander it on tunes. 
 Now you come to mention it, I have seen him 
 hanging about that establishment more than once 
 lately. I was never aware that music was one of 
 his weaknesses?" 
 
 "Nor I," returned the painter. "I hope he is 
 not going out of his mind." 
 
32 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "I shall look into the matter," said Tricotrin. 
 "I take an interest ia Lajetmie." 
 
 And having made inquiries in the interval, he 
 said to Pitou that evening: 
 
 "Nicolas, has it ever been your view that La- 
 jeunie was uncommonly musical?" 
 
 ' ' Lajeunie 1 ' ' echoed Pitou. * ' The poor lad has 
 no more taste for music than a Pom." 
 
 "Well, it will astonish you to learn that it has 
 become a secret vice with him. I am told in the 
 quartier that he has been borrowing money right 
 and left, and there is every reason to suppose that 
 he lavishes it all upon tunes on the Pathephone. 
 Moreover, to judge by his emaciated appearance, 
 his professional income is all chucked in the same 
 weird way. It appears to have become a mania 
 with the poor fellow." 
 
 "One must have a talk with him!" said Pitou, 
 shocked. "Music is the divinest of the arts, but 
 I do not approve of the form his devotion takes." 
 
 "Let us put on our hats and step round to his 
 place without delay, ' ' suggested Tricotrin. ' ' I am 
 of your own opinion — ^it is a crisis that calls for 
 the intervention of his friends." 
 
 Lajeunie was at this period lodging on a fifth 
 floor in an unsavoury court that was named the 
 "City of Eepose"; and when the artists had 
 climbed to his attic the literary man was dis- 
 covered in reverie, with his heels upon a manu- 
 script on the table. His face brightened at their 
 entrance. 
 
"At Home, Beloved, At Home" 33 
 
 "I trust that we are not interrupting the flow of 
 composition?" said the twain simultaneously. 
 
 "On the contrary, I am rejoiced to see you," 
 declared the author. "It must be Providence 
 that guided you here. Not to beat about the bush, 
 every editor that I have called on to-day has been 
 'engaged,' and my purse is as void as my interior. 
 You find me ravenous. Positively I am sinking 
 with exhaustion. Could either of you oblige me 
 with a small sum to get a meal?" 
 
 The visitors exchanged glances. 
 
 "Alas! our accounts at the Banque de France 
 and the Credit Lyonnais are both overdrawn," 
 said Pitou. "It is a most unfortunate coLacidence. 
 I tell you what, however : you can come back with 
 us and share our dinner, which for once in a way 
 is ample." 
 
 The hopeful expression on the features of the 
 novelist faded. "If you could make it four sous 
 instead, dear old boy," he said desperately, "it 
 would suit me better," 
 
 "Lajeunie," said Tricotrhi ia solemn tones, 
 "you are not being open with us. Our offer does 
 not touch the spot. Now why? To the ravenous, 
 a share of an ample dumer is worth more than 
 four sous. Avow the truth and say that you seek 
 the coppers to gratify some ignoble passion!" 
 
 "Not at all," stammered Lajeunie; "my con- 
 dition speaks for itself — I am reduced to skin and 
 bone. Look at my arm!" And he took off his 
 coat and displayed a very skinny arm indeed. 
 
34 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "We are not discussing your weight," said 
 Pitou; "let us keep to the point. Besides, you 
 were always as thin as they make them." 
 
 "Lajeunie," urged the poet, "we are your 
 friends, aad we realise that to err is human; we 
 will he gentle with you ; we wiU help you to con- 
 quer the craving. But make a clean hreast of it ! 
 Come, come ; is it not a fact that, were we to sup- 
 ply you with the funds you seek, you would forth- 
 with slip a disc into a slot and dissipate them on 
 a phonograph?" 
 
 Lajeunie started. "Since all is known, I shall 
 not stoop to make denials," he groaned, pulling 
 down his shirt sleeve. 
 
 "You admit it, then?" said Pitou: "All those 
 loans that you have heen raising in the quartier, 
 on the plea of an empty stomach, have gone down 
 slots? You have imposed on good hearts to gratify 
 this corroding vice?" 
 
 "I have imposed on no good heart," objected 
 Lajeunie with hauteur. "In saying that I had 
 an empty stomach, my statements have been 
 strictly accurate. If I nevertheless preferred to 
 apply the money to the Pathephone, that was my 
 affair. What right has anybody to complain of 
 that? I have not shrunk from applying my own 
 money to it." 
 
 "Lajeunie," persisted the poet, "we seek your 
 confidence. Our expostulations are dictated by an 
 affectionate interest in your case. Is it not so, 
 Nicolas?" 
 
"At Home, Beloved, At Home" 35 
 
 "It is!" affirmed Pitou. "We will not bully- 
 rag you, old chap ; if I spoke harshly, I ask your 
 pardon. You may confide in us without misgiving 
 — ^we shall be as mild as ducklings, I assure you." 
 
 "As ducklings!" repeated Tricotrin. "You 
 will realise that, to the cursory view, the craving 
 of an ill-nourished literary man to drop all his 
 cash down slots appears surprising? WiU you 
 not explain to us the fascination of the course? 
 Let us analyse it together. Let us make an effort 
 to extricate you from the snare of this damnable 
 invention ! What is the ulterior motive — ^is it that 
 you aspire to have heard all the records in the 
 repertoire before you die? Believe me, the am- 
 bition is hopeless ; you wiU have gone to your last 
 account before you have exhausted even the list 
 of orchestral selections." 
 
 "I do not listen to the orchestral selections," 
 demurred Lajeunie sulkily; "I listen to the song, 
 At Home, Beloved, At Home." 
 
 "But not always At Home, Beloved, At Home?" 
 
 "Yes, always. When I have the means I listen 
 to it twice. The other day a friend lent me sixteen 
 sous, and I set the indicator at the song four times 
 running. ' ' 
 
 The young men regarded him with consterna- 
 tion. 
 
 "You have not noticed any other distressing 
 symptoms, Lajeunie?" inquired Tricotrin very 
 gently. "No pains in the head, or lapses of mem- 
 ory?" 
 
36 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "No, I have noticed nothing of the sort, thank 
 you. I am as right in my head as you — and a 
 damned sight lighter." 
 
 "But, mon ami," remonstrated the musician, 
 "the song is commonplace in the extreme. If you 
 want to set indicators at songs four times running, 
 wait till my opera is produced. In the duet I have 
 just written between the Tenor and Soprano you 
 will hear a descending scale of great thirds that 
 terminates in a wild orgie of consecutive fifths. 
 It is superb. The voices sing the major E and C ; 
 the wood wind play a full chord of B major; the 
 harps play chromatic scales ad lib, and the brass 
 thunder out the love motif in B flat. At Home, 
 Beloved, At Home is muck." 
 
 "You do not understand," faltered Lajeunie, 
 beginning to cry; "it is not the technical excel- 
 lence of the song that allures me — ^it is Her Voice! 
 I adore her, and we are apart. I cannot endure it. 
 The only respite to my despair is to hear her sing 
 on the phonograph." 
 
 "Sapristi! it is love!" ejaculated Pitou. 
 
 And with a gesture of supreme relief Tricotrin 
 panted: "Oh, my dear boy, what a burden you 
 have lifted from my mind ! I was becoming very 
 anxious about you. You love, and you listen to 
 her on the phonograph? That is rational, that is 
 entirely sane; all my misgivings are removed. 
 Who is she?" 
 
 "She is called Amelia Constant. A blonde. 
 
"At Home, Beloved, At Home" 37 
 
 Eavishing. She has a smijfe that thrills. ... It 
 is a long story." 
 
 "No matter," said Pitou, "no matter; let us 
 have it, I beg!" 
 
 "It began some months ago. I could not pay 
 my rent in the rue Legendre, and they turned me 
 out late at night. It was freezing. There was 
 no prospect of a bed. I decided to order a bock in 
 a cheap night cafe and take shelter there till the 
 morning. ' ' 
 
 "Not a bad scheme!" 
 
 "It grew tedious by five o'clock. And the waiter 
 kept looking at my glass, to see if it was empty 
 yet; I would never have believed that a drink 
 could be made to last so long. There was a girl 
 who sang At Home, Beloved, At Home. Veritably 
 an artist! She wore a black lace frock. I mar- 
 velled at her being there. Quite young, too. It 
 was only my interest in her that kept me from 
 nodding off. I wished to make her acquaiatance, 
 but I did not dare to expect it, because the beer 
 had left me stoney; one cannot very well open a 
 conversation with a lady when it is impossible 
 to say, 'May I offer you some refreshment, ma- 
 demoiselle?' " 
 
 "Don't elaborate the obvious!" 
 
 "Well, the crowd kept thinning — ^the cafe be- 
 came drearier every quarter of an hour. At last 
 there was scarcely anybody left but two tinselled 
 dancing girls, gaping in a comer, and the right 
 
38 While Paris Laughed 
 
 girl, and myself. I spoke to her then and chanced 
 it. I said, 'It is not exactly rollicking?' 
 
 " 'It is enough to give one the hump,' she said; 
 'why on earth don't you go away?' 
 
 "I said, 'I have nowhere to go. "Why don't 
 you? — ^have you got to sing any more ? ' 
 
 " 'No,' she said. 'But I always sit Jiere like 
 this till it is broad daylight.' 
 
 " 'You always sit here tiU it is broad daylight! 
 What, even if you are left here by yourself?' 
 
 " 'Yes,' she said; 'I have a lonely walk; and 
 the apaches watch these places for us girls to leave 
 — ^I am afraid of being murdered if I go before it's 
 light.' 
 
 "Figure yourself the girl, half dead with sleep, 
 waiting regularly for the day to break, lest she 
 should be murdered on her way home! Is it not 
 literary?" 
 
 "Admirable," assented the poet with gusto. 
 ' ' It appeals to me very much iadeed. ' ' 
 
 "I intend to make use of it, myself," said 
 Lajeunie wamingly. 
 
 "Well, why did she not lodge somewhere else, 
 instead?" asked Pitou. 
 
 ' ' That was a point that I put to her. I learnt that 
 she was a stranger in Paris. Also that she did 
 not propose to remain at the cafe for a day longer 
 than was necessary. Next, as she was so tired, 
 I volunteered to protect her on the walk if she 
 liked to go at once. But I am hot of Herculean 
 build, and she said she would rather wait. So we 
 
"At Home, Beloved, At Home" 39 
 
 went on talking.- I repeat that I was stoney broke 
 — and she conversed with me till seven o'clock in 
 the morning ! It is not every girl who would have 
 done so much as that." 
 
 "Oh, it is evident that she has qualities I" said 
 TricotriQ. 
 
 "The sun had risen when we climbed together 
 to the Butte. Already I recognised a kindred 
 soul. I parted from her at her door with the un- 
 derstanding that I would see her at the cafe again 
 as soon as I contrived to raise the wherewithal 
 for another bock; her gaze dwelt deeply on me 
 as she said how earnestly she hoped that I should 
 not have the key of the street that night too. Well, 
 her good wishes appeared to bring me fortune — 
 by midday I had made a sale ! An editor to whom 
 I had offered a hundred-thousand-word serial six 
 months before proved willing to pay a hundred 
 and twenty francs for it; and after a strenuous 
 tussle I extracted a louis from him on account. 
 Before I broke my fast I sent a telegram, inviting 
 her to supper." 
 
 "It was well done," said the composer, "very 
 diligent!" 
 
 "How sweet were her felicitations when we 
 met! How divine were now the days that saw 
 the flowering of a mutual love! I implored her 
 to seek an engagement worthier of her talents 
 without loss of time. I indicated a theatrical 
 agent to her. In our first interview with this 
 worthy he was sanguine of serving her very speed- 
 
40 While Paris Laughed 
 
 ily; but after we had parted with the fee that he 
 exacted for entering her name in his books, hi» 
 confidence diminished. I racked my brains for 
 other methods to advance her. It was thanks to 
 my indomitable energies and a stroke of luck that 
 she touched a bit for the phonograph record. A 
 little later she secured an offer for the Chorus in 
 the theatre round the comer; it was to reopen 
 during the last week of May with a revival of La 
 Fille de Madame Angot. Would to heaven that 
 she had gone there!" 
 
 "Why did she not go there?" 
 
 "She did not go there because, no sooner had 
 she settled to do so, than up popped a prospect 
 somewhere else I There was a person who had 
 arranged to open an al-fresco theatre on June 1 
 in the park at Ville-Nogent. He was enthusiastic 
 about her voice, absolutely enthusiastic ! He urged 
 her to give the other show the go-by. He pointed 
 out that, with him, she would have better parts 
 and more satisfactory terms. How could we hesi- 
 tate? To be sure, it was a suburb and I should have 
 tram fares to pay when I went to see her, but it's 
 an imperfect world. She asked the people round 
 the corner to cancel her engagement, and they 
 resentfully did so. This was the commencement 
 of my misery." 
 
 "Proceed!" 
 
 "We had reckoned without the temperature! 
 Towards the end of May the fellow told her that 
 ypless the weather speedily grew milder he should 
 
"At Home, Beloved, At Home" 41 
 
 not open before the 8th. And towards the 8th ha 
 said that, the evenings being still so chilly, it 
 would be madness to open before the 15th. And 
 when the 15th approached he explained that th« 
 tardy summer rendered an open-air season so 
 highly speculative that he was compelled to re- 
 duce his programme and dispense with her ser- 
 vices altogether. You may be sure I went to see 
 him. I said: 
 
 " 'Mon Dieu! Mademoiselle Constant has can- 
 celled an agreement elsewhere at your earnest 
 solicitation!' 
 
 "He said, 'I regret infinitely, but I have no 
 more to say about it.' 
 
 "I said, 'That cat won't jump. You engaged 
 the lady, and we hold you to your contract.' 
 
 "He said, 'Well, when you produce the contract ' 
 we will talk again!' 
 
 "Of course, there was no written contract. The 
 man was a black-hearted villain, but we had to 
 give him best. Her situation was desperate now 
 — ^my resources were at their last gasp, and soon 
 she was on the verge of destitution. Nothing was 
 possible but for her to return to her stepmother 
 at Lizy-sur-Ourcq ! There are emotions too ter- 
 rible for words to paint. We sobbed on each 
 other's necks. We sobbed for hours. Ah, that 
 parting! When she had gone, the animation of 
 the streets was torture to me ; I staggered to the 
 Cemetery and flung myself, face downward, upon 
 the turf. The other mourners respected my be- 
 
42 While Paris Laughed 
 
 reavement — ^they passed me with hushed tones. 
 Since then my days and nights have been un- 
 speakable. Life yields but one suspension of the 
 agony — to hear her sing upon the phonograph the 
 song she used to sing upon my heart. At Home, 
 Beloved, At Home! It shows me each fleeting 
 expression on her mobile face ; once more I regain 
 the humble room that was transfigured by our 
 tenderness. At Home, Beloved, At Home! I 
 feel the flutter of her breath upon my cheek, the 
 clasp of the loving arms that made home Heaven. 
 And then — crackle-popple-bump ! The apparatus 
 stops short, the dream is over — and naught is 
 left me in my desolation but the frenzied hope of 
 borrowing four sous again." 
 
 "Lajeunie," quavered Tricotrin, dashing away 
 tears, "we have done you a grave injustice. I am 
 rejoiced that we have had this talk — ^it will enable 
 me to re-establish you in the quartier's esteem." 
 
 "Mon pauvre ami!" wept Pitou. "We have 
 wronged you bitterly. Something shall be done, 
 Lajeunie! In the circumstances that scoundrel 
 must be forced to engage her. Is it not so, Gus- 
 tavo?" 
 
 * ' Obviously, ' ' said Tricotrin, ' ' Courage, cocky, 
 we will arrange matters for you yet ! Your pals 
 may not be wealthy, but they are multitudinous ; 
 do not figure yourself that you will be allowed to 
 pine into a grave for lack of influence. Your need 
 is urgent, and we shall hold a council on your 
 affair forthwith. See you to-morrow. Again, be 
 
"At Home, Beloved, At Home" 43 
 
 brave!" And putting him upon Ms honour to 
 expend the whole amount on viands, the pair lent 
 him forty sous, and, after embracing him tenderly, 
 departed to enlighten Didier. 
 
 Within a couple of hours many artistic heads 
 had been put together. And since it was not the 
 custom of that circle to allow grass to grow be- 
 neath their feet in such emergencies as appealed 
 to them, they passed a resolution that delegates 
 should wait upon the recreant manager the fol- 
 lowing day. 
 
 At this stage of the proceedings it was discov- 
 ered that the poet and Pitou had omitted to ascer- 
 tain his name and address. The question arose 
 whether he was to be found at Ville-Nogent ; per- 
 haps the unpropitious skies had delayed his open- 
 ing again? 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Tricotrin, "I move that the 
 meeting be adjourned for twenty minutes, while 
 we run back to inqtiire." 
 
 "The poor devil will be bucked to hear of the 
 progress we have made," he remarked to Pitou, 
 as they sped along. And as they passed a bril- 
 liantly lighted window, through which absorbed 
 figures were visible with their elbows on the tables 
 and receivers clapped to their ears, "There is 
 
 the fatal place!" he added. "Fortunately " 
 
 The words that he was about to speak remained 
 unuttered, and Pitou clutched him by the arm. 
 At that instant one of the heads inside had been 
 
44 While Paris Laughed 
 
 raised, and with, a throb of horror they saw that 
 the victim had succumbed once more. 
 
 "Mon Dieu!" shuddered Tricotrin: "this is 
 frightful." 
 
 The novelist came blindly out — ^in his eyes the 
 dazed stare of a slave to some insidious drug. As 
 they confronted him, he trembled violently, and 
 stood speechless. 
 
 "Apostate!" thundered Tricotrin. "Are you 
 lost to all self-control?" 
 
 "Pardon!" moaned Lajeunie, "pardon!" 
 
 "It exceeds the limits of forbearance," stormed 
 Pitou. "We trusted you; we put faith in your 
 vows of reformation!" 
 
 "You were right," sobbed the culprit. "I 
 meant all I said. No one has ever meant anything 
 more nobly." 
 
 "In less than two hours you are at it again! 
 Have you eaten? We insist upon the truth — 
 how many goes have you paid for in there?" 
 
 "Mercy!" wailed Lajeunie. "It is a passion 
 stronger than myself. I didn't want to do it." 
 
 "Do not quote miserable soRgs to us I How 
 many? Reply!" 
 
 "Ten," whimpered the author. 
 
 "Morbleu! Has this sinister machine entirely 
 undermined your reason? Are you bent on sui- 
 cide? Has it robbed you of the last remnants of 
 prudence and common sense?" 
 
 "C'est plus fort que moi!" repeated Lajeunie. 
 "Have you no hearts? Can you not realise the 
 
"At Home, Beloved, At Home" 45 
 
 witchery? Do not scold me, for I am grateful to 
 you with all my being. If you divined the quar- 
 ter-of-an-hour's rapture that you have given to 
 me ! Space was annihilated. Her voice caressed 
 me as of yore; I saw her smUe; I bowed my head 
 upon her breast " 
 
 "You told us aU that in your room," inter- 
 rupted the poet. "I do not say that I cannot com- 
 prehend the drunken fascination, but forty sous 
 is a lot of money. If you had taken even five turns 
 I might find excuses for you. But ten ! It is an 
 orgy for a millionaire." 
 
 "Deliberately I did not mean to take ten — ^I 
 was tempted one by one. Each time the awaken- 
 ing crackle-popple-bump came, I said, 'Just one 
 dream more!' Be pitiful! It asks for super- 
 human strength to live sundered from the woman 
 you love when you know that you have only to 
 lift two tubes off hooks to hear her." 
 
 ' ' Of course there is something in what you say, ' ' 
 conceded the composer; "nobody denies it. Well, 
 look here, your affair is going swimmingly! 
 Everybody is deeply interested. We are assem- 
 bled at the Bel Avenir — ^you will go there with us. 
 And as you are totally irresponsible, we shall see 
 that you are fed there! Step lively, now!" 
 
 The Council was apprised that the manager was 
 a monsieur CupiUat. Whether the Theatre Sous 
 Bois had inaugurated its season at Ville-Nogent 
 Lajeunie could not say, but the dastard was be- 
 
46 While Paris Laughed 
 
 lieved to be staying at a pension-de-famille in the 
 suburb. 
 
 On the morrow, therefore, Tricotrin, accom- 
 panied by Sanquereau, the sculptor, who was 
 chosen because he had a frock-coat, and could 
 simulate a dry, attorney-like tone, proceeded by 
 an electric tram to interview the gentleman. Tri- 
 cotrin, who had no frock-coat, carried a black 
 portfolio, such as those in which grave advocates 
 may be seen transporting legal documents. The 
 sight of the portfolio had encouraged Lajeunie 
 considerably; he felt that it could scarcely fail 
 to impress monsieur Cupillat with the danger of 
 his ways. 
 
 "It will not do to lose one's temper with him," 
 observed Sanquereau, as the tram bounded and 
 crashed over the course in its native manner; "we 
 shall have more effect if we are ominously cahn. ' ' 
 
 "Understood!" panted the poet, struggling to 
 retain his seat. "But I wish these untamed trams 
 did not always m^ke me feel sick." 
 
 Their ring at the bell of the pension-de-famille 
 evoked a crimson-faced woman of vast dimensions. 
 Beholding two strangers, whom she took for pro- 
 spective boarders, she beamed upon them with a 
 solicitude that was well-nigh maternal, but on 
 learning that they merely wished to see monsieur 
 Cupillat, she snapped that he was "at the show," 
 and promptly returned to the kitchen. 
 
 The park was easily discoverable, however, and 
 seaae minutes later they found themselves in the 
 
"At Home, Beloved, At Home" 47 
 
 presence of the entrepreneur Mmself. Perhaps 
 by reason of the thermometer, which remained 
 depressing to one who was committed to open an 
 ai-fresco theatre in three days' time, his brow 
 was dark. 
 
 "Eh bien, messieurs? What is it? I have my 
 haads fuU." 
 
 * ' Monsieur, ' ' began the sculptor judicially, ' ' our 
 affair concerns the engagement that you entered 
 into with mademoiselle Amelie Constant. It ap- 
 pears that you hesitate to fulfil your undertak- 
 ing." 
 
 "I do not hesitate — ^I know nothing about it." 
 
 "Permettez! Influenced by your representa- 
 tions, mademoiselle Constant, hereinafter referred 
 to as 'The Artist,' renounced a lucrative arrange- 
 ment in another quarter." 
 
 "Listen, monsieur!" broke in the faithless 
 Cupillat sharply. "I have no leisure to attend 
 to these rigmaroles. My business presses !" 
 
 "Permettez! The maintenance of amicable re- 
 lations between the Manager and The Artist is 
 a matter so much to be desired that we should be 
 loth to think that in our client's interests we shall 
 be compelled to resort to extremities. The case 
 may still be settled out of Court. This offer is 
 made without prejudice." 
 
 "And it is our earnest hope," added Tricotrin, 
 "that after our little conference has concluded 
 you will be induced to take a broader and more 
 
48 While Paris Laughed 
 
 enlightened view of a question so important to 
 tlie local development of dramatic enterprise." 
 
 "A word in your ear!" said Cupillat. "Also 
 without prejudice. You may go to the devil!" 
 , "It is like that, you blackleg, is it?" stuttered 
 Sanquereau in a fury. "I have a good mind to 
 kick you in the eye." 
 
 "Let us dip him in the canal!" suggested Tri- 
 cotrin, white with rage. 
 
 "A couple of trumpery students!" muttered 
 CupiUat, backing hurriedly. "I snap my fingers 
 at you and your 'client'!" 
 
 "Students!" spluttered the emissaries, frantic 
 at the insult. "We are no students, you ignorant 
 ape — we are full-blown. And you will see if you 
 can snap your fingers at us! Since courtesy is 
 unappreciated, we will try other measures, voy- 
 ons! We have not done with you." 
 
 "Get out!" scoffed Cupillat, who was already 
 at some distance from them. 
 
 "It is war!" bellowed the pair. And after the 
 parties had gesticulated a good deal, Cupillat 
 dived into his little wooden theatre, and slammed 
 the door with derision. 
 
 "By the Powers, it is war!" swore Sanquereau, 
 gritting his teeth. 
 
 "It is war to the knife!" asseverated Tricotrin 
 vengefuUy. 
 
 "After this, he shall take her, or I will hound 
 him out of the place !" 
 
 "I will burst his infernal show up!" vowed 
 
"At Home, Beloved, At Home" 49 
 
 the poet. And then, as they began to recover 
 their mental balance, "But — ^but — ^I say! Precisely 
 — er — ^what is there we can do?" 
 
 Sanquereau looked blank: 
 
 "We shall have to consider — ^another Council 
 must be summoned. One thing is certain, the 
 question of expense must not be allowed to deter 
 us! Personally, I would pawn my shoes for a 
 chance to get even with the ruffian." 
 
 And that was the view taken by the Assembly. 
 In his stirring appeal for a Fund, Didier cried: 
 "Gentlemen, to-day we have to bear in mind, 
 more than the rights of an artiste, more than the 
 sufferings of a comrade. Obloquy has been heaped 
 on our ambassadors, and nothing less than the 
 Honour of the Quartier is at stake ! Had I jewels, 
 I would strip them from me in the sacred cause. 
 I guarantee two francs ! ' ' 
 
 It illustrates the spirit of the Convocation when 
 it is stated that as much as twenty-nine francs 
 forty-five centimes was subscribed even before 
 anybody had the least idea how the Fund would 
 advance matters. One member, less public-spirited 
 than the rest, had asked for information on this 
 point at the termination of the speech. He said, 
 "Impressed as I am by the fervour of the last 
 speaker, I rise to inquire what the desired Fund 
 is for?" Didier, with a sublime gesture, had re- 
 plied in a single word, "Conquest!" And the 
 cheers were deafening. Pitou's feeble tenor 
 started La Marseillaise. 
 
50 While Paris Laughed 
 
 It was after La Marseillaise had been chorused 
 that a plan of campaign was sought. 
 
 "It is now," said the President, "that we must 
 determine how to apply this noble expression of 
 widespread sympathy. Splendid as our finances 
 are, they wiU not suffice for us to open an opposi- 
 tion show and bring the blackguard to his knees 
 in that way. Has any chap a suggestion to offer ? ' ' 
 
 An ominous silence fell. Seconds ticked past, 
 each more fateful than its predecessor. Boys 
 turned to one another with haggard eyes. 
 
 At this crisis, a reputation was brilliantly en- 
 hanced. Beginning in a firm yet modest voice, 
 "Monsieur le President, and other rotters, I would 
 direct attention to the fact that a powerful ally 
 is the weather," a member proceeded to outline a 
 proposal which first puzzled, then captivated, and 
 finally swept the House to enthusiasm. He re- 
 sumed his seat amid salvoes of applause. The 
 member was M. Gustave Tricotrin, the poet. 
 
 Truth to tell, it was more like March than mid- 
 summer, the evening on which the lamps of the 
 Theatre Sous Bois at Ville-Nogent were lit at 
 last. Nevertheless, the spot being as dismal as 
 any other suburb of Paris, a sparse audience had 
 risked colds in the head to seek distraction. They 
 wore stout boots because the ground was damp. 
 The depressed Cupillat, in the pay-box between 
 two gloomy poplars, was not kept too busy to 
 observe that a score of strangers filtered into the 
 cheaper seats — ^voung men who in. no wise re- 
 
"At Home, Beloved, At Home" 51 
 
 sembled the respectable bourgeoisie of Ville-No- 
 gent; he inferred that there must be an art school 
 somewhere in the vicinity, and was encouraged 
 by the prospect of its continued patronage. 
 The programme announced: 
 
 "Spectacle Vaeie en Totjs Genbes 
 
 CoMEDiE, Vaudeville, 
 
 Romance 
 
 Chansonnettes, Duos, Ebcits 
 
 Danses, 
 
 Scenes Comiques." 
 
 The little curtain rose jerkily, and a lady of 
 
 mature age advanced towards the six footlights 
 
 to recite. 
 
 In the middle of the final stanza, one of the 
 strange young men in the front row sneezed with 
 such alarming violence that heads turned to him. 
 The lady looked disconcerted, and several "per- 
 sons in his neighbourhood, who had hitherto ap- 
 peared fairly cheerful, shivered from sympathy. 
 
 The lady concluded. And the young man got up, 
 and stamping hard, commenced to promote circu- 
 lation by a swift arm-and-leg exercise. Some 
 minutes later an equally tremendous sneeze ex- 
 ploded from a young man in the centre benches. 
 Two matrons, sitting behind him, exchanged an 
 apprehensive glance, and a solicitous parent 
 folded a pocket-handkerchief around his off- 
 spring's neck. ' ' One must, my little one ; it makes 
 cold, voyons!" he said in urgent tones. 
 
52 While Paris Laughed 
 
 At the expiration of half an hour the number 
 of artistic young men who were shuddering tur- 
 bulently was so extensive, and the reports of 
 brobdiagnagian sneezes were so continuous, that 
 all the spectators had hunched their shoulders in 
 misgiving. During the sprightly vaudeville a 
 racking cough from Sanquereau was succeeded by 
 a paroxysm from Pitou ; and before the duos were 
 reached Lajeunie was stumbling, with chattering 
 teeth, over a dozen pairs of feet in his haste to 
 flee from further danger. 
 
 His prudence was emulated, at brief intervals, 
 by nineteen other young men, obviously chilled 
 to the bone. The solicitous parent decided that 
 it was no place for his offspring, and the child was 
 dragged forth, protesting loudly. Fear had now 
 spread like an epidemic, and vacant seats dis- 
 played themselves every minute. 
 
 The next evening the audience was more exig- 
 uous still. But it contained twenty young men 
 who again demonstrated to the public the severity 
 of the maladies that they were likely to contract 
 by patronising this entertainment. 
 
 When the exodus began, MM. Tricotrin and 
 Sanquereau found their way barred by a raging 
 manager : 
 
 "You bandits!" foamed Cupillat, "beware of 
 the police. Do not figure yourselves you will 
 do this devil's work to-morrow — ^I shall recognise 
 the faces of you all and you will be refused admis- 
 sion 1" 
 
"At Home, Beloved, At Home" 53 
 
 "My poor fellow," replied Tricotrin, "we are 
 as manifold as the sands of Sahara. We could 
 provide a fresh contingent every night for a year 
 — and we shall have settled your hash ia a week ! 
 The police? It is not criminal to sneeze. How- 
 ever, if you should feel inclined to strengthen your 
 attractions by a certain engagement, I do not say 
 but what we might find the temperature more 
 genial." 
 
 On the following Monday the bills of the Theatre 
 Sous Bois proclaimed the appearance of a MUe. 
 Amelie Constant. She sang At Home, Beloved, 
 At Home, and niueteen young men, to say nothing 
 of the ecstatic Lajeunie, were so enchanted by 
 her gifts that her performance made a veritable 
 furore. 
 
TTT 
 
 MoNSiBUE Blotto and the Lions 
 
 SOON after Pitou liad stooped to accept an en- 
 gagement as pianist at a Bioscope on the 
 Butte, pending acclamation of his operas, he was 
 dismissed for iacompetence. He went home 
 thoughtfully. It was the day that Tricotrin's mys- 
 tical play, The Goblin Child's Mother, had met 
 with its seventeenth rejection, and the composer 
 had left him in their attic debating suicide. 
 
 "We shall divide the biggest hump in Paris 
 to-night, Tricotrin and I!" reflected poor Pitou, 
 toiling to the sixth floor. 
 
 Judge of his astonishment to find his tidings 
 received with a shrug ! " It is of scant importance 
 that you have got the sack," said the dramatic 
 poet negligently. "In truth, as the job was an 
 iusult to your genius, I was at the point of counsel- 
 ling you to resign it. Between us two is it not, 
 always, one heart and one purse?" 
 
 "Hein?" faltered Pitou. "But— pardon the 
 supposition — if the purse is empty! Have our 
 calamities turned your brain? How about the 
 suicide you were projecting?" 
 
 "Suicide? What suicide?" said the other 
 young man, bewildered. "Ah yes, I remember, 
 
 54 
 
Monsieur Blotto and the Lions 55 
 
 I did make some allusion to such a Curtain! Well, 
 all that is past; things have happened since you 
 went out — ^I adopt a new career, and what is mine 
 is yours." 
 
 "The work, or the wage?" inquired Pitou. 
 "Expound before I sign!" 
 
 ' ' You shall share them both. I entered journal- 
 ism — and when my own mendacity fails, you can 
 draw upon yours to assist me." 
 
 "It sounds propitious," Pitou acknowledged. 
 "But the transition from laudanum is a bit ab- 
 rupt. So far from being defunct, you are buoy- 
 ant, and I lack a scenario of the intermediate Act. 
 Am I to conclude that the postman has been?" 
 
 "The conclusion would be happy. I have had 
 a letter from a relative ; and I would not have you 
 judge the whole of my family by the uncle who 
 was tactless enough to disturb your repose;* the 
 man Rigaud, after all, is but an uncle by mar- 
 riage. Some of my relatives have mitigating 
 qualities. This one has been discoursing upon my 
 talents to a friend who has indulged his literary 
 tastes by becoming a newspaper proprietor; he 
 has acquired La Depeche de Montbonne, and pro- 
 poses to wake it up. In fine, it is contemplated 
 that a weekly feature of the organ shall be a col- 
 umn of theatrical intelligence from Paris, con- 
 tributed by myself." 
 
 "If this comes off," exclaimed Pitou with ela^ 
 
 *The disgraceful incident to which the poet manifestly refers in 
 these unseemly terms has been recorded in the volume A Chair on 
 the Boulevard. 
 
56 While Paris Laughed 
 
 tion, "we may be able to see the inside of a the- 
 atre sometimes." 
 
 "I anticipate the novelty. And even if the card 
 of the Montbonne critic should be spumed at the 
 Paris box offices, which is not impossible, that 
 will be no reason why I should fail to read the 
 notices in the Figaro and express the same state- 
 ments in choicer words. As for the desired 
 sprinkling of green-rooin gossip, nothing could be 
 simpler or more generous than for us to invent 
 an epigram once a week and put it into the pretty 
 moutii of a popular actress whom we do not know. 
 Mon Dieu! this enterprising tyro of Montbonne 
 will get a bargain in me." 
 
 "The sordid coromercial aspect of the case is 
 represented by what figure?" 
 
 "It has still to be determined, but whatever it 
 is, I foresee that I shall be worth more. Always 
 the same story — the simplicity of youth is taken 
 advantage of!" 
 
 Time passed, in which much fasting was accom- 
 plished. And then there was a memorable morn- 
 ing on which Tricotrin began to refer to himself 
 loftOy as "We dramatic critics," and to peruse 
 the notices in the Figaro with care. At the start 
 he found his opinions of performances at which 
 he had not been present in agreement with the 
 views of the Figaro — one must toddle before one 
 runs — ^but later he differed from them. His im- 
 pressions of a play at the Renaissance, which he 
 bad not seen, were entirely independent. And 
 
Monsieur Blotto and the Lions 57 
 
 he "chatted" and "supped" wiih so many promi- 
 nent persons in his paragraphs that he was often 
 startled to realise that he wasn't on nodding terms 
 with them, or in a position to have any supper. 
 
 "As you predicted," Pitou remarked, "for a 
 journalist who keeps such distinguished company, 
 the salary is slight ! Now one comes to think of it, 
 it does not warrant the cost of the imaginary tele- 
 phone on which the celebrities ring you up to give 
 you their confidences." 
 
 "Your objection is just," owned Tricotrin. 
 "But remember that our distant Editor assumes 
 that I was on the telephone before I was on the 
 Depeche. I could not part with my invisible tele- 
 phone — do not ask me; it is a fountain of per- 
 petual inspiration. Why, to-morrow Yvette Guil- 
 bert is goiag to ring me up, the moment she re- 
 turns from London, to tell me her professional 
 worries and beg for my advice. As she will be 
 prostrated by the journey, I am not sure but what, 
 'yielding to her entreaties, I may even jump into 
 an auto-taxi and take potluok in her delightful 
 home.* The only drawback is, that when we dine 
 on our herrings I shall recall the pleasing fancy 
 and be resentful of the exiguous facts. I was op- 
 pressed by discontent of that nature after my 
 anecdote beginning, 'Five of us were lunching at 
 the Restaurant de la Cascade. ' Never had I felt a 
 sandwich to do less for me." 
 
 But if the contrast between his festivities in 
 print and his economies in the garret were at 
 
58 While Paris Laughed 
 
 times confusiag to the critic, he was sensible of 
 a clear appreciation on the days that cheques 
 arrived. And the autumn flagged, and still the 
 modest payments came. "It looks like something 
 out of a sensational romance," he confessed; "for 
 the first time I find myself able to grasp the mean- 
 ing of the term 'permanent' in relation to in- 
 come!" And as Pitou had submitted to another 
 insult to his genius and was on a pay list too, the 
 pair promenaded the boulevard Eochechouart 
 with the air of rentiers. 
 
 Misgiving arose suddenly. It was communi- 
 cated that the Editor was at the point of passing 
 a couple of days in the capital and desired an in- 
 terview ; monsieur Tricotrin was requested to call 
 at a certain hotel on the following afternoon at 
 "half -past seventeen." 
 
 "Not content with arriving to shatter our 
 peace," complained the Critic, "he must make his 
 appointment according to the New Notation, 
 which I shall never comprehend! I lose trains 
 nowadays while I am doing arithmetic to find out 
 at what hour they go." 
 
 "Half -past seventeen is Delirium for half -past 
 five," interpreted Pitou. "And why should his 
 arrival have that dire effect?" 
 
 "I cannot explain. Though I am, of course, 
 aware that the virtues of my 'copy' are incontest- 
 able, something whispers that the man's appear- 
 ance on the scene is not in our highest interests. 
 It is not that I contemplate his disturbing our 
 
Monsieur Blotto and the Lions 59 
 
 privacy and noting the non-existent teleplione and 
 tlie absence of furniture; neither is it that I dis- 
 trust the adequacy of my best trousers if I expend 
 two sous on turpentine ; but I would that he had 
 remained in Montbonne! It is a mysterious in- 
 stinct." 
 
 i "My own impression," declared the composer, 
 "is that his project is to invigorate you with 
 viands, and dazzle you with a rise. If you get a 
 chance to name the beverage say 'volnay' — ^I am 
 told that one feels it for a long time." 
 
 "Well, your surmise may be correct," admit- 
 ted Tricotrin; "I suppose, if I were not a pessi- 
 mist by nature, I should not doubt it." 
 
 And having bought the turpentine and hung 
 the trousers outside the window all the next morn- 
 ing, he polished his boots ruminantly, and went 
 forth to the hotel. 
 
 The mysterious instinct to which he had re- 
 ferred was strong as he inquired at the bureau if 
 monsieur Blotto was within, and when he had as- 
 cended to the salon he was not stimulated by 
 the aspect of a self-important gentleman with a 
 fussy manner. 
 
 "Monsieur Tricotrin," said the gentleman, 
 "happy to see you!" 
 
 "An ass with a swelled head!" determined Tri- 
 cotrin. And he responded: "Too amiable, mon- 
 sieur. Enchanted. It is a joy to which I have long 
 looked forward." 
 
 "Sit down, sit down," said his employer. "I 
 
6o While Paris Laughed 
 
 am happy that you are punctual — I have an en- 
 gagement shortly, and I desired a chat with you 
 before going out." 
 
 "No repast, morbleu!" was the Critic's 
 thought. "Now I wonder if a plea for credit is 
 on the road?" 
 
 But a very few seconds sufficed to dispel that 
 fear. 
 
 "Your 'copy,' " observed monsieur Blotto, 
 "affords me great satisfaction — great satisfac- 
 tion. I am not without a hope that a day may 
 come when we shall be in a position to make the 
 payment — er — ^more commensurate with the 
 merits of your work." 
 
 " 'A day may come' is a rotten kind of date," 
 mused Triootrin, bowing his acknowledgments — 
 "so much for Pitou as a prophet!" Aloud he 
 repeated : ' ' Too amiable, monsieur ! I avow that 
 in accepting a nominal emolument I was strongly 
 actuated by the conviction that you would spring 
 a bit very soon." 
 
 " 'Very soon' is too much to say," answered 
 the other; "for some little time I am afraid we 
 must leave matters as they are." 
 
 Tricotrin, infinitely relieved, strove to attain 
 the expression of one who had received a shock. 
 And monsieur Blotto continued : "I shall not dis- 
 guise from you that the tone of your column is a 
 shade too Parisian for the majority of our readers 
 at present. We must educate them by degrees — 
 by degrees! Hitherto the Montbonne Press has 
 
Monsieur Blotto and the Lions 6i 
 
 failed woefully in its duty — ^it has not been: alive 
 to its responsibilities — for tbat reason I was 
 tempted to acquire the paper. Under the new 
 regime it will be a force — ^I write many of the 
 leaders myself. I do not profess to be conversant 
 with all the technical details of editorship, but 
 what I bring to La Depeche is a Directing Brain. 
 I bring initiative, culture, taste." 
 
 "The pre-eminent gifts!" affirmed Tricotrin. 
 "Many of the leaders, if I may dare to hint it,- 
 have electrified me by their vigour." And men- 
 tally he inquired, "Was it to tell me how talented 
 he is that he has dragged me down from Mont- 
 martre?" 
 
 Monsieur Blotto beamed. He offered him a 
 cigarette. "Personally I take much interest in 
 your little intimate anecdotes of the artistic 
 strata," he resumed; "to a man like myself they 
 are, I need scarcely tell you, most congenial. You 
 are younger than I had pictured you, monsieur." 
 
 "Ah!" said the Critic portentously, "my few 
 summers have provided vast experience." 
 
 "And Paris is a swift professor, hein?" 
 
 'For those in the right class there are indeed 
 opportunities to learn!" 
 
 "And how, for example, did you secure promo- 
 tion to that class at your early age?" 
 
 It began to reveal itself to Tricotrin that under 
 his amateur Editor's efforts to impress him was 
 something akin to envy. "Mon Dieu!" he 
 drawled, "one must remember that I am, before 
 
62 While Paris Laughed 
 
 all else, dramatic poet. Do not figure yourself 
 that, because an author's plays are not yet staged, 
 he is necessarily unknown to the managers and 
 artists of the Boulevard; an agreement for a 
 drama is made long before the drama is produced, 
 and in the inner circles its qualities remain no 
 secret. I do not hesitate to say that a man may 
 achieve a reputation the most conspicuous among 
 those whose judgment is authoritative some years 
 before the public have even heard his name." 
 
 "It is strangely fascinating, the artistic life!" 
 exclaimed the provincial, who was now all atten- 
 tion. And then, not wishing to appear ignorant, 
 he made haste to add, "Of course, I was aware 
 that such conditions prevailed, but not quite to 
 that extent." 
 
 "It is anomalous, is it not?" said Tricotrin 
 confidentially. "As you see for yourself, I am 
 not above turning out a column of good stuff every 
 week for the merest trifle, and yet — if I do not 
 have an air of boasting — ^there are at home, in my 
 desk, theatrical contracts for which some of the 
 most highly paid journalists in Paris would give 
 their ears." 
 
 The impromptu fiction was delivered with such 
 engaging candour that it might have imposed 
 upon a more sophisticated listener than monsieur 
 Blotto of Montbonne. It was at this point that his 
 motive for seeking the interview was manifested. 
 Clearing his throat, and disguising eagerness very 
 poorly, he remarked: "Now that I come to think 
 
Monsieur Blotto and the Lions 63 
 
 of it, since I am so rarely in Paris, I might do 
 worse than take the present opportunity to — ^to 
 avail itiyself of your introductions to a few of the 
 literary and dramatic stars ! It might be agree- 
 able to me to exchange ideas with them. ' ' 
 
 For some dizzied moments the unfortunate 
 Critic realised all the sensations of a passenger on 
 a raging sea. The room rocked about him, and it 
 was only by one of those efforts which the ro- 
 mancers call "superhuman" that he contrived to 
 answer. "I should rejoice!" he faltered. "Now 
 I wonder if I can postpone an appointment that 
 I have for this evening? It is of vital consequence, 
 or naturally I would make no bones about break- 
 ing it." 
 
 "This evening," rejoinea monsieur Blotto, with 
 appalling promptitude, "I shall not be free either. 
 So we will say to-morrow!" 
 
 "Oh, of course," assented Tricotrin, panic- 
 stricken, "to-morrow I shall be delighted! Would 
 you care to call on Sarah Bernhardt — it is not her 
 'day,' but she is always at home in the afternoon 
 to intimate friends, and we need not stand on 
 ceremony." 
 
 "It would not be bad," said the Editor, whose 
 mouth watered at the notion, "but I am not here 
 on pleasure, and my affairs will keop me busy in 
 the afternoon. It is not till evening that I shall 
 be unoccupied." 
 
 "In the evening she will be playing," deplored 
 Tricotrin ; "it would not be good enough for us to 
 
64 While Paris Laughed 
 
 run round to her dressing-room — she is always so 
 restless there. We had better make it another 
 day, then!" 
 
 "Impossible! To-morrow night I must return 
 to Montbonne. No ; what I would propose is that 
 you should take a little dinner with me to-morrow, 
 not too late, at some restaurant in the neighbour- 
 hood, and that we should go to some of these peo- 
 ple afterwards. It might, for example, be amus- 
 ing to meet Brieux." 
 
 "Peste! I saw him off to the country yester- 
 day; he is full of a new scenario that he was tell- 
 ing me about. Let me think! Is it worth your 
 while to know Lemaatre, or Pierre Loti — ^you 
 would find them both charming fellows?" 
 
 "I shall leave the programme to you!" said 
 monsieur Blotto serenely. "Decide as you think 
 best — ^b© with me at a quarter to nineteen sharp ! ' ' 
 And having pencilled the figures on his cuff for a 
 mind less tortured to elucidate, the young man 
 made his escape from the hotel, questioning what 
 miracle could occur to save him. 
 
 Never had Paris looked to him a harder nut to 
 crack than as he tottered up the hill to his humble 
 abode. Pitou was preparing one of the nocturnal 
 herrings, and turned, paling at his air. 
 
 "Cook both," said Tricotrin tersely; "ere long 
 we may lack three sous to buy a couple !" 
 
 "A— ah?" shuddered Pitou. "That sacre 
 Editor — there was no volnayl "What is our latest 
 
Monsieur Blotto and the Lions 65 
 
 catastrophe? Would you vote for conference, or 
 nourishment first?" 
 
 His jaw dropped as the details were unfolded. 
 The poet and the musician stared at each other 
 with gloomy eyes. For some seconds there was 
 to be heard no sound upon that altar to the Muses 
 save the neglected frizzling of the fish. 
 
 "My poor friend," murmured Pitou at last, "I 
 see nothing before you but to be knocked down 
 by an automobile— I shall announce your injuries. 
 To avert the danger of a visit of condolence here, 
 you will have been borne to the nearest hospital, 
 and I shall not specify which one it was." 
 
 Tricotrin shook his locks. "I fear," he groaned, 
 "that he might smell a rat — it is pungent. Mon 
 Pieu!" He strode to the broken window and 
 apostrophised the distant chimneys. "0 Lutetia, 
 aureate with celebrities — and I cry vainly for but 
 two or three!" 
 
 "Well, it would be premature of us to give way 
 to blank verse," said Pitou, "for we have twenty- 
 four hours to turn round in!" He yielded his 
 attention to the herrings. "I shall consider the 
 subject while I am thumping the piano to-night — 
 many of my sublimest inspirations have corus- 
 cated whUe I thumped — and in the meanwhile a 
 felicitous lie may present itself to you also. Upon 
 my word, we were ignoring those two important 
 factors in the case ! Taking them into the balance- 
 sheet, I am not disinclined to pronounce the out- 
 look highly hopeful." 
 
66 While Paris Laughed 
 
 * * It is true, ' ' agreed Triootrin. " Yes, I declare 
 we had lost sight of our opportunities for reflec- 
 tion — ^how strange it is that one may overlook 
 the things nearest at hand! Furthermore, when 
 you come back, we wiU call a council of aU the 
 striving spirits of the quartier — if Lajeunie would 
 consent to shave his head, I might pretend he was 
 Eostand." 
 
 But when the circumstances were laid before 
 Lajeunie, in the small hours, and a cafe, the hir- 
 sute young novelist firmly refused to shave his 
 head, even to accentuate his resemblance to the 
 author of Chcmteder. "It is unheard of!" he ob- 
 jected. "I would make many noble sacrifices for 
 you, but baldness goes beyond the Hmits ; as you 
 are well aware, it is with reluctance that I have 
 my hair so much as trimmed. I tell you what, 
 however — I will make you known to my friend, 
 Papa Tripier." 
 
 "What are friends of yours worth to me, pea- 
 cock?" demauded Tricotrin; "I seek superb repu- 
 tations, not vagrants of your own type." 
 
 "How often must I mention that I am welcome 
 in spheres immeasurably above your vacant 
 head?" complained Lajeunie. "Because you are 
 on my visitiag-list do you figure yourself that I 
 never make an acquaintance I am .not ashamed of? 
 Papa Tripier has a very fine position — ^he resides 
 in a boarding-house and has three meals every 
 day. Moreover, he is an octogenarian." 
 
 "Well, but what is his specialty — what does he 
 
Monsieur Blotto and the Lions 67 
 
 perform on?" Pitou inquired, "Antiquity by it- 
 self would not suffice to meet the Editor's require- 
 ments." 
 
 "You can consider your Papa Tripier 'declined 
 witli thanks,' " said Tricotrin; "the Editor re- 
 grets that your contribution is below his stand- 
 ard." 
 
 "You are wrong," protested Lajeunie. "I 
 guarantee that he would find it worthy of his 
 Christmas Number. Papa Tripier has a gift of 
 the gab that I have rarely known equalled. He 
 has also a lively affection for the epoch of his late 
 Majesty Louis-Philippe, 'when everybody pos- 
 sessed an elegance, a wit, a charm totally lost to 
 the French of to-day, who are nothing but a pack 
 of voyous! Mais, mon Dieu! que voulez-vous ? ' 
 In the prodigious period of the late lamented 
 Louis-Philippe, a chap could buy a bottle of good 
 wine for four sous, old sport ! ' ' 
 
 ",Hein? I have always bewailed that I was in 
 advance of my generation — ^it appears that I was 
 born too late!" 
 
 "Papa will recount how he heard a great burst 
 of laughter on the boulevard de Gand — ^what you 
 children call the 'boulevard des Italiens' — and 
 how it was the glorious Dumas himself, the cre- 
 ator of the Musketeers, rollicking round the cor- 
 ner, arm-in-arm with Balzac. And he wiU tell you 
 of another burst of laughter from an arbour on a 
 lawn, and how it was Paul de Kock roaring over 
 the story he was writing. And he will be eloquent 
 
68 While Paris Laughed 
 
 about do Musset, who was of a 'beauty incom- 
 parable,' the cynosure even of the boulevard de 
 Gand — ^where 'beauty and genius were as abund- 
 ant, under Louis-Philippe, sapristi ! as taxes, and 
 insolence under the sacree Eepublique!' But 
 again, 'Mon Dieu! que voulez-vous ? ' " 
 
 "If this person has any existence outside a 
 novel you are preparing for rejection, which I 
 strongly doubt," said Tricotrin, "I will allow him 
 a small part in the tragedy. As a stop-gap he 
 might have his uses. But I have endeavoured to 
 get it into your skull that it is Hving, not dead 
 lions I am hunting. Pay for your bock — ^we shall 
 all proceed to see now if Sanquereau can offer a 
 sane idea!" 
 
 Alas! though many intellects were brought to 
 bear upon the problem, not one among them could 
 point the way to living lions. And the night 
 passed, and the sun rose, and the fateful day sped 
 towards a "quarter to nineteen" quicker than any 
 day before. 
 
 The Critic's reputation hung upon a hope as 
 slender as a hair, if one may employ a cliche that 
 he himself would have disdained. It was, that 
 the dinner should terminate too late for monsieur 
 Blotto to desire anything except to catch his train; 
 and at least a dozen bohemians volunteered their 
 services to retard the meal. 
 
 The Editor was much impressed by his contri- 
 butor's popularity as the pair bent their steps 
 towards a restaurant — ^never had he known any- 
 
Monsieur Blotto and the Lions 69 
 
 body to encounter so many acquaintances in so 
 short a space. And each, of them fell upon the 
 respected scribe with an urgency that brooked no 
 denial. 
 
 * ' Men Dieu ! you will think me a difficult guest, ' ' 
 said Tricotrin. ' ' But it is always like this on the 
 Boulevard when one walks — ^perhaps we had bet- 
 ter take a cab?" And no sooner had he said it 
 than their way was blocked by Lajeunie! 
 
 "Ah, mon cher Tricotrin! "What a chance!" 
 exclaimed Lajeunie. "I was at the point of tele- 
 graphing to you. We want you to do us the fa- 
 vour to come round to the theatre after the show 
 — the private office. We are in a dilemma about 
 Bernstein's play." He burst into a narrative of 
 the most complicated order, and Tricotrin put in: 
 
 ''Let me introduce you — ^monsieur Lajeunie, 
 monsieur Blotto." Aside to the Editor he ex- 
 plained, "The Literary Adviser to the Gymnase! 
 I fear we should spare him a moment ; would you 
 much mind our taking a seat somewhere?" 
 
 On the terrace of an adjacent cafe, Lajeunie 's 
 history of the dilemma at the Gymnase, which 
 scintillated with the most eminent names, was 
 hardly exhausted when they were hailed by a 
 sprightly ancient, who proved to be "Papa Trip- 
 ier" in the flesh. To Tricotrin sotto voce the an- 
 cient intimated that the hoaxing of editors as a 
 fine art had flourished solely under Louis-Phihppe, 
 but his public reminiscences of the epoch delayed 
 the dinner by fully twenty minutes. 
 
70 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "An eccentric!" whispered Tricotrin. "But 
 courted by the most famous personages in Paris. 
 A favourable criticism from his pen is said to make 
 the fortune of any novel written. Ma foi! one 
 meets everybody at this time of day." 
 
 And really one seemed to do so, for more alleged 
 notabilities showered about them as he spoke ! 
 
 "Flamant, the painter — I should have liked you 
 to see his 'Circe' in the Salon!" he mentioned, 
 reflecting that Flamant too would have liked to 
 see it there. "The other man is Sanquereau, the 
 sculptor — ^many people predict that he will go 
 further than Rodin. The next time you are here 
 you must meet more of the Moderns ! This even- 
 ing, of course, we shall visit people who are fully 
 'arrived,' but in Paris, you know, we talk more of 
 the men who are making the New Schools than of 
 the old-fashioned lot familiar to the philistine; 
 and as a matter of fact they are more exclusive." 
 
 Across his shoulder he had a glimpse of the 
 faithful Pitou, whose duty was to dog their foot- 
 steps to the restaurant, and subsequently drift 
 upon them to defer their departure. To-night his 
 piano-thumping would be done by deputy. 
 
 Yet the crisis came. Though the composer duly 
 drifted to their presence after the coffee was 
 served, chewing a toothpick; though he was ex- 
 plained to be a Genius, and favoured them with a 
 most fascinating account of a dispute with Mes- 
 sager, monsieur Blotto began to look at his watch. 
 "I had no idea it was so late," he remarked. "If 
 
Monsieur Blotto and the Lions 71 
 
 we are to see your friends, monsieur Tricotrin, I 
 am afraid we must be rising. "Where do we go 
 first?" 
 
 The haggard gaze of the comrades met. The 
 Critic gulped all that was left in his glass. "My 
 project was to run round to Eichepin's," he de- 
 clared, uttering the most illustrious name that 
 presented itself, "but I have not yet heard 
 whether he has anything ' on' — ^we should have had 
 a message here. I shall at once ring him up ! Do 
 not disturb yourself, monsieur Pitou — ^I pray you 
 remain with monsieur Blotto while the waiter 
 conducts me to the telephone." 
 
 How could he foresee that a kindly impulse 
 would move monsieur Blotto to be conducted 
 too? 
 
 "Peste!" he panted, his knees faiUng, "I for- 
 get his number." 
 
 And next, the friendly Editor was moved to 
 find it for him. 
 
 Driven actually to invoke the Exchange for the 
 immortal Eichepin, the wretched young man clung 
 to the telephone for support. Upon the brow of 
 Pitou the perspiration broke in beads. 
 
 With a celerity unprecedented in France, the 
 number was forthcoming. 
 
 "Alio! Alio!" stammered the desperate vic- 
 tim : "monsieur Eichepin, is he in? It is monsieur 
 Tricotrin." 
 
 And a female voice answered in his ear, "Mon- 
 sieur Eichepin is not at horne," 
 
72 While Paris Laughed 
 
 This answer being inaudible to monsieur Blotto 
 and Pitou, the composer's breath was suspended 
 by terror. But all the courage of the Critic was 
 restored. "Ah, I salute you! how are you, dear 
 master?" he cried. "We are praying for your 
 affirmative to my request." 
 
 "Monsieur Richepin," the voice repeated, "is 
 not at home." 
 
 "Oh, did you? I have not received it yet," 
 continued Tricotrin. "What? Oh, to my rooms, 
 that accounts for it ! May we — ^hein? Yes, he is 
 an Editor of mine, and a most brilliant man." 
 
 "What are you saying? Who are you?" 
 squeaked the voice. ^ ' I keep telling you monsieur 
 Richepiu is out." 
 
 "Oh, my honoured friend, I hope it is not vio- 
 lent?" said the Critic for reply. "What? Well, 
 we should be enchanted, but he is leaving Paris 
 this evening." 
 
 "Not at home! Not at home! Who is it you 
 are talking to?" yelled the servant, losing pa- 
 tience. 
 
 "Most certainly, I shall be overjoyed," re- 
 turned Tricotrin, "but What? Right! the 
 
 next time he arrives! I will come on Sunday 
 alone, then. Au revoir, cher maitre, I so earnestly 
 hope you will pass a good night." And he rang 
 off smartly before the infuriated bonne could an- 
 ticipate him. 
 
 "A touch of his neuralgia!" he q,nnounoed. 
 
Monsieur Blotto and the Lions 73 
 
 turning. "He is desolated to miss you, but he 
 must go to bed." 
 
 Bebind Blotto 's back the allies gripped hands 
 with relief. 
 
 The respite was short, however. Though they 
 resumed their seats, the exigent Blotto was not to 
 be balked of lions. Monsieur Pitou developed an 
 ardent interest in the matter, and he and the 
 Critic debated exhaustively the question of the 
 happiest selection. But the debate could not be 
 continued until the train was imminent. 
 
 So, aU things being equally impossible, Trico- 
 trin decided that the green-room of the Theatre 
 Frangais would amuse his Editor most. 
 
 ' ' This, ' ' he gasped to Pitou, as the host was put- 
 ting on his overcoat, "is your turn — I am played 
 out. Do with him what you will. But remember 
 that the man must never reach the Fra/ngais!" 
 
 The night was fair as the trio stepped into the 
 glitter of the boulevard. The Critic, no longer 
 master of himseTf, leant heavily on the composer's 
 arm. Almost at the same moment he beheld with 
 horror an unpropitious cabman wooing monsieur 
 Blotto to accelerate their doom. 
 
 "The Metro," said Pitou peremptorily, "would 
 be quicker!" 
 
 At these inspired words Tricotrin nearly bound- 
 ed with hope. How often had he asserted that 
 one could not cross a road by the Metropolitain 
 without having to change twice ! 
 
 Monsieur Blotto did not deniur;. 
 
74 While Paris Laughed 
 
 And the opportunities offered for being on 
 wrong platforms were infinite. 
 
 When the tourist was replete with subways and 
 the party climbed disgusted to the street, the loss 
 of time had been extremely serious, and they were 
 farther from the Frangais than at the start. 
 
 "Mon Dieu!" he bemoaned, "there remains to 
 us no more than an hour — ^no more than an hour ; 
 I must call at the hotel for my valise, and my 
 train goes at twenty to zero. ' ' 
 
 "It is maddening!" fumed Tricotrin. "What 
 may the time be precisely? Morbleu! If I am 
 not mistaken they are playing what's-its-name to- 
 night — ia which case we shall get there when 
 everybody is on the stage ; the green-room will be 
 empty for even longer than we can stay. Let us 
 see a journal ; perhaps they are playing something 
 else!" 
 
 But they were not. It was just as he had feared. 
 
 That execrable Metro! For this evening the 
 Frangais must be scratched. 
 
 "Can you suggest no visit hereabouts? Where 
 are we?" 
 
 "Montmartre!" sighed Tricotrin; "the Im- 
 mortal Forty are not so high." 
 
 And the Editor's face grew longer still; his de- 
 jection grieved his guides. 
 
 "Upon my word, gentlemen," said Pitou, "I 
 feel some responsibility for this contretemps, 
 though it may be that I am unduly sensitive. We 
 gre, as it happens, in a region not uninteresting. 
 
Monsieur Blotto and the Lions 75 
 
 If monsieur Blotto would peep at what few 
 strangers are privileged to behold, what says he 
 to bohemia — the extraordinary quarters where 
 youths of genius pray to their Muses, and often 
 to their concierges, and support existence on her- 
 rings and hope? I venture the opinion that the 
 Frangais would have tickled him less." 
 
 "Are you acquainted with any such obscure 
 young fellows?" asked Tricotrin, startled. 
 
 "I know of two," Pitou answered, "not far 
 distant — a poet and musician." 
 
 "It would certainly be droll," agreed the Edi- 
 tor, recovering his cheerfulness. 
 
 Up a hiU they went, and up six flights of stairs ; 
 and agape, Tricotrin saw Pitou tap at their own 
 door. 
 
 No voice invited them to enter. 
 
 "Nevertheless, we may venture in," said Pitou; 
 "I know them well enough." 
 
 Beyond the broken panes the moon was vivid; 
 stark poverty was revealed before he took the 
 liberty to light the lamp. 
 
 "A poet, and musician," he repeated, "and I 
 assure you, of talents remarkable ! Ah ! a herring- 
 bone, as I predicted; one of them has dined to- 
 night. What have we here? A scrap of the com- 
 poser's! 'Rose de Noel,' hein? Eefused, I dare 
 swear, by a score of publishers ! Yet one day per- 
 haps the rose wiU have its vogue. Listen, the 
 thing is not without merit!" And in his little 
 tenor voice he sang. 
 
76 While Paris Laughed 
 
 Never had the Critic contemplated his friend 
 with such admiration, 
 
 ''The table where they write — grimed. The 
 chairs they sit on — ^broken. The panorama that 
 inspires them — chimney-pots. No, I am wrong — 
 I surmise that they do not note the chimney-pots. 
 Our bohemians look, past the distant roofs, on to 
 the great stage of the Opera — into the theatres of 
 the Boulevard — into the sumptuous salons of fair 
 women, whose applause they hope to win." 
 
 The Editor shone with complacence. Had it 
 been Montbonne, he would have seen only a gaunt 
 garret and the need for soap-and-w^ter — ^but it 
 was Paris, and he saw the shade of Murger and 
 was charmed. Improved by two artists' visions 
 at the window, the vista of chimney-pots became 
 a memorable view; indeed, he began to feel like 
 two artists himself. 
 
 "It is a pity," Pitou continued, "that the poet 
 has not left a verse about." 
 
 And, by a stroke of good fortune, an ode of the 
 absent poet's was perceived! — and the Critic had 
 an impulse to declaim it. His sincere appreciation 
 of the manuscript enabled him to do the fullest 
 justice to its beauty. 
 
 Monsieur Blotto grew pink with pleasure. Pri- 
 vately he foresaw himself recounting this experi- 
 ence for years to come — in the tone of one to whom 
 Paris held no mysteries. It was with difficulty 
 that he could bear in mind his train at "twenty to 
 
Monsieur Blotto and the Lions 77 
 
 "I declare we have not fared so badly, after 
 all!" said Tricotrin, as they put him into an auto- 
 taxi at last. "We have chanced to meet many of 
 the Moderns; we have talked with Richepin over 
 the telephone; and we have penetrated to the 
 innermost heart of bohemia." 
 
 "I have been vastly interested — ^vastly inter- 
 ested," concurred the Editor. "Without exag- 
 geration, as pleasant an evening as I have ever 
 spent ! If I regret anything, it is merely that the 
 two young fellows were not at home." His ac- 
 knowledgments were numerous, and only the toot- 
 ing of the taxi cut them short. 
 
 The comrades fell into each other's arms. 
 
 ' ' My preserver ! ' ' cried the Critic. ' ' Yet I would 
 that he had thanked us less — I confess to com- 
 punction." 
 
 "The same with me — the Greatest are never 
 wholly content with their achievements," said 
 Pitou. "But we have saved our bacon!" he chir- 
 ruped, skipping. 
 
 "And I am sure," added Tricotrin virtuously, 
 "his nearest, and dearest could not have worked 
 harder than we did to meet his wishes!" 
 
IV 
 
 The Meeting in the Galeeies Lafayette 
 
 AFTER the foregoing crisis, there is reason to 
 believe, the poet remained on the pay-sheet 
 of La Depeche de Montbonne for several months. 
 Dishonesty often reaps some transient advantage 
 here below, though the youthful reader would be 
 rash to anticipate substantial benefits from its 
 practice unless he is astute. The world is thick 
 with rogues who have never attained to more than 
 the fleeting fiver. But when monsieur Blotto dis- 
 carded dramatic criticism from Paris in favour of 
 a column of local pleasantries and compliments 
 Tricotrin's position gave him furiously to think. 
 For one thing, he had a nightmare. 
 
 "You cannot conceive the horror of it," he 
 moaned to the composer, whom his shrieks had 
 wakened. "A nightmare the most frightful — ^I 
 dreamt I was thirty. Girls referred to me as a 
 'fat old thing.' Oh, mon Dieu! light the candle 
 and see if my hair has turned white." 
 
 "Thirty must be a wreck of an age," agreed 
 Pitou. "But you will have time to double the 
 contents of the National Library before you are 
 thirty. Be caJm!" 
 
 7» 
 
Meeting in Galeries Lafayette 79 
 
 "No; it has been sent to me as a warning! I 
 should have been famous and opulent ere this; 
 yet it would be exaggerating to say that I have 
 either world-wide renown or unlimited wealth. 
 Something must be done to give my affairs a leg- 
 up without delay." 
 
 "I recommend the Editor of Le Demi-Mot to 
 your attention," said Pitou, after thinking the 
 matter over. "If you lay the case before him as 
 cogently as that, he might buy an ode." 
 
 "What a head you have! And where should 
 I be without your advice?" cried Tricotrin, his 
 confidence returning. "Yes, you are right ; I have 
 been allowing Le Denm-Mot far too long a respite 
 — ^it is more than time that they had the privilege 
 of gathering another flower of my genius. I shall 
 offer them a bouquet of it in the morning. ' ' 
 
 And after a light luncheon, he selected a round 
 dozen of his rejected manuscripts and went out 
 to conquer. 
 
 As it was an hour in which the Editor was doing 
 nothing more vital than yawn at Le Rire and 
 knock cigar-ash on the floor, he received the poet, 
 and said: 
 
 "We are chock-ablock with poetry, but we might 
 consider stories of a high order." 
 
 "At a high price?" inquired Tricotrin, replac- 
 ing the "bouquet" in his pockets. 
 
 "They must, however, be in the latest mode. 
 I suppose you have never visited London, hein?" 
 
8o While Paris Laughed 
 
 "But I have, monsieur! I spent a most edify- 
 ing time in London. Why do you ask?" 
 
 "Our readers demand fiction generously deco- 
 rated with colloquial English — ^we cannot foot it 
 or drink veesTcy-soda too much in our feuilletons 
 to please them nowadays; I have reflected that 
 to lay the scene in London might exhilarate them 
 more still. Is it in your power to evolve a story 
 about English people?" 
 
 "On my head!" said the poet with secret dis- 
 may. 
 
 "And you can catch the veritable tone?" 
 
 "Absolutely! The hero will declare his passion 
 on the golf-links, and the lady will reply, 'I love 
 you; damn it, I am hunkered!' " 
 
 "Very well, put your back into the effort, and 
 if the result is realistic we will discuss a series. I 
 do not say but what I might agree to accept one 
 from you every week." 
 
 "Touching terms," murmured Tricotrin; "I 
 presume, monsieur, that the remuneration is a 
 louis apiece?" 
 
 * * No, ' ' said the Editor. ' * To our favourite con- 
 tributors it is ten francs. But in the present in- 
 stance I could not pledge myself to pay so hand- 
 somely until I know whether your fiction is up to 
 our standard." 
 
 "Have no misgiving," rejoined the applicant; 
 "you will be ravished with it!" And though 
 the absence of ready money was a drawback, he 
 felt that the visit might have turned out worse. 
 
Meeting in Galeries Lafayette 8 1 
 
 Unfortunately tlie circumstances in wliicli Tri- 
 cotrin saw London had not conduced to an ex- 
 haustive knowledge of English life. The young 
 man returned to the attic proposing to hammer 
 out a tale before Pitou came in, but he found him- 
 self committed to a rebellious task. After an hour 
 of labour he had produced no more than the fol- 
 lowing lines : 
 
 "Lolling in his luxurious home in the Totten- 
 ham Court road, the fashionable lord BUI Walker 
 sipped a glass of rare gin and asked himself how 
 he should pass the day." 
 
 This pleased the author by reason of its foreign 
 words in italics, and its wealth of local colour, 
 but he realised that it left him with little over. 
 He was ambitious of referring intimately to the 
 view beyond the fashionable lord's windows, but 
 could not decide whether it was Hyde Park or 
 the Thames. Continuing in desperation at last, he 
 wrote : 
 
 "The view, so well known, on which his gaze 
 indolently rested, a view that was even more 
 smart than usual on this bright May morning, in- 
 spired him with no idea." 
 
 ' ' What next ? ' ' muttered Tricotrin. ' ' ' Inspired 
 him with no idea!' He is in the same state as I 
 am. Upon my word, it looks as if his idea will 
 have to be to jump into the first train for Paris ! 
 But he would be travelling against the Editor's 
 wishes, of course, so his trip would cost me ten 
 francs. Peste! he is a sticker, this fellow — I al- 
 
82 While Paris Laughed 
 
 ways said the English were difficult to get on 
 with." 
 
 By six o'clock he had lost all patience with his 
 protagonist, who was still asking himself how to 
 pass the day. Fleeing for inspiration to the 
 streets,' the unappreciated poet paced the boule- 
 vard with slow steps, reflecting, not for the first 
 time, that Literature was an arduous profession. 
 And, strange as the coincidence may appear, with- 
 in a stone's throw of the Square d'Anvers he met 
 the novelist, Lajeunie, similarly engaged. 
 
 "Dismiss your anxieties — ^you must not over- 
 work! And let us talk about mine!" said Trico- 
 trin, proceeding to do so. 
 
 "Well, well, probably a second-hajid copy of a 
 guide to London would settle your affair!" ex- 
 claimed Lajeunie, interrupting the recital. "To 
 recur to my thirty-seventh chapter, which pre- 
 sents a weightier problem in psychology than any 
 other chapter in my career " 
 
 "A guide-book contains dryasdust details of 
 Vestminster Abbey; lork Beel Valker cannot de- 
 cide to pass his day in Vestminster Abbey, he is 
 not that sort of chap. What I obviously require 
 is the unmercenary collaboration of an English 
 girl with blue eyes ; a few of the prettiest English 
 typists here could provide me with some tips be- 
 yond price, only they cannot express themselves 
 in French, the donkies. Be sympathetic! It is a 
 tight comer I am in, and all for the lack of a nice 
 little anglaise to take an interest in me." 
 
Meeting in Galeries Lafayette 83 
 
 "If you are indisposed to attend to my difficul- 
 ties with Chapter XXXVII. I have no use for your 
 company," announced Lajeunie. "Will you re- 
 lieve me of the hurden when I remind you that 
 plenty of French girls can supply you with the 
 tips 1 In the Graleries Lafayette, where, of course, 
 I never buy anything, but where I occasionally 
 take shelter from the rain, I have heard one of 
 the assistants talking English as volubly as I have 
 ever heard you talk rot. ' ' 
 
 "You don't exaggerate? A French girl who 
 has lived in London? "Why didn't you say so be- 
 fore? In what department is the treasure to be 
 discovered?" 
 
 "If my memory serves me, the customers were 
 inspecting waterproofs, Ask for the ladies' wa- 
 terproof department, and keep your eyes open. 
 You may identify her by a dimple in the right 
 cheek if anything occurs to make her smile," 
 
 "The description is not redundant. Young?" 
 
 "A chUd of, say, three-and-twenty." 
 
 "Tall?" 
 
 "Not too tall to be caressable, nor so short that 
 she lacks majesty." 
 
 "Blonde, or brunette?" 
 
 "A blonde, with exquisite ears." 
 
 "Pray heaven that my capital may suffice for 
 her society!" cried Tricotrin. "If charm, and a 
 bottle of beer wiU meet her views I see myself 
 coruscating in Le Demi-Mot every week. I am 
 off! Keep a brave heart, mon vieux; optimism 
 
84 While Paris Laughed 
 
 wMspers that your Chapter XXXVII. wiU turn 
 out to be a gem." 
 
 Now whether the portrait had been idealised, or 
 whether the beauty had had the sack, or whether 
 Lajeunie had shamelessly invented her, with the 
 object of continuing his promenade undisturbed, 
 is a matter for conjecture. But Tricotrin could 
 not find her. Vainly he scanned the features of 
 all the employees in the ladies' waterproof depart- 
 ment ; not one resembling the majestic but caress- 
 able blonde with exquisite ears was to be dis- 
 covered. In halting French, and with the thickest 
 British accent at his comLOiand, he proceeded to 
 ask if the establishment possessed an assistant 
 qualified to attend upon an English customer. 
 "But perfectly, monsieur!" An interval of vivid 
 hop© ensued. Then the biliaguous assistant ap- 
 peared — in trousers. And not only was he disap- 
 ponting in his sex, he was unpromisingly com- 
 mercial in his manner. ' ' Morbleu ! ' ' reflected the 
 adventurer, with his jaw dropping. "For any 
 suggestions that will emanate from this source 
 lord Valker can remain in the Tottenham Court 
 road till his second chUdhood." 
 
 The disappointing person demanded briskly 
 what "mister desired." 
 
 Mister now desired chiefly to get out of the shop. 
 Having pbserved a display of miUinery far afield, 
 he accordingly expressed an interest in millinery, 
 with a view to eluding his conductor on the way 
 to it. But suddenly something happened. A 
 
Meeting in Galeries Lafayette 85 
 
 portly matron in the crowd, after regarding him 
 with conflicting emotions, made a hurried move- 
 ment towards him, exclaiming, "So it is you, you 
 reprobate!" And, more disconcerted stiU, the 
 young man found himself confronted by his aimt, 
 madame Eigaud. 
 
 ' * My aunt ! " he gasped. * ' What a joy to behold 
 you again! And how is my beloved uncle?" 
 
 "I do not know that your uncle would at all 
 approve of my greeting you!" sighed the matron. 
 "You have repaid your dear uncle shamefully for 
 his goodness to you." 
 
 "Alas!" said the culprit, who had long ago 
 dismissed the incidents from his mind, "you tell 
 me only what my conscience repeats in every hour. 
 How astonishing it is to see you like this ! Tou 
 have not removed to Paris?" 
 
 ' 'No, we go back to Lyons in a day or two. We 
 have been in Paris a week; your cousia is with 
 us — it was really on her account we came." She 
 shook her head at him. "If your behaviour had 
 been less scandalous we should have let you know 
 of our arrival." 
 
 "It is a bitter thought that I owe the delight 
 of meeting you only to chance, ' ' responded Trioo- 
 trin. And it did indeed depress him to reflect 
 that he had lost a six-course dinner. "My cousin, 
 the little Henriette ! What an age since I saw that 
 sweet child!" 
 
 "I hope I did not hear you inquiring for ladies' 
 hats?" said madame Eigaud pointedly. 
 
86 While Paris Laughed 
 
 <«i 
 
 'I shall not disguise from you that that was 
 the article. But do not wrong me hy inferring 
 that I am about to make a present; even if I 
 had not outlived such follies, my pocket would ex- 
 ercise a restraining influence. I am engaged in 
 the laudable and essential effort to turn an honest 
 penny." To the interpreter, who was betraying 
 considerable amazement at the fluent French fall- 
 ing from the "Englishman's" lips, he added in 
 the latest slang of Montmartre, "Never mind, 
 papa — hats are off ! I'll look round your museum 
 another day!" 
 
 "Behave yourself! What a way to talk to him I 
 So you are as hard up as ever, hein? Tour poems 
 and plays have brought you no fortune, Gus- 
 tave!" 
 
 "Your penetration is not at fault, my aunt. 
 However, it is now too late to reform. Fervently 
 as I may regret that I disregarded my family's 
 counsel in the past" — even in his worst straits 
 he had never regretted anything of the kind — 
 "I am by this time ecrivain for life, and the ut- 
 most that any one can do to relieve my sufferings 
 is to supply some temporary assistance." The 
 lady held a purse positively bulging with coin, and 
 his gaze hung upon it fascinated. 
 
 "Well, well, unfortunate boy, I suppose you 
 must go your way," she mumbled. But the purse 
 remained shut. 
 
 "My way, this evening, is as far as your hotel, 
 if I may have the privilege of escorting you," he 
 
Meeting in Galeries Lafayette 87 
 
 declared, savouring a meal if nothing mor«. 
 "Have you any other purchases to make?" 
 
 "No, I have got all I want. Well, let us go, 
 then, if you are sure you can spare the time!" 
 
 "Providing, of course, that the poverty of my 
 clothes will not embarrass you?" he questioned, 
 m case she overlooked his need of a new suit. 
 
 "Your clothes will pass, my little one; I am 
 not a woman of fashion. If one may ask, though, 
 why do you wear so extraordinary a hat?" 
 
 "In the quarter where I live it is not extra- 
 ordinary," he muttered, crestfallen. And they 
 made for the door together. 
 
 "This Paris becomes more and more impossi- 
 ble!" complained the lady. ' * It demands the agil- 
 ity of an acrobat to cross a road." 
 
 "You need feel no trepidation while you are 
 with me," said Tricotrin. It was not to hear her 
 discourse upon the state of the traffic that he had 
 proposed to accompany her, and he continued 
 swiftly : 
 
 "I hope the hardships that an artistic career 
 imposes on me do not distress you, my aunt? You 
 must not grieve for me. I bear my trials with 
 philosophy, remember! I am supported by the 
 knowledge that your grandchildren will see a 
 statue to me. Although I am often without food 
 and fuel, I breakfast on brave hopes, and warm 
 my hands before the 'sacred fire.' " 
 
 "Then you do not so fervently regret having 
 rejected our counsel? Enfin, all the better!" 
 
88 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "Well, it is like this," lie explained, confused. 
 "For tlie sake of my relatives I do not regret — 
 it will be something to have had G-ustave Tricotrin 
 in the family. But I feel that my fame will be 
 posthumous — ^my constitution is failing, and I 
 shall probably die young — and when I reflect that 
 I shall not survive to wear the laurels, I confess 
 that my courage wanes. Since I have had to 
 choose between starvation and apostasy, there 
 are moments when my interior wishes that I had 
 been apostate." 
 
 "It is," she remarked, "these execrable auto- 
 taxis that have done it — ^the chauffeurs behave 
 as if they owned the earth ! I do not know whether 
 it is more dangerous now to walk or to drive — ^in 
 one case you must expect to be run over, and in 
 the other you woo a collision." 
 
 "It is very true," he assented irritably. "No, 
 I would not have you grieve for me, my aunt! 
 You must not let the remembrance of my priva- 
 tions torture you. Do not, I entreat you, condemn 
 me to the thought that my dead mother's sister 
 passes sleepless nights in recalling the extremities 
 of my want!" 
 
 "To speak the truth, we ceased to worry about 
 you a long time ago, Grustave," she said. "You 
 turned your back on the opportunities that we 
 offered you, and we realised that there was no 
 more to be done." 
 
 "I am rejoiced!" said the bohemian blankly. 
 And as his appetite improved with the stroll, it 
 
Meeting in Galeries Lafayette 89 
 
 was another and a heavier blow to him, when the 
 hotel was reached, to hear her say, "Alors, give 
 me your address I I cannot ask you to come in, 
 my boy — ^your uncle is so incensed against you." 
 
 "Mon Dieul how heinous a fault is vindictive- 
 ness," moaned the forsaken poet on the pavement. 
 [Through the basement window he had a tantalising 
 glimpse of cooks preparing purees. "What shat- 
 tered hopes hail around me — all through the un- 
 initiative Valker! I know where he deserves to 
 'pass his day.' " 
 
 Herrings and lentils were a poor substitute for 
 an hotel dinner, and Pitou had all his work cut 
 out to offer solace. The plates were scraped be- 
 fore the harassed scribe would grant that a ray 
 of light was to be discerned in the request for his 
 address. 
 
 "And at the best," he said, "it will mean mere- 
 ly a snack, and a lecture! I do not foresee the 
 glimmer of a solitary louis; I do not anticipate 
 a forty-sous piece. If herrings were not scarce 
 these days, I would refuse an invitation by an 
 epigram in verse. Alas, hunger makes cravens of 
 us all! I fawned upon her, Nicolas, I cadged 
 like an ouvreuse. No, I deny it, it was not I — 
 it was my empty stomach ! Shall a man be judged 
 by his stomach? But my heart and brain revolt 
 at the remembrance — my cheeks scorch at the 
 thought of the indignities to which I fell. I swear 
 that, with a square meal inside me, I had been 
 9,s high above themi as the stars of heaven. Is 
 
90 While Paris Laughed 
 
 it not pitiful that a beefsteak may determine the 
 difference between a hero and a cure. 
 
 But on the morrow, when the invitation arrived, 
 his native buoyancy reasserted itself. Especially 
 since Pitou, and Sanquereau, and Didier, and one 
 or two other congenial spirits of the quartier 
 opined that the silk manufacturer would present 
 him with a bank-note to demonstrate that there 
 was no ill-feeling. 
 
 "Should Croesus hanker for a bust of himself, 
 bear in mind that I am open to an offer!" bawled 
 Sanquereau. 
 
 "Bring back to me a commission for a life-size 
 portrait of thy aunt!" urged Didier. 
 
 "And pocket a slice of the fatted calf, that I 
 may sup ! ' ' begged Pitou. 
 
 Rehearsing his features in an expression of 
 ingratiating penitence, Tricotrin went forth. 
 
 Monsieur Rigaud, fully a stone stouter than 
 when he had denounced the prodigal last, was 
 spread in a basket-chair in the hotel hall. He 
 tendered formal finger-tips, and growled. "So 
 you have come, my fine fellow! You did not de- 
 serve that I should ever receive you again." 
 
 The visitor responded emotionally, "My uncle! ' 
 Time seems to have stood still with you." And 
 then, before either could say any more, there was 
 a frou-frou of skirts and his astonished gaze be- 
 held an apparition out of a novel. Advancing 
 beside his aunt was a jeune fille with a complexion 
 and a pair of eyes that made his senses spin. 
 
Meeting in Galeries Lafayette 91 
 
 "Your cousin, Henriette!" said madame Rigaud. 
 And, dimpling demurely, the apparition touched 
 him with a hand like a roseleaf and murmured, 
 "Cousin Gustave!" 
 
 "Oh, I have expired and am in Paradise!" 
 thought the stupefied poet, whose recollection of 
 "Henriette" was a scraggy brat with a wisp of 
 ribbon over each ear. The effect she produced 
 on him was so sensational that moments passed 
 before lie became conscious that the manufacturer 
 was in the midst of an harangue. Awakening to 
 the fact with a start, however, he replied aptly, 
 "All you say is, alas, true, my uncle! You bon- 
 our me by this long-sought opportunity to utter 
 my remorse." 
 
 "Humph! You owe it to your aunt's entreat- 
 ies." 
 
 "How good of you, my aunt! You are botb 
 being far too magnanimous to me. . . . She has 
 a foot to die under, her instep is an inspiration!" 
 he reflected dizzily. 
 
 "I am well aware of our weakness," grunted 
 the gentleman. "I am about to show you far too 
 much consideration." 
 
 "Ah?" said Tricotrin, with budding interest. 
 
 "My judgment disapproves of what I am going 
 to say." 
 
 "But your affectionate beart wiU not be 
 quelled?" He fancied that the ingenue's lips 
 flickered for an instant. Certainly her glance, 
 which he caught this time, was not unsympathetic. 
 
92 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "Your uncle," began madame Eigaud, "has 
 most generously decided, Gustave " 
 
 "Permettez!" said her husband, interrupting 
 her with dignity. "Mon enfant, I am informed — 
 and I shall not pretend that it surprises me — that 
 you remain a pauper. You may recall my pre- 
 dictions? Alors, while you persist in these fatui- 
 ties I am not prepared to provide you with a 
 sou " 
 
 "Fatuities?" 
 
 "Poems!" 
 
 "Would it be satisfactory if I wrot© comediei 
 in prose?" 
 
 "Attention, imbecile! But I have been per- 
 suaded to allow you one chance more to amend 
 your ways. For the last time I offer you a posi- 
 tion in the business, and — enfin, if you are serious, 
 if you content me, you wiU have prospects. You 
 will have fine prospects. All is said. Now con- 
 sider well, and give me your answer ! If you ac- 
 cept, you will go with us to-morrow to Lyons. If 
 you refuse, you may go elsewhere!" 
 
 How fatal to man's noblest resolutions is a 
 susceptible heart! To say that scorn raged in 
 Tricotrin is to put it inadequately. He had risen 
 to his fullest stature; he tossed a dauntless head; 
 his lips parted to spurn the mess of pottage, in 
 burning words. But the enchantment of the com- 
 plexion struck him dumb. To accept would mean 
 to see her constantly! His intention tottered. 
 The peak of Parnassus dwindled before her five- 
 
Meeting in Galeries Lafayette 93 
 
 feet-six of beauty. "Jovis pater, tMs is love!" 
 thouglit the poet, horror-stricken. And, floimder- 
 ing in temptation, he cried unto all the Muses 
 collectively to shield him against the barbs of 
 Cupid. 
 
 "Come, come, there is no doubt what his an- 
 swer will be!" broke in madame Rigaud, taking 
 pity on his paUor; "he will make a very sensible 
 answer before he leaves us. In the meantime let 
 us take dejeuner, I beseech you, or the soup will 
 be cold!" 
 
 Never had the distracted young man contem- 
 plated so much food with so little enthusiasm. 
 His palate had fled and he masticated hors 
 d'ceuvres like a machine. To sacrifice his career 
 for a woman? It would be sublime. But it would 
 also be frightful. One half of his mind yearned 
 to the romantic situation prodigiously; the other 
 opposed it with gigantic force. What a conflict! 
 With the soup. Literature fought hke Carpentier ; 
 but with the fish, you would have offered two to 
 one on the Complexion. 
 
 The maiden responsible for the terrific combat 
 helped herself to more sauce with the composure 
 of a deity. 
 
 "You find Henriette much altered, Gustave, 
 n'est ce pas?" 
 
 "But it is incredible, my aunt!" 
 
 "I am such a shock as all that?" 
 
 "Ah, mademoiselle I You are, if I may own 
 it, a revelation!" 
 
94 While Paris Laughed 
 
 Her eyes admitted that he might own it. Then 
 she veiled them bashfully. "Too amiable, mon- 
 sieur!" You would have offered three to on« 
 now. 
 
 Perspiration bespangled him. At last the host 
 said a good thing : 
 
 "Again some wiae, Gustave?" 
 
 "A very little, my uncle." 
 
 "Henriette, ma cherie, pass the bottle to thy 
 cousin!" 
 
 Their fingers met. Literature was fighting 
 tired, and the Complexion was as fresh as ever. 
 He thought sonnets to it, and cotelettes de mouton 
 a la jardiniere might have been sawdust. 
 
 "I fear you have regarded me as one very ob- 
 stinate and foolish?" he found a chance to falter 
 while the parents were chasing gravy roimd their 
 plates. 
 
 "Mais non! All the same, if I dared ad- 
 vise " 
 
 "I implore you!" 
 
 "1 would go to Lyons." 
 
 "A little gorgonzola, Gustave?" 
 
 Literature was on its last legs. Cheese found 
 it staggering, and dessert saw it f aU. 
 
 At the call of "coffee" it failed to rise. 
 
 Towards three o'clock that afternoon, Mes- 
 sieurs Sanquereau, Pitou, and Didier, taking the 
 air on the boulevard de Rochechouart, were dis- 
 mayed to perceive their comrade returning from 
 
Meeting in Galeries Lafayette 95 
 
 the lents of the Philistines with the gait of a som- 
 nambulist. 
 
 "He bears no commission for a bust!" said 
 Sanquereau heavily. 
 
 "My portrait of his aunt is another vanished 
 prospect!" sighed the painter. 
 
 "That wretched Eigaud has not parted with a 
 centime!" inferred Pitou. 
 
 Having realised their presence with a start, the 
 poet drew them mutely to the terrace of a cafe. 
 "Command what you will, my friends," he said, 
 faUing into a chair; "I shall give you a toast!" 
 And he tossed ten great coins of five francs each 
 on the table, scarcely noting where they dropped. 
 
 "Visions of splendour ! Is he in the silver busi- 
 ness now, your uncle?" queried Pitou, feasting 
 his eyes. 
 
 "It came to me in gold; I changed it into silver 
 to make it look more," Tricotrin explained. He 
 raised his glass, and then, at the reckless words 
 he uttered, three artists bounded so violently that 
 they spilt good wine: 
 
 "To Hymen, god of marriage, and Gustave Tri- 
 cotrin, manufacturer of silk!" he cried. 
 
 Minutes passed while the trio sat staring at 
 him, speechless. 
 
 "The cousin!" ejaculated Pitou; "she is no 
 longer so ugly as she was?" 
 
 "She was exquisite always," answered the lover 
 indignantly; "you must be thinking of somebody 
 else. But you have hit it. Yes, mes amis ; I have 
 
96 While Paris Laughed 
 
 seen the only girl I ever loved. She stands within 
 the gates of commerce, but to clasp her as my 
 bride I will endure all things, even employment. 
 The degrading offer that you know of has been 
 renewed — and to-morrow morning I go to Lyons." 
 
 "This is too hideous!" quavered Didier. "It 
 is impossible that you are in earnest. Employ- 
 ment? Lyons? Oh, it is delirium ! The offer was 
 refused? Speak! Avow that it was refused." 
 
 "I go." 
 
 "Thougoest?" 
 
 "He goes!" wailed Pitou, recognising the 
 symptoms of a great passion. 
 
 And that night it was said solemnly by many 
 boys in Montmartre, "What a tragedy when a 
 young man ruins himself for a pretty face! If 
 youth but knew ! Alas, one cannot put old heads 
 on young shoulders!" It was a night of "good- 
 byes," a night so poignant to Pitou that vale- 
 dictory bocks well-nigh choked him. Dawn was 
 breaking when the two young men wound their 
 way back to their garret. The blank boulevard 
 looked mournful, and the skies dropped tears. 
 
 "It has had its pathos," admitted Triootrin, 
 after a long reverie. "And the worst is stiU to 
 come. It is leaving thee, Nicolas, that I funk." 
 
 "Without doubt I shall weep myself blind. 
 And what then? The quartier without thee — ^I 
 would rather not view it!" 
 
 "Ah, my quartier! the very rain is pattering 
 memories this morning. The strangers that have 
 
Meeting in Galeries Lafayette 97 
 
 blown here, to become our pals — and the pals that 
 have flitted, to be seen no more. One by one we 
 vanish. Last year 'twas Goujand — ^now 'tis I! 
 Listen, thou dost not go to the station with me." 
 
 "Bien!" 
 
 * ' I could not bear to part from thee in a crowd. ' ' 
 
 "I understand. Yet I could have wished to 
 learn how She looks. There is one thing I have 
 not said, Gustave — ^I bear her no ill-will, altiiough 
 she takes thee from me." 
 
 "I was sure of it." 
 
 "To be practical, thy trunk will not contain a 
 third of thy manuscripts. ' ' 
 
 "It will not contain one of them; they belong 
 to my past!" replied the new man firmly. "If 
 thou wilt, keep them in remembrance of hopes that 
 we have shared. ' ' 
 
 Neither of the pair slept a wink. 
 
 "I have left twenty francs for thee on the wash- 
 handstand, Nicolas." 
 
 "I duly noted them — ^thou wilt find them ia thy 
 hat. I should feel as if I had sold thee !" 
 
 "Sentimentalist! One cannot argue, then," 
 sighed Tricotrin, cording the box. And in lieu of 
 arguing, he surreptitiously transferred the coins 
 to the other's tobacco-pouch. 
 
 There were a hundred and sixty-four stairs to 
 descend, and every one of them was bad for the 
 heart. 
 
 Monsieur, madame, and mademoiselle Bigaud 
 were alighting from a cab as he reached the sta- 
 
98 While Paris Laughed 
 
 tion. "Little you surmise what ploughshares I 
 have trodden to win you!" thought her victim, 
 greeting the girl wMle her father disputed with 
 the driver, and her mother screamed agitated in- 
 structions about bonnet-boxes. In the atmosphere 
 of excitement created by the Rigauds, pere and 
 mere, on their way to the booking-office, he had 
 the impression of being swept to his doom on a 
 whirlwind. 
 
 Their places were selected, and their wraps and 
 impedimenta and refreshments disposed to their 
 satisfaction at last. Madame fanned herself with 
 a newspaper, and withdrew a little mirror and 
 other articles from her sac-a-main, to repair the 
 ravages of travel. The manufacturer, pufSng 
 achievement, clasped his hands over his fancy 
 waistcoat with the air of one who had been around 
 the world in thirty-five days. The ingenue retired 
 modestly behind a copy of L' Illustration. And 
 the engine whooshed. 
 
 By an effort nothing short of superhuman the 
 Parisian refrained from throwing himself on to 
 the liae. 
 
 Baffling are the vagaries of the poetic mind! 
 It may have been that the maiden displayed imdue 
 interest in L' Illustration, or it may have been that 
 his thoughts had been dwelling more persistently 
 on Montmartre than on the maiden; but some 
 time later, when his uncle quitted the compartment 
 to smoke a cigarette, her adorer himself was ca- 
 pable of detachment from the loadstone of her 
 
Meeting in Galeries Lafayette 99 
 
 presence. Croesus and the exile smoked in the 
 corridor together. 
 
 "It will be no misfortune to sleep in my own 
 bed again!" observed monsieur Eigaud, who had 
 recovered his composure. "It is not for amuse- 
 ment that one undertakes such journeys." 
 
 "Business before all things!" responded the 
 young man laudably. "I wager you have made a 
 bit by the trip, my uncle?" 
 
 "It is true. I do not complain on that score. 
 Not that it was an affair of the firm — ^it was an 
 arrangement more intimate." He was confiden- 
 tial. "You have heard of monsieur Duchambon, 
 the advocate?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "No? Mais! Monsieur Armel Duchambon? 
 He is a young man most distinguished ! It would 
 not astonish me to see him President one day. 
 He is very well born, too; his parents are very 
 proud — it was not many families at Le Touquet 
 that they consented to know ; it was at Le Touquet 
 that our acquaintance with them began. Enfin, 
 it is now settled! I am conscious that they have 
 squeezed from me a larger dowry than they had 
 the right to exact, but, on the other hand, I have 
 forced the Duchambons to pull out nearly double 
 the sum that they had determined to give their 
 son. Your cousin marries monsieur Armel Du- 
 chambon, and I am well content." 
 
 "Henriette," gibbered Tricotrin, "is affianced 
 to another?" 
 
100 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "Another? No, to Duohambon, as I say." 
 
 "But — sacre tonnerre ! For what, then, do you 
 imagine I forsook my art?" demanded Tricotrin 
 indignantly. "For the insufferable silk and a 
 vulgar prosperity? A thousand 'noes'! It was 
 for her — ^Because I Loved Her!" 
 
 At these words, spoken with that simple, manly 
 feeling that one may hear on many a stage, the 
 senior's face turned so rich a purple that several 
 passengers in the corridor forgot their cigarettes 
 to survey him. His throat appeared to be too 
 tight for his expletives ; and the train slackening 
 at a platform, he suddenly turned and shoved his 
 nephew in the chest. 
 
 "Insolent! Return to your art!" he splut- 
 tered. 
 
 "Alas! I have no money to take me. Control 
 yourself! You have registered my luggage 
 through to Lyons." 
 
 "I snap my fingers at it! . . . Tenez, it is the 
 last sou of mine you ever see in your life — ^here 
 is enough for a third-class fare! Get off the 
 train!" 
 
 "I should have expected sympathy, not re- 
 proaches," said the poet with dignity. "How- 
 ever, I make but one request. You will permit me 
 to see her for the last time?" 
 
 "Get off the train!" roared the manufacturer, 
 dancing with resentment, and he hustled him 
 through the door. 
 
Meeting in Galeries Lafayette loi 
 
 As the familiar footstep sounded on the stair — 
 But you will divine that Pitou "paled" and 
 ' ' sprang" ; you may have read something like that 
 situation elsewhere. 
 
 "And the ticket left me with no change out of 
 his wretched dole!" concluded Triootrin; "I come 
 back stone-broke, and without my trunk. ... I 
 suppose it would be preposterous to inquire 
 whether any remnants of that twenty francs lin- 
 ger here, after eight hours ? ' ' 
 
 "What will you?" said Pitou. "In appeasing 
 the general desolation, the final centime was dis- 
 bursed by half -past three." 
 
 "It is good to be missed so much!" exclaimed 
 the poet thankfully. "Besides, our pen will pro- 
 vide. Is there not always lord Beel Valker?" 
 
The Woman in the Book 
 
 SOME fifteen years prior to the creation of Lord 
 Bill Walker there dwelt in the dull town of 
 Viroflay (Aisne) a poor girl named Toine, the 
 daughter of a concierge. A concierge is a super- 
 fluity fostered in France to extort tips and in- 
 vent scandal. Toine had a charming countenance, 
 a voice that urged her to warble as she hung up 
 the washing, and an inconstant disposition. She 
 enlivened the tedium of her lot in Viroflay (Aisne) 
 by love affairs with Bazaud, the tailor's son, and 
 Durand, son of the tobacconist, having previously 
 yielded her maiden heart to Lebobe with the 
 blonde curls, who was heir to all the stylish hats 
 and costumes in The Ladies' Paradise, Then, 
 when the poor girl was eighteen, the concierge re- 
 moved from Viroflay (Aisne) to extort tips and 
 invent scandal in Paris; and Toine attended free 
 classes for the stage, and called herself "Toine 
 Viroflay." Viroflay (Aisne) scoffed that "the 
 theatres of Paris could get along all right without 
 that Toine," and remarked that she would have 
 been wiser to stick to the washing. . . . 
 What became of her progenitor is forgotten, but 
 
 102 
 
The Woman in the Book 103 
 
 Toine rose from the lodge of a concierge to a sump- 
 tuous first floor, and "had manicured hands, and an 
 automobile. When she had been notorious in 
 Paris just long enough for her to begin to consider 
 face massage as well, she even played for a season 
 in London, where she received so much kind hos- 
 pitality that the sensational experience of finding 
 herself a guest in respectable houses positively 
 palled upon her. By this time, Bazaud, Durand, 
 and Lebobe were middle-aged men and reigned in 
 their fathers' stead. Bazaud had a wife and off- 
 spring n^w, and Durand was a widower ; and Le- 
 bobe, who had not married — it was difficult, he 
 explained, for one with all those stylish hats and 
 costumes at his command to credit disinterested 
 affection — ^had nothing left of his curls but a bit 
 of fluff over his ears. When they read, in the 
 Cafe de la Mairie, after their shops were shut, 
 of the Parisian celebrity's "priceless sables," or 
 the superb emeralds that had been presented to 
 her by a prince, each of the three stout provincial 
 tradesmen would nod at the newspaper weightily, 
 and think of the epoch when he himself had elated 
 her by the gift of a ribbon. "Life is droll!" said 
 Bazaud, Durand, and Lebobe. 
 
 Now, one spring a theatrical rival of Toine 's 
 was moved to issue her autobiography, and it 
 promptly occurred to Toine that the world should 
 be favoured with her own. She mentioned the idea 
 to the Editor of La Voix, and he thought so well 
 of it that he proposed to run her work through his 
 
104 While Paris Laughed 
 
 journal with innumerable portraits. Slie wrung 
 from him a contract such as his most distinguished 
 literary contributors had never viewed even in 
 their blithest dreams ; and it would have been all 
 smooth sailing with her plan, but for the fact that 
 she was no more capable of writing an autobiog- 
 raphy than of constructing a submarine. 
 
 "When a few months had passed, she received a 
 deferential note from the gentleman inquiring at 
 what date he might be privileged to behold her 
 masterpiece. And not having done any of it, she 
 invited him to pay her a visit. 
 
 She said, "You know, a most fascinating vol- 
 ume is in my mind, but I need some one to spare 
 me the fatigue of preparing it for print." 
 
 The Editor was not one of those high-miaded 
 editors who would perish rather than deceive their 
 readers — ^he wasn't an Anglo-Saxon. He cared 
 not a tinker's expletive who wrote the costly man- 
 uscript, so long as the public accepted it as Toine 
 Viroflay's and he got good value for his money. 
 Therefore he replied in tones of syrup: 
 
 "But perfectly, mademoiselle! It would be in 
 the highest degree absurd that you should concern 
 your artistic head with details like that. To pro- 
 vide the 'copy' there are professional authors — 
 and such things can be employed for next to 
 nothing." 
 
 "Well, call one, as you go back," drawled Toine, 
 "and tell him to be round in half an hour." 
 
 And, returning to the office, the Editor found 
 
The Woman in the Book 105 
 
 on his door-step a poor poet, of the name of Gus- 
 tave Tricotrin. 
 
 "We are not buying poetry," said the Editor, 
 "so "waste no time in unpacking your wares. But 
 I might put something in your way that you would 
 find more lucrative. I should not wonder if it 
 proved to be worth a couple of hundred francs to 
 you, if you could do me a narrative of about eighty 
 thousand words fuU of snap." 
 
 Whereupon he proceeded to be confidential. 
 
 "What an insult!" said the poet furiously. 
 "You refuse my epics at the rate for shaving 
 paper, and ask me to boom your rotten rag by 
 permitting an actress to steal the kudos for my 
 brains. The offer is an outrage." He said this 
 to himself, however; aloud he said, "It is extreme- 
 ly amiable of you to think of me in the matter, 
 monsieur." 
 
 So, after Toine had broken three appointments, 
 he had the honour of an interview with her on the 
 sumptuous first floor. 
 
 Despite his resentment of the circumstances, an 
 interview with a star was by no means an un- 
 welcome event in the obscure bohemian's life. And 
 though Toine ordered authors as less eminent 
 persons order cabs, it was not in her nature to talk 
 disagreeably to a good-looking young man while 
 he behaved himself. 
 
 "I do not doubt that I shall be well content 
 with your aid, monsieur," she told him. 
 
 "Best assured, mademoiselle," he responded, 
 
io6 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "that my poor talents are wholly at your service; 
 your experiences shall he set forth with all the 
 literary skill at my command. In fine, I shall 
 aspire to hear Paris exclaim that mademoiselle 
 Viroflay writes nearly as well as she acts." 
 
 "Or even quite as well!" said Toine. 
 
 "You would not need to be a madame de Stael 
 to do that!" thought he. For it must be con- 
 fessed that she did not owe her position primarily 
 either to her vocal or her histrionic powers. And 
 he went on, "As to the valuable material that you 
 will supply — ^your early memories, the treasured 
 recollections of your childhood, the first throbbing 
 of ambition? If I may venture to suggest it, the 
 best way would be for you to inform me of as 
 much as possible this afternoon, and to spare a 
 few minutes to me daily till you have given me an 
 outline of the rest." 
 
 "Comment^" screamed Toine. "Daily? Mais 
 — ^mon Dieu ! Do you figure yourself I have noth- 
 ing to think about but a silly old book? Ah, zut, 
 alors! I understood that you designed to save 
 me all the bother?" 
 
 "I do, I will," stammered the scribe, dismayed; 
 "it will be a rare joy to me! Only ... I feel 
 sure, mademoiselle, that on reflection you will 
 perceive that I should be made acquainted with 
 the facts that I am to record? I shall mould them, 
 I shall embellish them; I shall pose them in the 
 most alluring attitudes with rosebuds in their 
 hair; but to accomplish your autobiography, I 
 
The Woman in the Book 107 
 
 truly fear that I must possess somewhat more than 
 the universal knowledge that you are transcend- 
 ently triumphant, and gifted, and beautiful." 
 
 "Ah, well!" she said, open to reason. "What 
 is it you want to know?" 
 
 "Well, to begin with, mademoiselle, may I in- 
 quire whether you are Parisienne by birth?" 
 
 "No; I was born ia the provinces — a loathsome 
 spot it was!" 
 
 "Your parents, were they also in the theatrical 
 profession?" 
 
 ' * Not they ! But you can leave my parents out ; 
 the book is to be about me." 
 
 ' ' Understood ! It may suffice if we mention that 
 you were a 'devoted daughter.' Before we arrive 
 at your first engagement, though, we should afford 
 the reader a glimpse of your girlish Hfe; some 
 homely scene, bathed in atmosphere. The more 
 rural, the better ! I think of the contrast between 
 misty meadows and effulgent fame. You grasp 
 the idea?" 
 
 "Ah, mais ecoutez, done!" she cried; "you may 
 afford the reader what you please, but do not ask 
 me to recall any homely scene! I tell you I de- 
 tested the hole, and all its stupid crew; I bless the 
 day that I got out of it. . . . No, what we shall 
 do is this — ^I shall lend you my album of press 
 cuttings. It will show you what parts I have 
 played, and what the critics have said of me in 
 them. And one day, I will tell you some anec- 
 dotes, extremely sensational, of great personages 
 
io8 While Paris Laughed 
 
 I have known ; also many infamous things that I 
 have suffered at the hands of jealous col- 
 leagues of both sexes. As for the rest, monsieur, 
 I leave it to you. I am convinced you will manage 
 it very nicely and my autobiography will be aU 
 that it ought to be. Some afternoon, when I have 
 leisure, you shall come again and read a few 
 pages. Now I must entreat your pardon — ^it is 
 the hour for my drive. ' ' She yielded soft fingers, 
 and smiled coaxingly. "Don't be long finishing 
 the job, I supplicate — ^time presses !" 
 
 "It appears that I am committed to an exhaus- 
 tive work of fiction!" mused the discomfited poet 
 on the staircase. "What an undertaking for two 
 hundred francs! It is colossal. Certainly my 
 heroine has a captivating appearance, but fiction 
 is more exigent than life — in fiction a woman's 
 appearance is not enough. Mademoiselle Toine 
 has no fine attributes, no spiritual graces — she is 
 devoid of almost everything essential to a hero- 
 ine ; I have got to invent a nature for her, as well 
 as a history ! . . . I wonder how much space her 
 anecdotes will fill ? " 
 
 Mounting to his garret, he drew a chair to the 
 table; and having dipped his pen in the ink in- 
 dustriously, sat staring with despondence over the 
 chimney-pots. 
 
 "What piece of work are you at now?" de- 
 manded Pitou, re-entering at nightfall. 
 
 "I have been entrusted with a task which I am 
 not at liberty to communicate," said the poet. 
 
The Woman in the Book 109 
 
 "However, you may see as much of it as I have 
 done." And he displayed a blank sheet of paper. 
 
 It was not till the morrow that he decided on 
 Toine's nature. Then he resolved that she should 
 be a woman whose genius had thrust her into 
 notoriety against the dictates of a simple heart. 
 And this being determined, he got along with her 
 treasured recollections at a fair pace. Her passing 
 reference to the "dear father and mother, who 
 were not spared to see me conquer," could hardly 
 have been more wistful within the compass of 
 twenty words ; and the line in which she hinted at 
 present-day reveries by their tomb was replete 
 with tenderness. 
 
 "By disposition I am domesticated," she de- 
 clared further on. "Even sweeter music to my 
 ears than the plaudits of my beloved public — ^that 
 says something! — are the voices of children at 
 play. Ah, the little innocents! How often, in a 
 brief respite from a feverish career, I have gazed 
 wide-eyed at some smiling peasant in a cottage 
 doorway, her babe upon her breast ! You ask me 
 what emotion the sight inspires in me? It is 
 envy. Yes, I avow it! I question whether I 
 would not change places with this humble woman, 
 in whose vocabulary the word 'art' does not exist, 
 but whose modest joys are to me so unattainable, 
 so eloquent, and so sublime." 
 
 At this point the poet lit a cigarette to re-con- 
 sider his adjectives. His heroine was coming out 
 better than he had expected ; he began to take more 
 
no While Paris Laughed 
 
 interest in her. On the night that he approached 
 the period of her struggles to gain the first rung 
 of the ladder it was with compassion for the suf- 
 ferings that he was about to inflict upon the poor 
 child. 
 
 Toine, too, approved of herself thinking holy 
 thoughts by the cottage door, when the scene was 
 read to her. This time Tricotrin found her less 
 uncongenial; after endowing her with fine quali- 
 ties for eight hours a day for a month, it was not 
 the easiest thing to remember continuously in 
 her appealing presence that she did not possess 
 any of them. Moreover, her approval led her to 
 comment that the scene was "very true — it is ex- 
 traordinary how you understand me ! ' ' When the 
 moment for her drive came, he regretted it. This 
 afternoon the touch of her soft fingers was dis- 
 tinctly pleasing. 
 
 His heroine, rebuffed by all the managers, was 
 a pathetic figure. Her dauntless hope amid the 
 interesting calamities that befell her was not less 
 moving than the warm sympathy that she extended 
 to the luckless of her profession when laurels had 
 been won at last. Beneath a crown her head re- 
 mained of the same circumference as it had been 
 when she was en cheveux. That was, perhaps, 
 the virtue that endeared her to him most. Flat- 
 tered and feted, she retained all the ingenuous 
 spontaneity of her teens — and broke an engage- 
 ment with a Grand Duke to bear comfort to an 
 ailing ballet-girl. 
 
The Woman in the Book iii 
 
 The actress approved herself in that incident as 
 well, when she heard of it. She put on a depre- 
 cating air and murmured, "It comes near to being 
 a fact, by the way; you are more than litterateur, 
 monsieur — ^you are magician!" And now he had 
 been endowing her with fine qualities every day 
 for two months — and to the artist's fervour the 
 Toine of actuality was confused so much with the 
 Toine of his figment that he sought excuses soon 
 to call on her again. 
 
 So the poet, in his attic, made for her a heart 
 out of his own feeling, and a mind out of his own 
 ideals, and created for the woman the soul that she 
 lacked. And the woman, in her vanity, tried to 
 appear to the poet like the queen that he had 
 achieved. 
 
 And then, when he wrote, his heroine smiled, 
 in his fancy, with the real woman's face ; and when 
 he went to her rooms, the real woman was glori- 
 fied, in his illusion, with his heroine's thoughts. 
 And he fell in love — ^with the goddess of his book, 
 and imagined it was with the wanton. 
 
 And socially, of course, a successful wanton was 
 as high above a mere man of letters as the white 
 moon of heaven. He confessed his sentiments to 
 her only when he was asleep — and woke, terrified 
 by his presumption, before he had had her answer. 
 That is to say, he did not get any further than this 
 until a good many weeks had passed. 
 
 "You have no regret, mademoiselle, that you 
 confided the work to me?" he faltered one day. 
 
112 While Paris Laughed 
 
 when not a great deal more remained for him to 
 do. 
 
 "But quite the reverse ! ' ' she exclaimed. "How 
 do you come to ask such a thing? You have 
 tackled the job with inspiration." 
 
 "The inspiration was my protagonist. I ask 
 
 because — ^because Enfin, it is because I wish 
 
 the result to content my employer, at any rate." 
 
 "You are not content, yourself? . . . Ah, I 
 understand. The true artist is never wholly con- 
 tent with his performance. It is the same with 
 me." 
 
 "No, that is not it," said Tricotrin, whose ner- 
 vousness became more apparent every minute. 
 "It is from personal considerations that I often 
 feel that it would have been discreet of me to let 
 the chance slide. ... I shall be frank ! I acknowl- 
 edge that the offer was welcome, that in my pov- 
 erty the fee was not to be sneezed at. But, if 
 my purse was slim, my wants were few ; hard up 
 as I was, mademoiselle, I had one blessing that I 
 would not have bartered for a fee far greater — 
 and the job has stripped me of it!" 
 
 "Tiens?" she said innocently, reclining on a 
 couch. "What may it have been?" Her gown, 
 though then the very newest thing, was like that 
 robe the lissome Vivien wore, at Merlin's feet in 
 good King Arthur's reign — ^it "more expressed 
 than hid her" where she lay. 
 
 "It was my peace of mind," explained the poet. 
 "Ah! when you so lightly hired me, did it not 
 
The Woman in the Book 113 
 
 occur to you to wonder what emotions must beset 
 the poor devil whose days were to be passed com- 
 muning with you, on paper, in your every mood — 
 dwelling beside you, in spirit, in your every hour! 
 To write your Memoirs was to comprehend you, 
 and to comprehend was to worship — ^I am the most 
 miserable of men ! ' ' 
 
 Toine's instinct was to burst out laughing, but 
 she recognised that this would not suit the great- 
 hearted heroine that was her latest role. So she 
 murmured with mournful intensity: 
 
 "How you have distressed me I "What grief 
 your confession brings! I had not an idea — ^I 
 have always thought yoa viewed me purely as a 
 theme. Mon pauvre ami, I shall never pardon 
 myself what I have done. Ah, mon Dieu, it is not 
 aU candy and cake to be a woman !" 
 
 The poet's impulse was to bound with elation 
 at her taking it so gently, but he realised that as 
 a suitor he should be prostrate at her implied lack 
 of responsiveness. So he groaned, with a gesture 
 of despair: 
 
 "I am no more to you than your lackey!" 
 
 "What you have said is cruel," she expostu- 
 lated, doing her utmost to sound wounded to the 
 core. "I have not deserved that at your hands. 
 For one thing, I have a vivid admiration of your 
 artistry; and for another, the artist has become 
 a friend." 
 
 *'*"iBut — ^I am illimitably honoured, but . . . 
 Ah*!" he cried, falling on Ms knees, "be merciful! 
 
114 While Paris Laughed 
 
 If I have climbed in a few months to the pinnacle 
 of your friendship, am I mad to dream that in time 
 I might soar to the empyrean of your love ? Grant 
 me the hope, and I will wait in silence. I will be 
 patient ; I will be enduring. My submission alone 
 shall plead for me!" 
 
 "As to that," she conceded, since silent hope 
 would prove no nuisance, "... who shall divine 
 the future?" 
 
 "Ah, the thought of time is torment! I adore 
 you to-day!" 
 
 "Do not persist — ^you may see that I suffer!" 
 
 ' ' There is only you in my world ! ' ' 
 
 "Everything you add increases my self-re- 
 proach." 
 
 "I expire at your feet!" 
 
 "Enough, I entreat you — your pain is insup- 
 portable to me!" 
 
 ' ' Toine ! With a word you can end it ! " 
 
 She was in a pass that she had been wishful to 
 avoid. She paused, seeking for the heroine's way 
 out. "When she spoke, her tones were deep and 
 grave: 
 
 "With a word I can end it? . . . Yes, it is a 
 fact. And, since I have spoken that word to men 
 who were as shadows to me, you mean that there 
 exists nothing to prevent my speaking it to you, 
 a friend? I understand. You tell me that if I 
 permit your misery to continue, it can be only 
 because I am callous to it? Ah, unhappy one 
 that I am, I have not the right to resent that 
 
The Woman in the Book 115 
 
 taunt! ... I wonder if you will understand me 
 when I say that it is because I am far from callous 
 — ^because I have for you a sentiment which no 
 other man has wakened in me — ^that I cannot sham 
 to you 1 I cannot ! All that is highest in me pro- 
 tests. The passion that you crave may yet be 
 born, but — I cannot feign it. To you I would 
 yield nothing but the unsuUied truth. Ah, my 
 poet, you, who have seen behind the mask, who 
 know me as I am, do not ask me to sink below 
 the Toine you love! Do not ask me to profane 
 the purest affection of my meretricious life ! To 
 others, to the world I can be courtesan, but to you 
 I would be myself." 
 
 The poet was deeply affected; his speech in 
 replj was on a plane no less lofty than her own. 
 And now, buoyant with the hope that his love 
 would be reciprocated yet, he accomplished such 
 flights of fancy with his pen that his heroine was 
 exalted to more celestial qualities on every page. 
 
 As the bulk of the manuscript was already de- 
 livered, the Editor at this juncture decided to 
 start publishing it. I Avow All, By Toine Viko- 
 FLAT, was announced on every hoarding. And if 
 Paris was not precisely duped, it was at all events 
 much tickled. In the cafes, waiters grew tired of 
 informing customers that "La Voix was en- 
 gaged"; and the orders that reached the office 
 from the provinces showed that interest in the 
 Memoirs extended beyond the capital. 
 
 In Viroflay (Aisne), however, the interest was 
 
Il6 While Paris Laughed 
 
 not acute prior to an instalment which contained 
 the following paragraph : 
 
 "The dear public spoil me; the lavish gifts that 
 rain upon me daily are amazing. Yet diverted, 
 dizzied as I am by all that there is the most rare, 
 I recall — ^I shall never forget — one gift that was 
 made to me years ago. "Would you hear what it 
 was, that unique present? It was a rag doll, of 
 the value of a few sous ! Who blessed me with it 
 I know not at this date, but assuredly it was some 
 poor creature who could ill afford the price. I 
 ask myseK how it fares with such humble bene- 
 factors of my piteous childhood — those kindly, 
 careworn souls among whom I passed my infantile 
 years, and whom my best efforts have failed to 
 trace. I pray that Time has dealt gently with 
 them!" 
 
 The one-eyed widow who sold papers in the 
 kiosk at the comer of the rue des Missionnaires 
 alighted on the paragraph first, and she observed 
 to the femme de menage of the charcutier, "After 
 all, she is the right sort, la Viroflay — ^how fondly 
 she alludes to the folk who were nice to her here! 
 It is not everybody who remains so grateful in 
 prosperity." And after a pause, she added, "I 
 had always a soft spot in my heart for that little 
 one — ^it was I who gave her that rag doll!" 
 
 The femme de menage mentioned the paragraph 
 to the wife of the hump-backed cobbler; and the 
 cobbler's wife, speaking of it to the good woman 
 at the gates of the Octroi, said, "How clearly I 
 
The Woman in the Book 117 
 
 call her to mind, la petite — somehow she attached 
 herself to me. It was from me that she had that 
 rag doll, you know ! ' ' and the woman at the Octroi, 
 gossiping with the crone from the booking ofi&oe 
 at the railway station, remarked, "As if it was 
 only last week I remember her face when I took 
 that rag doll to her — ^her delight was so pretty to 
 see!" 
 
 These three boasts developed into that epistol- 
 ary siege by which it appeared to Toine that every 
 female among the population of Viroflay (Aisne) 
 claimed to be the donor of a rag doll that had not 
 existed, and begged for financial relief. She did 
 not trouble her head with any of the letters in 
 particular, but in the mass they were exasperat- 
 ing, and she wished that the poet had not invented 
 a rag doll for her. She excused herself from lis- 
 tening to a new chapter at this period; she felt 
 unequal just then to sustaining the heroine's im- 
 mutable amiability. 
 
 Her impatience wronged the town; if she had 
 read the letters through, she would have known 
 that showers of them were from contemporaries 
 who scorned to lie about the rag doll. Each of 
 these reminded her that the writer had been her 
 twin soul when they were at the Free School 
 together, and having detailed monetary anxieties, 
 remained "Your old friend who loves you ever." 
 
 The autobiography was now widely discussed 
 in Viroflay (Aisne). In the Cafe de la Mairie, 
 Bazaud, Durand, and Lebobe severally scanned 
 
Ii8 While Paris Laughed 
 
 the journal, over their evening bocks ; and a few 
 weeks later, as luck would have it, they scanned 
 a copy of an issue wherein the heroine was in her 
 most domestic mood. Thus : 
 '• "And now, now that those struggles so stupen- 
 dous are past — ^now that my aspirations have been 
 fulfilled — am I content? You are going to tell 
 me that I should be thankless otherwise. But my 
 sole purpose in writing these Memoirs is to blurt 
 forth the truth — and I avow that often I mourn! 
 In many hours of solitude I question if Fate had 
 not been gentler to withhold my triumphs, and 
 even my talents — to permit me to dwell obscurely 
 in the sphere that I forsook. Through my tears 
 I see again a young girl — ^poor; yet rich in the 
 possession of a brave man's love; and I tell my- 
 self that this love of her youth was a vaster treas- 
 ure, though she knew it not, than all the splen- 
 dours that she has since attained. One must suf- 
 fer to grow wise ! It is too late. But fairer far, 
 in my reveries, than bouquets that symbol fame, 
 is a little knot of field flowers that a brave man 
 gathered for a girlish breast one long-gone 
 Easter mom." 
 
 "Gommentf" ejaculated Bazaud, Durand, and 
 Lebobe, jumping in turn; "she loves me still!" 
 And though none of them had any definite recol- 
 lection of an Easter mom, each added to himself, 
 expanding with pride, "Without doubt, it was 
 jolly well I who gathered those field flowers!" 
 
 Needless to say, not one of them had made a 
 
The Woman in the Book 119 
 
 secret of his dynasty; and so, that week, each of 
 the trio observed pompously to the others, "Mon 
 Dieu, I am touched ! It makes me reproach myself 
 that I did not fathom her devotion for me at the 
 time." And each of the others replied, with a 
 fine smile, *'You distress yourself without cause, 
 old chap — ^what she says refers to me. The 'knot 
 of field flowers' puts it beyond dispute, for I 
 vividly remember the incident." 
 
 The discussion grew heated; and at midnight, 
 when the three tradesmen left the cafe and went 
 their respective roads, "What conceited fools they 
 are, those two!" soliloquised Bazaud, Durand, 
 and Lebobe. 
 
 Now, all the way home, monsieur Bazaud, 
 though a family man, was lured by visions of a 
 gilded scene in which he should sit, for a while, 
 with the great woman who was still sweet on him, 
 recalling the days of yore. "What a tremendous 
 adventure! The idea trilled in his bosom. And 
 all the way home, monsieur Durand, who was a 
 widower, fluttered at the breathless notion of 
 sentimental dalliance for a whole week amid the 
 celebrity's grandeurs. It would be as a week of 
 royalty! And aU the way home, monsieur Le- 
 bobe, who had remained a bachelor from scepti- 
 cism of being loved for his qualities alone, palpi- 
 tated before a prospect vaster yet ; he questioned 
 whether he might not do worse for himself than 
 give his name to the opulent queen of the stage 
 who adored him. 
 
120 While Paris Laughed 
 
 That night Lebobe wooed sleep in vain. And 
 he regretted much that the exigencies of business 
 — ^they were stocktaking at The Ladies' Paradise 
 — made it impossible for him to indulge in a trip 
 to Paris before the following week. That she 
 might be speedily apprised that he was "touched," 
 however, he telegraphed to her on the morrow. 
 Toine found further food for disapproval of the 
 poet's fancy, when she received, with the Editor's 
 apologies for having inadvertently opened it, a 
 telegram from Viroflay (Aisne) which ran: "1 
 have read, and I have wept. Time has stolen my 
 cUrls, but it cannot impair my tenderness." In a 
 temper, she tore it into as many pieces as she 
 could manage. "Ah, c'est trop fort!" she cried, 
 "I am fed up with Viroflay (Aisne) 1" 
 
 However, there was nothing to postpone the trip 
 in the ease of Durand. He was shaved, and 
 trimmed, and frizzed, and had his moustache 
 curled ; and he embarked on his enterprise with a 
 posy in his buttonhole. And when she was ac- 
 costed at her porte cochere by an ardent tobacco- 
 nist in his Sunday clothes, who brought a grin 
 to the face of her chauffeur, Toine 's temper boiled 
 higher still. 
 
 Durand returned from the enterprise with no 
 illusion about the lady's sentiments for him. And 
 now, incensed by the thought that either Bazaud 
 or Lebobe must be the lucky man, he burned to 
 put a spoke in the wheels of both. Lebobe, as a 
 bachelor, was beyond his spite; but he contrived 
 
The Woman in the Book 121 
 
 a word in the ear of madame Bazaud. And since 
 Bazaiid had been artfully paving his way to a 
 solitary excursion, the young woman believed the 
 worst and was broken-hearted. She wrote dis- 
 tractedly to her mother in Paris. 
 
 The advent of a persistent mother without a 
 bonnet was even more trying to Toine than the 
 arrival of the Sundayfied tobacconist. Her rage 
 knew literally no bounds at this mortifying appeal 
 to her not to poach on the preserves of the tailor's 
 wife. And when her contempt for the snip was 
 discredited, and she heard herself reviled in the 
 most expressive argot for ensnaring his affec- 
 tions, she felt it to be the limit. 
 
 She was reckoning without Lebobe. No sooner 
 was the stocktaking concluded than Lebobe hied 
 him to the metropolis with a bulky valise and 
 lively anticipations. The interval had served to 
 strengthen his view that to propose marriage to 
 her would not be throwing himself away, in cir- 
 cumstances. But it would be a noble course — and 
 he foresaw with pleasure her emotions at his chiv- 
 alry. At the office of La Voix he demanded her 
 address with the bearing of one who had no 
 doubts about his welcome. 
 
 They were irritating at the office with their 
 insistence that they had mademoiselle Viroflay's 
 injunctions to withhold her address from every- 
 body. However, at a cafe table a directory was 
 to be consulted. From the nearest bureau de 
 poste he despatched a pneu to advise her of his 
 
122 While Paris Laughed 
 
 arrival; and then lie visited a barber's and had 
 the most made of the fluff over his ears. When he 
 mounted to the flat, his step was brisk. 
 
 Now, the pneu had not been delivered yet ; and 
 it happened that at about this hour Toine was 
 expecting Tricotrin, to present the final chapter 
 of his manuscript, and a photographer, further to 
 perpetuate her beauty. When Lebobe inquired 
 authoritatively, "Mademoiselle Viroflay, is she at 
 home — I have an appointment?" the new Bretonne 
 maid took him for the photographer. For that 
 matter, Toine herself took him for the photog- 
 rapher as he was shown in, and she wondered 
 where his camera was. 
 
 "Ah, you have come, monsieur," she yawned. 
 "Is your assistant with you?" 
 
 "My assistant?" said Lebobe blankly. "How, 
 my assistant? ... Do you not recognise me? 
 Have the years, then, changed me so much?" 
 
 "Oh, mon Dieu!" she moaned in consternation. 
 "Another!" 
 
 "I am your Achille, your Achille of other days. 
 You received my message? . . . Toine? You 
 know me now?" 
 
 "Yes ... I was expecting some one else, I 
 know you." 
 
 "My curls have vanished, hein? Such is life! 
 You also have changed; but for the better; you 
 are not so thin. I should have known you any- 
 where. . . . How it comes back, the past! I am 
 
The Woman in the Book 123 
 
 touch.ed. You may see that I am profoundly 
 touched ! ' ' 
 
 "Listen, monsieur," she said, quivering with 
 annoyance ; "it was very amiable of you to pay me 
 a visit, but I am much occupied and I cannot pro- 
 long the reminiscences. ' ' 
 
 ^'Comment done?" exclaimed Lebobe. "Ah, you 
 do not comprehend my motive! It is to see you 
 that I am in Paris; I have things to say to you 
 of the first importance. Ever since I read your 
 tender words in La Voix I have thought; I have 
 thought very attentively; and I am here to repeat 
 that you spoke for us both ! To me, too, time has 
 proved that prosperity is trivial, compared with 
 claims of the heart; I, too, would exchange the 
 profits that The Ladies' Paradise has yielded to 
 revive those field flowers of that Easter morn. 
 We were boy and girl ; in those days there, we did 
 not realise the eternal force of our affinity. "What 
 you wrote was bien true, of me no less than of 
 yourself. I avow it with contrition. I avow with 
 contrition that I was terribly culpable towards you 
 from the start. But despair not, my Toine weU- 
 beloved! Where your reflections were at fault, 
 where you made an error — ^it was in thinking that 
 it is now too late!" 
 
 "So that is it? You have come to console me 
 for my loss of you?" she muttered in a strange 
 voice. 
 
 "I have come to make amends. I have come to 
 say to you, *In my youth I committed a great 
 
124 While Paris Laughed 
 
 wrong and I would atone.' I have come to say, 
 'You are the woman that I adore — and I ask you 
 to be my wife!' " 
 
 She stood speechless. Her indignation at the 
 audacity was so overwhelming that she could not 
 articulate. She tottered like a dumb woman de- 
 mented. 
 
 "Have no misgiving!" proceeded Lebobe mag- 
 nanimously; "I do not speak on impulse; I know 
 well what I am about. For your infidelities in the 
 meantime no reproach shall ever pass my lips. 
 Indeed, they were not infidelities, those things — 
 they were but efforts to forget me." 
 
 '^Espece d'idiot!" she panted. 
 
 "'You say?" croaked Lebobe, petrified. 
 
 "Insolent imbecile!" Her advance was tumul- 
 tuous; he backed from her in jerks. As often as 
 her volubility — for she was now very voluble in- 
 deed — permitted him to make himself heard, he 
 put in agitatedly, "I regret, I regret! Do not get 
 excited — ^it was your Memoirs that misled me!" 
 But every allusion to her Memoirs seemed to ex- 
 cite her more ; and, interposing his hat at the most 
 dangerous moments, he continued to back about 
 the room till he was breathless. The sudden an- 
 nouncement of a visitor, affording an opportunity 
 for escape, looked a dispensation of Providence to 
 him. 
 
 Not so to the visitor, who was the poet responsi- 
 ble for the Memoirs. He entered to reap the 
 
The Woman in the Book 125 
 
 whirlwind of her resentment — ^to see the final 
 chapter hurled to the floor. 
 
 "It is to you, little liar, that I am indebted for/ 
 these pests!" she cried furiously. "It was not 
 enough that you smothered me under begging let- 
 ters from every mendicant in France? — that you 
 conjured up enamoured tobacconists to make me 
 ludicrous on the pavement, and the mothers-in- 
 law of tailors to belabour me with abuse? You 
 must also see to it that this rag-tag and bob-tail 
 arrive with offers of matrimony? Alors, I owe 
 your imagination more than I can pay ! But take 
 your two hundred francs, and be off, and never 
 dare to set foot in my flat again!" 
 
 "Mon Dieu!" he gasped; "I lose my senses. 
 What have I done? Explain, I implore! It can- 
 not be you who speak. My world turns topsy- 
 turvy — I was the one who knew you best, and on 
 a sudden I know you not at aU ! Do you not see 
 your friend, your worshipper?" 
 
 "I see only the fool poet who wrote my auto- 
 biography and muddled me up in a hornet's 
 nest!" 
 
 "This is not you! It is not you!" he w4iled, be- 
 wildered. ;^ ', '•'^*^ 
 
 "It is bien I, and I am tired of being somebody 
 else! Your heroine fatigues me." 
 
 "I begin to understand," said Tricotrin, as one 
 who wakens from a dream. . . . "Yes; it was 
 only the fool poet who wrote that beautiful auto- 
 biography; but it. is the woman herself who has 
 
126 While Paris Laughed 
 
 written 'The End'! ... I go. In parting fron 
 her whom. I have loved so well, may I be grantee 
 one fleeting touch?" 
 
 "Oh, if you like!" she said roughly. She pu 
 out a grudging hand. 
 
 But he bent, instead, to the manuscript and helc 
 it for a moment in his arms. 
 
yi 
 
 The Piecb of Sugab 
 
 THEY say that the poor sirens of the little 
 cafes frequent them for three years, and van- 
 ish. For three years they haunt the same scene 
 nightly — ^now bold, with their paltry trinkets ; now 
 desperate, with their trinkets pawned — prinking 
 to the fiddles of the sham Tziganes. Then omi- 
 nously they disappear. And the glasses stiU rattle 
 in the incurious crowd, and the fiddlers fiddle on. 
 So, from more brilliant scenes, women whose 
 spell lasts longer, and whose jewels are the gifts 
 of kings, may disappear. Corinne Blanche had 
 disappeared. Already she was ancient history. A 
 decade had slid by since heads turned after her 
 famous horses in the Bois, and royal personages, 
 going to Paris, booked a box just to look at Co- 
 rinne Blanche. Great ladies who had copied her 
 toilets recalled them now as "those fashions that 
 were so absurb." Middle-aged men might say, "In 
 the epoch of Corinne Blanche"; their juniors, lis- 
 tening to stories of the fortunes that had been 
 lavished on her, and the deaths that lay at her 
 door, might reflect that life must have been more 
 spectacular when they were boys; but the name 
 
 127 
 
128 While Paris Laughed 
 
 of the slender girl whose career had scandalised 
 two continents was no more than an echo. 
 
 And then, one October evening, a provincial, 
 visiting Paris, turned into a cafe of the least pre- 
 tensions, and gathered an experience that lingered 
 with him all his days. 
 
 This fortnight's holiday was a treat that Emile 
 Richard had long promised to himself. It provided 
 his first opportunity to see more of the capital 
 than was to be beheld during the brief excursions 
 that he had made to it ia the company of his 
 parents. On quitting the lycee where he had been 
 educated, his father's office in Lyons had claimed 
 him, and since then it was only during the term of 
 his military service that he spent so much as a day 
 away from home. To stand in the streets of Paris 
 free to penetrate its mysteries, had been his aspi- 
 ration ever since he read Balzac. In fancy, a 
 hundred adventures had happened to him under 
 its lamps, and on the afternoon when his long- 
 cherished project was fulfilled at last, when he 
 hastened from an hotel into the vivacity of the 
 Boulevard, conscious that a whole fortnight of 
 potentialities stretched before him, he had swung 
 his cane in a transport of anticipation. 
 
 Young Richard was of the French middle class, 
 and his character was not Southern — ^in other 
 words, he was mean. The prodigality of the ex- 
 otic, and the improvidence of the bohemian were 
 as foreign to his nature as the habits and cus- 
 toms of the Martians. Although he was on pleas- 
 
The Piece of Sugar 129 
 
 ure bent, his frugal mind retained a just apprecia- 
 tion of the value of the sou, and his transports 
 were soon damped by the discovery that his daily 
 expenditure was exceeding the sum assigned for 
 it. Of course he oould dip more deeply into his 
 savings, but he wanted to accomplish his plan at 
 precisely the price arranged. He began to per- 
 pend before he opened his little purse now. He 
 went to the Eldorado, because it was cheaper than 
 the Folies-Bergere, and ceased to order vin snpe- 
 rieur, at an additional charge of fifty centimes, 
 with his luncheon. 
 
 "When half his holiday was over, Richard's pro- 
 nonncement upon Paris was unfavourable. He 
 could not credit it with having unfolded a single 
 mystery. He was, on the contrary, chagrined to 
 recognise that he had viewed nothing but the 
 obvious, and seen only the exterior of that. In a 
 ferment, he put on his dress-clothes, and walked 
 swiftly to a supper restaurant where he had noted 
 white-gloved men and resplendent woman alight- 
 ing from automobiles at midnight as he passed. 
 But on reaching the glow of the doorway, he waa 
 reminded that they were visible on the sidewalk 
 too, and that his supper there would probably run 
 away with a couple of louis. He vacillated, hold- 
 ing his breath. Inside, to be sure, the women 
 would take off their cloaks. But two louis ! 
 
 "It is not what I seek," said Richard, backing; 
 "that also would be the obvious! No, what I 
 
130 While Paris Laughed 
 
 squander two louis on must be sometMng that 
 every stranger cannot see!" 
 
 Paris was a greater "fraud" than ever as he 
 returned to the hotel through the long emptiness 
 of the rue de Eivoli. He was disgusted with Bal- 
 zac. 
 
 Presently it occurred to him that there was a 
 feUow in Lyons with some slight knowledge of an 
 out-at-elbows poet here; an out-at-elbows poet 
 should be able to serve as guide to the resorts of 
 the humbler artists. Even a glimpse of those 
 might be more interesting than the monotony of 
 trudging between the Madeleine and the Porte 
 St. Denis all day. Of course, there was the risk 
 of his trying to borrow money, but one could be 
 cautious — one could make use of him for an occa- 
 sion, and cut the acquaintance short! Richard 
 resolved to drop a line to Lyons and try to ascer- 
 tain the poet's address. 
 
 His deferential note, conveying the assurance 
 of his "distiaguished sentiments," reached Trico- 
 trin's attic a few mornings later. The unappre- 
 ciated composer who occupied the second bed had 
 recently secured an order to copy band parts, 
 while the threadbare poet was at this period the 
 authority who, under the pseudonym of "Mon- 
 sieur le Due," instructed male readers of La Voix 
 Parisienne how to attire themselves in accordance 
 with the last word of fashion. 
 
 "Ma foi, I seem to savour a singularly pleasant 
 evening!" he exclaimed, perusing the graceful 
 
The Piece of Sugar 131 
 
 lines. "He writes from an hotel where he must 
 be blowing four or five francs a night, even if he 
 is on the top floor. Evidently it is a wealthy chap 
 who desires to call on me. We shall certainly 
 consent to be known, mon vieux ! I wager that we 
 get a thundering good dinner." 
 
 "It will cost us something, too," objected Pitou; 
 "you do not propose to receive him in a garret? 
 And if we give him a rendezvous at a brasserie we 
 shall have to inquire what he will take to drink. 
 He may say *veesky-soda,' a man in that posi- 
 tion." 
 
 "I admit that it will make a hole in our coffers ; 
 there will be a few preliminary beverages, I do not 
 doubt, and we shall have to pay for some of them. 
 But we can entertain him during an afternoon at 
 the cost of a trifle — a hundred sous should suffice 
 to give us a lavish air — and at the dinner-hour we 
 shall be repaid with interest, voyons! It wotdd 
 not surprise me if he invited us to a music-hall 
 afterwards. All the same, it is as you like, do not 
 let me commit you to the investment against your 
 will." 
 
 "I was wrong: your view is sound," agreed 
 Pitou. "We can run to fifty sous apiece, if we 
 reduce our dejeuners during the following week. 
 Besides, when the symphonic poem that I am 
 making of your Chaos is accepted we shall both 
 be flush. If you knew more of music, you would 
 rave about what I am doing." 
 
132 While Paris Laughed ' 
 
 "I know more of music than you think," said 
 Tricotrin, who knew nothing of it whatever. 
 
 "Slightly different from the Chaos of Haydn! 
 I put no key signature, nor time signature, nor do 
 I suggest in what keys the transposing instruments 
 should play." 
 
 ' ' Not bad. But is it not a shade conventional ? ' * 
 objected the poet, at a venture. 
 
 "Conventional?" screamed the Futurist. "That 
 I should share a bedroom with such a benighted 
 heathen! Get on; reply to your millionaire! It 
 is a partnership," 
 
 At five o'clock on a sunny afternoon, then, be- 
 hold the pair arriving at the little Cafe du Bel 
 Avenir in an expectant frame of mind. The ap- 
 pointment had been made for 4.30, but in France, 
 of course, "4.30" means anything from five 
 o'clock to six. 
 
 "Madame," said Tricotrin, putting his head in 
 at the door, "a monsieur, to whom I am not known 
 by sight, will be inquiring for me." And they took 
 chairs on the "terrace," which was about as long 
 as a small dining-room table, and ordered a couple 
 of bocks, which they allowed to stand before them 
 untasted. 
 
 Not more than twenty minutes had elapsed 
 when a very spruce young gentleman in patent 
 leather shoes was to be seen approaching. He 
 glanced at the name on the awning, cast a ques- 
 tioning eye at the two comrades, and entered. 
 
The Piece of Sugar 133 
 
 "This is our man," murmured Pitou, "I much 
 fear." 
 
 * ' Do not leap to conclusions, ' ' said the poet ; " he 
 may have an expansive heart, though he has an 
 unpromising physiognomy. Yes, here he comes ! ' ' 
 
 "Monsieur Tricotrin?" inquired the stranger, 
 bending at the waist, and holding his hat at his 
 hip. "I am ravished by the honour of maMng 
 your acquaintance, monsieur." 
 
 "Monsieur Richard? Eejoioed to have the op- 
 portunity of greeting you! I am desolated to 
 have put you to the inconvenience of coming so 
 far. Permit that I present my friend! monsieur 
 Pitou, the composer — ^monsieur Richard." 
 
 "Ravished!" repeated Richard, with another 
 bow. 
 
 "Enchanted!" responded Pitou, saluting with 
 equal ceremony. 
 
 "Will you not sit down, monsieur? What may I 
 offer you?" 
 
 "Ah! . . . I thank you infinitely. Alors, if you 
 insist, a bock!" 
 
 "You prefer it to anything else? Gargon, a 
 bock for monsieur ! Yes, I fear the neighbourhood 
 was somewhat remote for you, but the exigencies 
 of my work are such that had I suggested a ren- 
 dezvous on the Boulevard, circumstances might 
 have prevented my turning up in time. Here, I 
 am at home, you understand ; I can run round in 
 a moment!" 
 
 "But it is perfect!" affirmed Richard urbanely, 
 
134 While Paris Laughed 
 
 regarding the dilapidated side street as if it had 
 been a beauty spot in Paradise. "My delight at 
 finding myself in the society of you gentlemen is 
 intensified by the fact that I am also introduced 
 to a quartier which is new to me, and so extremely 
 pleasurable." 
 
 "It is your first visit to Paris, monsieur?" 
 asked Pitou. 
 
 "Ah, non, monsieur! But I avow to you that 
 it is my first opportunity here to promenade at 
 my ease. Hitherto my business has always been 
 paramount ; for the first time, I am tourist, sight- 
 seer." 
 
 "And there is enough to look at — it is not a bad 
 little town," smiled Tricotrin, "hein?" 
 
 "There are beautiful buildings," acknowledged 
 Richard, in the tone of one who is anxious to do 
 no injustice. "And it is larger than Lyons." 
 
 "A shade! It is also more interesting, n'est ce 
 pas?" 
 
 " In a sense, ah yes — ^we have not the Louvre in 
 Lyons, we have not your Opera. Nevertheless I 
 shall own that, with me, Paris has not lived up to 
 its reputation. It is only this afternoon, in the 
 company of a poet and of a composer, that I am 
 precisely fascinated." His thoughts were, "-As 
 a matter ^f fact, all I discover so far is two shabby 
 young men, and a fifth-rate cafe — ^there is nothing 
 epoch-making about that!" 
 
 "Ah, too amiable, monsieur !" said the twain in 
 
The Piece of Sugar 135 
 
 a duet. And, inclined to think more favourably 
 of him, Tricotrin went on : 
 
 "It is the artistic side that attracts you moat, 
 then?" 
 
 "Voila!" 
 
 "So much the better! You have struck the 
 right spot. Montmartre is the brain of the capi- 
 tal." 
 
 "Really?" murmured Richard, surveying the 
 dirty little street again and trying to look more 
 impressed by it still. "I regret that I do not 
 know my way about; doubtless there are many 
 scenes that I should have found captivating." 
 
 "But if you would care to take a stroll ?" 
 
 "That would not be inconvenient to you?" 
 
 "Not the least in the world!" 
 
 "How amiable you are ! I should be enchanted. 
 Bat I am embarrassed — ^I am overwhelmed by 
 yo J' consideration ! ' ' 
 
 "Whereupon they strolled, and came to a larger 
 cafe. 
 
 "What may I offer you?" inquired Pitou. 
 
 "Ah, but I impose on your hospitality, I am not 
 come to rob you," demurred Richard. "Well — • 
 er — again a bock!" 
 
 "This place," explained Tricotrin with an en- 
 thusiasm that was perfectly sincere, "is no less 
 celebrated hereabouts than the Cafe de la Paix 
 down there! One might say it is the 'Centre of 
 the Quartier.' You may see here men whose 
 names a few years hence will be household words 
 
136 While Paris Laughed 
 
 to all Paris." He meant to the "whole of the 
 civilised globe," but as he was a Parisian "all 
 Paris," in such a sense, signified all outlying dis- 
 tricts of less consequence as well. "You may see 
 philosophers pondering great truths; composers, 
 perhaps scoring a phrase on the back of the tariff; 
 painters, who behold with their mind's eye can- 
 vases that will be accepted as masterpieces of 
 modern art." 
 
 ' * Tiens ! ' ' said Richard perfunctorily. What he 
 discerned was a crowd of nondescripts sipping 
 drinks and rustling evening papers. "I foresee 
 that our walk will be a succession of thrills." 
 
 "Round the corner," added Pitou, "there is a 
 tavern where the customers are theatricals ; after 
 the shows, many of the players from the theatres 
 close by drop in there for a plate of onion soup. 
 The ohatteras all of the stage — it is like being in a 
 green-room. We will have a look at it in a min- 
 ute—sometimes a few go there before the shows 
 begin. Ah ! there are half a hundred haunts, each 
 with its special clientele. There is one whose fea- 
 ture is the singers from the music-halls, where 
 one hears all the scandal of the Casino, or the 
 Gaiete. There are two favoured by the feminists ; 
 and others by the apaches of both sexes ; and there 
 is one where you would see the apostles of a new 
 religion. Midnight is the best time for that, but 
 it would be well worth your while. The women 
 are extraordinary." 
 
 "Ah?" said Richard. "I should have no objec- 
 
The Piece of Sugar 137 
 
 tion, I am not in any hurry to get back. Let us 
 go there at midnight, if you will be so complai- 
 sant? I would not mind looking at the apaches 
 either. There is no danger ? ' ' 
 
 "None at all. Right ! It is agreed. Finish your 
 drink, and we will make a move ! For messieurs 
 les apaches we have a little walk in front of us. 
 Mon Dieu! it is a programme, hein? Before you 
 sleep you will have become a veritable Montmar- 
 trois!" 
 
 The theatrical resort when they reached it 
 proved somnolently disappointing. And though 
 the faces of the apaches were criminal enough to 
 proclaim them the genuine article, it was not en- 
 thralling to watch the weedy little scoundrels play 
 cards with two of their repulsive-looking "lady 
 friends." At half -past seven, when the trio 
 emerged from the den, Richard was partially sus- 
 tained by the fact that he had been allowed to pay 
 for nothing but a packet of Maryland cigarettes, 
 but he meditated irritably that this gleam of sat- 
 isfaction would be extinct if he were now com- 
 mitted to paying for a couple of dinners in addi- 
 tion to his own. Conversation languished. Econ- 
 omy urged him to bid his guides an effusive au 
 revoir. On the other hand, there was the chance 
 that they themselves would burst forth with a 
 proposal to dine — and he was reluctant to miss 
 the cafe of the new religion. 
 
 The glances exchanged between the poet and 
 composer became anxious. They had expended 
 
138 While Paris Laughed 
 
 five francs seventy-five on his entertainment, and 
 for upwards of a quarter-of-an-liour they had been 
 waiting, with enormous appetites, for an allusion 
 to their reward. 
 
 Before half of the boulevard de la Chapelle had 
 been retraced, their hearts were on the way to 
 their boots. The glances grew more eloquent still, 
 and at last, with a galvanic jump, Pitou ejacu- 
 lated — 
 
 "Mon Dieu, I had forgotten! We were to dine 
 at Lajeunie 's to-night ! "We are too late ! ' ' 
 
 "Morbleu!" gasped Tricotrin, seizing the cue, 
 "it had slipped my mind! What an offence — 
 the anniversary of his wedding too!" 
 
 "Ah? You have broken an engagement through 
 me? Quel malheur! I am contrite, I shall never 
 pardon myself!" cried Eichard. 
 
 "Ah, I pray you! It is not so catastrophic as 
 all that. But it is incredible ; it is the first time in 
 my life that such a thing happens to me. Voila, 
 a testimonial to the charm of your society! Enfin 
 ... we shall send a telegram ; do not let the little 
 contretemps spoil our evening." 
 
 "But ... I am distressed, I have no words! 
 All my joy is ruined, I shall reproach myself as 
 long as I live!" 
 
 "I assure you! Believe me, it makes no mat- 
 ter," insisted Pitou. "Indeed, we shall pass the 
 hours more agreeably as it is. We can invent an 
 adequate exquse. Finished! There is but one 
 
The Piece of Sugar 139 
 
 question that seems to concern us now — ^where 
 shall we all feed?" 
 
 "I do not know the neighbourhood, I," regret- 
 ted the tourist helplessly; "to me it is all the 
 same. Where you will ! It is for you to choose. " 
 
 Again the eyes of the comrades met with appre- 
 hension. The vital question was, who was to be 
 the host! 
 
 They were pale as they steered their way to a 
 table in a modest restaurant. "Ah! I beg you 
 to excuse me for an instant," stammered Trico- 
 trin, rising almost as he sat down; "I should tele- 
 phone my apologies to our friend!" 
 
 "I, too!" declared Pitou, stumbling after him. 
 
 "What do you think, is he going to pay!" they 
 asked each other, in a panic and the lavatory. 
 And then, counting their cash so nervously that a 
 ten-sous piece nearly dropped down a basin, 
 "Have we got enough, if the worst comes to the 
 worst!" 
 
 "Well, we can manage it if we choose the din- 
 ner at three francs," groaned Tricotrin when they 
 had done fumbling. "But what an outrage, after 
 our preceding munificence ! It is unheard of ! Oh, 
 it cannot be ! It is impossible that he will permit 
 us to fork out here too — ^he would never have the 
 nerve." 
 
 "Generosity is not infectious; a mean nature 
 can accept it all the year round without develop- 
 ing reciprocal symptoms," said Pitou. "If I were 
 confident that he would 'never have the nerve' I 
 
140 While Paris Laughed 
 
 would take good care that we dined a la carte. 
 Why cannot the dull dog manifest his intentions? 
 . . . Alors, let us keep away for a few moments 
 longer, perhaps he will give the order while we 
 are gone!" 
 
 And Richard, in the meanwhile, was saying to 
 himself, with folded hands, "You will find me 
 awaiting your return, my dear conspirators ! In- 
 contestably it was the invitation of the other side. 
 That they were only fishing for one from me is 
 their trouble. Also it is cheaper for two persons 
 to pay for one guest than for one person to pay 
 for two ! What they have shown me was not worth 
 the cigarettes, of which they have smoked the 
 greater part. Zut! I am the right man to be 
 taken in by their humbug about the engagement 
 they had forgotten. I shall stand some coffee 
 later on — ^it will be quite enough." 
 
 How ironical a stroke, that the only member of 
 the party to relish the repast was the one to whom 
 a dinner of five courses was no novelty! His in- 
 tentions had become manifest only too soon, and 
 the poor bohemians, to whom the meal looked 
 epicurean, could hardly taste their food for swal- 
 lowing their indignation. The bill-of-fare swam 
 before their gaze. Between the efforts of making 
 civil responses to their guest they regarded him 
 with vindictive eyes. 
 
 "Sapristi! If bohemia is not exactly stagger- 
 ing in other respects, it overwhelms me with its 
 hospitality," he declared, plying an indefatigable 
 
The Piece of Sugar 141 
 
 knife. "May I trouble you for tlie pepper, mon- 
 sieur?" 
 
 "Certainly, monsieur," said Tricotrin mo- 
 rosely. "Take it all! So bohemia is not exactly 
 staggering, bein? And in what way does tbe little 
 village of Paris fall sbort of Lyons?" 
 
 "I do not go so far as to assert that it falls sbort 
 of Lyons " 
 
 "Too generous!" muttered Pitou. 
 
 "But it falls sbort of tbe representations tbat 
 are made for it. Li literature, and even in your 
 newspapers, it is pretended tbat Paris teems witb 
 as many adventures as 'Tbe Thousand- And-One 
 Nights.' Well? In Lyons also we have criminals, 
 though we do not go to stare at them ! The ladies 
 of the new religion may perhaps reveal some orig- 
 inal phase, but up to now — during the twelve days 
 that I have passed here — frankly, I have come 
 across nothing of human interest that I could not 
 have viewed elsewhere. There has not occurred 
 to me a single experience to make me cry, 'Ah! this 
 is extraordinary — I have disbursed a little for- 
 tune on my trip, it is true, but I have encountered 
 something that could not have happened to me at 
 home.' On the surface the life is suggestive 
 enough, but on investigation it is commonplace ; in 
 fine, it lacks tbe quality of which it boasts so much 
 — drama. Now let me make up my mind what 
 cheese I am going to have ! ' ' 
 
 "Your criticism, monsieur," returned Pitou, 
 
142 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "may be sound to the core. But all the world 
 disagrees with it." 
 
 "Ah, flute! What does it mean 'all the world'? 
 Veritably it means 'the average man.' "Well, the 
 average man persuades himself that he is looking 
 at what he wants to see ! Ever since he was a child 
 he has been stuffed with the old accounts of Paris 
 — ^when he comes here he arrives with his opinions 
 ready-made. My friends, the glamour of Paris is, 
 five-eighths reflections from the romances we read 
 in our boyhood ; a quarter the produce of our own 
 imagination — and the remainder, Paris! I shall 
 take camembert." 
 
 "When they sought their hats, the poet whispered 
 to the musician, "He is appreciative, this gentle- 
 man who has nearly cleaned us out ! Let us give 
 him a doing if he is not willing to show us his 
 purse!" And each taking Richard by the arm, 
 they set forth from the restaurant at a lively pace. 
 
 By the time that he had been bustled from the 
 boulevard Barbes, up the acclivity of the rue 
 Lepic, as far as the heights of the Moulin de la 
 Galette, the tourist, whose patent-leather shoes 
 were beginning to pinch, assumd that the objec- 
 tive was attained; he asked, "What is that that I 
 see?" 
 
 "Ah! a ball-room of sorts — commonplace!" 
 answered Tricotrin disdainfully. "What I aim 
 at displaying to you is Old Montmartre. It is dis- 
 appearing so fast that this may be your only op- 
 portimity to look at it." And they continued to 
 
The Piece of Sugar 143 
 
 climb into a Ciminerian maze that threatened to 
 be everlasting. 
 
 "You do not find it a trifle cheerless?" panted 
 Richard. ' ' The municipality are not too extrava- 
 gant with lamps, hein?" 
 
 "That, I confess, is a drawback," said Pitou; 
 "at this hour there is the risk of receiving a stab 
 in the back. But from where we stand, the view 
 of Paris was superb some years ago, before they 
 began to build." 
 
 "We arrive some years too late to see it, how- 
 ever," mumbled the other apprehensively. "I 
 venture to think that the ball-room might have 
 been more amusing?" 
 
 "Commonplace, I assure you!" repeated Tri- 
 cotrin. "Patience! After a few more ups and 
 downs, we shall behold The Nimble Eabbit. Be- 
 sides, the assassinations here are comparatively 
 rare. ' ' And at last, when another sinister hill had 
 been scaled, and a decayed auberge shed a feeble 
 glimmer in the blackness of the desolation, he 
 cried heartily, ' ' There it is ! This is an off night 
 for it, so we shan't go in, but you are viewing 
 something historical. It has had a rare vogue, 
 The Nimble Rabbit." 
 
 It was past eleven when the victim was allowed 
 to Ump to more populous regions ; and he puffed, 
 "If we go in somewhere — if we take a coffee or 
 something? Really, you must relax your hospi- 
 tality — we are in bohemia, and I claim the bo- 
 hemian licence; this time I shall be the host!" 
 
144 While Paris Laughed 
 
 How could he suspect that, after bocks were 
 commanded, the deceitful pair would feign to des- 
 cry an acquaintance in the half-empty brasserie 
 and come back, with long faces, to announce that 
 the cafe of the new religion had been closed by 
 the police? 
 
 ^^ Comment? Then I have waited all the eve- 
 ning for nothing?" he faltered. 
 
 "Alas!" sighed Tricotrin. 
 
 "Too bad!" growled Pitou, dissembling a grin 
 of malice. 
 
 Richard fingered his glass moodily. Prom his 
 heart he regretted that he had not taken leave of 
 them after yawning at the dull apaches ; the free 
 dinner did not compensate for its disgusting se- 
 quel. Surreptitiously he removed his shoes. The 
 artists, wearing an air of woeful disappointment, 
 pressed each other's knees with satisfaction. All 
 three gazed before them in protracted silence. 
 
 And then something happened — a real and ar- 
 resting thing, eminently Parisian. A lonely wom- 
 an in soiled satin was sitting at a long marble 
 table, with her back to them. In her audacious 
 hat were cheap plumes, and in her little bag were 
 a mirror, and a stick of lip salve; twice in ten 
 minutes she withdrew them and, without the least 
 concealment from those in front, made her mouth 
 still more grotesquely red. No one else was at 
 the table but a stout man, who pored over Le 
 Soir, and sipped a liqueur of brandy; the custom- 
 ary piece of sugar that had been served with it 
 
The Piece of Sugar 145 
 
 lay neglected. To the woman had been supplied a 
 "ballon blond." The presence of poor women 
 like her stimulated business in the cafe, and they 
 were privileged to order one low-priced consom- 
 mation without payment. Sometimes they were 
 too hard up to pay if they had wished. She of 
 the plumes was too hard up to-night. 
 
 The stout man finished his liqueur and went. 
 The woman sat alone, and her back was despond- 
 ent. Next, the group behind her saw her throw a 
 hurried glance to either side; her little bag was 
 opened furtively — and the painted pauper with 
 the plumes and satin stole a piece of sugar for her 
 wretched home. 
 
 The annoyed provincial lost sight of his vexa- 
 tion. As for the artists, the incident quivered 
 through them. Simultaneously they turned to- 
 wards each other. 
 
 "Mon Dieu!" breathed Eichard. "What a 
 life!" He leant across to Tricotrin. "What a 
 life, hein?" 
 
 But now Tricotrin was motionless, with his 
 mouth open; as if by a sudden misgiving, the 
 woman had looked round and he had seen her face. 
 When he did speak, it was in tones studiously 
 quipt, though the cigarette that he rolled was 
 shaking. 
 
 "In Paris one runs across nothing dramatic," 
 he drawled, with a fine smile. "Nevertheless the 
 poor devil who has come down to pilfering a piece 
 of sugar for her next day's coffee, once played 
 
146 While Paris Laughed 
 
 ducks and drakes with the finances of a king. She 
 is Corirme Blanche!" 
 
 The thrill that Richard craved had come! All 
 that the name evoked to them, all of the profuse, 
 the fantastic, and sensational that they had read 
 or heard of Corinne Blanche in the days of her 
 empire swirled through three men's minds. 
 
 "Impossible!" fluttered Pitou, 
 
 "I say what I know. It is Corinne Blanche. 
 A woman who has scattered, not one fortune, but 
 a score ! A mere million was nothing to her, it is 
 said; she could gobble a banker before breakfast; 
 for love of her a prince died. And to-night she 
 sits in a third-class tavern, companionless, and 
 steals a piece of sugar for the morrow! Though 
 there is nothing dramatic to be remarked in Paris, 
 I, who am a dramatist, find that not uninterest- 
 ing." 
 
 "It is colossal," admitted Richard. "I avow 
 it; it is colossal!" 
 
 The litterateur was on his feet, an impulsive 
 hand among the remaining sous in his trouser 
 pocket : 
 
 "If you will pardon my deserting you, I shall 
 go and talk with her ! It may be of value to my 
 work." 
 
 "Sit stiU!" expostulated Pitou. "How? Do 
 you figure yourself that she is going to recount 
 her history?" 
 
 "I comprehend perfectly," said Richard, "I! 
 
The Piece of Sugar 147 
 
 Let all of us talk with her ! It would be extremely 
 pleasant to me." 
 
 "Ah, for us all to look so keen would come ex- 
 pensive!" demurred the poet with a scowl. "It 
 might commit you to champagne," he added art- 
 fully. 
 
 "And then?" persisted Richard, reckless at 
 last; "I should not be unwilling to order a bottle 
 of champagne. After all, it is something, to 
 entertain a woman who has mocked herself of 
 monarchs." 
 
 "Well, I will see how it goes — ^I will give you 
 the tip," said Tricotrin, in a hurry to be gone. 
 And betaking himself to the chair at her side, be 
 sat down,- 
 
 It diverted them to watch him make some open- 
 ing remark and to imagine a mechanical smile. 
 But when four or five minutes had lagged by they 
 began to grow restless. 
 
 "He forgets all about us!" grumbled Richard. 
 
 "I shall jog his memory," said Pitou, to whom 
 "champagne" had sounded excellent. 
 
 He began to flip matches at Tricotrin, and the 
 hint served. They saw him indicate their table 
 inquiringly now. To Richard's delight, the woman 
 rose. 
 
 She was no longer pretty, and no longer young; 
 and, as she approached, the brilliance of kohl could 
 not hide the tragedy in her eyes. But the tragedy 
 itself possessed a morbid fascination for him. It 
 was fascinating, when he bowed, to hear her voice 
 
148 While Paris Laughed 
 
 and to reflect that, not so long ago, there had been 
 men who shot themselves because that voice had 
 sent them packing. 
 
 Yes, the emotion that he had sought was found. 
 And because nothing happens but the unforeseen, 
 it had been found when he least expected it. He 
 addressed himself to her continuously, with hard- 
 ly a twinge for the ever-mounting expense, though 
 she uttered nothing but trivialities, and it had 
 transpired that she would like a little supper. 
 Neither Pitou nor Tricotrin was allowed to gain 
 her ear for ten consecutive seconds. More and 
 more they were excluded by his elbow. It was 
 Richard's hour! They indemnified themselves 
 with the viands and wine, falling to with such a 
 will that almost as often as he made to refresh her 
 glass he discovered the bottle to be empty, and 
 the waiter was kept busy drawing corks. 
 
 Not until the bill had been called for, and his 
 jaw had dropped at the total, did he accord the 
 young men his attention. He said: 
 
 "Messieurs, I would not hasten your own de- 
 parture, but she is fatigued, and it appears that 
 she lives some distance off: I have offered to 
 drive her home. I thank you a thousand times, 
 both ! This day that we have passed together has 
 been superb, altogether ravishing. . . . And lis- 
 ten!" He buttonholed them, to be confidential: 
 "I shall yet obtain her reminiscences! You will 
 not find me neglect you — I shall write you things, 
 hein? . . . You remain?" 
 
Xhe Piece of Sugar 149 
 
 "A few moments — there is still something left 
 to drink," answered the pair. And as Richard 
 strutted forth beside her, Pitou collapsed against 
 Tricotrin, panting hysterically: 
 
 "What inspiration may be bom of a piece of 
 sugar!" 
 
 "Inevitable!" gasped the author, half -voiceless 
 with laughter, too. "She had scarcely sneaked it 
 when I thought to myself, *To make that more 
 literary still you should be some woman with a 
 dazzling past!' " 
 
 "For an instant you took me in. You knew 
 why I said you would not get her history? That 
 was in case he should smell a rat when she was 
 not autobiographical. What did you say to her?" 
 
 "I said," quavered Tricotrin suffocatingly, "I 
 said, 'Madame, we have a country cousin there 
 who thinks you were the favourite of emperors; 
 I. have ascertained that he will run to champagne, 
 and I should not wonder if you could raise oysters 
 as well.' Oh! it was a gallant deed. The poor 
 ancient lady, whoever she is, has had probably 
 the best supper of her lowly life, and our wiles 
 have cost that scurvy knave a hundred and two 
 francs already!" Mirth rolled him on the settee 
 till he clasped his stomach in pain. "He means 
 to pester for her 'reminiscences,' " he shrilled. 
 "Oh, I would give a hemisphere to see his face 
 when she loses patience with him and he learns 
 what he has spent the money on!" 
 
vn 
 
 The Banquets op Kiki 
 
 PARIS steamed, and Parisians mopped their 
 heads; and Kiki Toulotte panted to spend 
 her approaching birthday at Saint-Cloud among 
 birds and boughs. If the student of these chron- 
 icles imagiues that because Kiki was a model of 
 scant importance she could not yearn for birds 
 and boughs in true poetic style, the student 
 wrongs her race; even a French girl shambUng 
 down the rue de Flandres at six o'clock from 
 the jam manufactory where she works may be 
 heard to speak of the one glimpse she has had 
 of Fontainebleau — ^yes, and of a landscape on 
 the walls of the Salon! — ^with some spontaneous 
 phrase of feeling that is poetry in itself. Kiki 
 felt lyrical. 
 
 Unhappily, the coins that she could count fell 
 very short of the sum required. For it would be 
 a poor sort of birthday if she went alone. She 
 wanted to provide a hamper of cold meats and 
 bottles, and bask in the company of monsieur 
 Tricotrin, who, much to her regret, had never 
 made love to her; and she wanted to invite his 
 friend Pitou, and her own pal, Louison-Flore, to 
 
 160 
 
The Banquets of Kiki 151 
 
 whom the composer had dedicated unpublished 
 serenades until that terrible affair last month 
 when he bade her farewell for ever. Was it not 
 evident to half an eye that both would jump at a 
 reconciliation? Could Kiki's sentiment have had 
 its way, indeed, the party would have lunched 
 on the shady terrace of a restaurant. And it 
 would not even run to the hamper! 
 
 Note: This superficially appealing situation 
 should not be allowed to enlist the student's sym- 
 pathies for the young female. Sentiment and 
 poetic yearnings are not necessarily concomitants 
 of a high moral standard, as will become sadly 
 apparent. 
 
 Now the cafe that Kiki most affected of an 
 evening was called the "Joyous Jackdaw," and 
 its clientele, if not prosperous, was sprightly, 
 especially about midnight. Not only were artists' 
 models to be discovered there, forgetting their 
 anxieties — there were beauteous beings from the 
 chorus of a neighbouring music-haU, who had 
 been known to chant over their bocks from sheer 
 lightness of disposition. Many a blade of limited 
 means maintained that more "life" was to be seen 
 at the "Joyous Jackdaw" than at any other cafe 
 in the quartier for coppers. But of course these 
 were habitues; a stranger who dropped in there 
 was liable to find it dearer. A week antecedent 
 to the dawn of Kiki's birthday, a stranger from 
 the suburbs found it dearer — in the following cir^ 
 cum^tanceg, 
 
152 While Paris Laughed 
 
 Some people may remember, and it is of no 
 importance if they don't, that in the suburb of 
 Ville-Nogent there stood a pension de famille pre- 
 sided over by a crimson-faced woman of vast di- 
 mensions? She was an avaricious termagant of 
 the name of "Grospiron," and her husband, 
 whose days were spent behind the wire screen of 
 the local branch of the Credit Lyonnais, was a 
 niggardly little fellow who, to avoid the expense 
 of cutting a slice of bread for himself, would 
 make a tour of the dining-room table and collect 
 the bits left by the boarders. 
 
 The couple saved money. Almost the only 
 matter that they discussed together without the 
 irascible woman raising her voice was the amount 
 that they had saved. She it was who was the 
 more consistent of the two. In spite of his do- 
 mestic parsimonies, in spite of his official delibera- 
 tion — and the time he took to supply a draft on 
 London had never been exceeded in any bank 
 in France — Grospiron was, at long intervals, sub- 
 ject to secret frolics, on which, in the most reck- 
 less of his moods, he had dissipated nearly a louis. 
 Ville-Nogent was not an animated spot, and once 
 in every twelvemonth his accumulated cravings 
 to escape from it would be more than he could 
 master. At Christmas he used to pretend to his 
 wife that the stress of balancing the accounts kept 
 him at the bank until one o'clock in the morning. 
 Had she suspected that he slunk iato the 7.15 to 
 
The Banquets of Kiki 153 
 
 Paris, and rushed from glittering scenes to eatcli 
 the last train home, she would have struck him. 
 
 Long years before, when the clerk had been 
 transferred to Ville-Nogent and drifted for 
 "board residence" to the house over which he 
 now nominally reigned, the vast, crimson-faced 
 woman had been a plump, rosy girl, who received 
 resounding clouts from a violent mother. To-day 
 the intimidated Grospiron often mourned the 
 touch of a vanished hand. 
 
 The little man's annual lie had, as it were, be- 
 come hallowed by custom. It was now easily 
 uttered, and smoothly accepted. Never had he 
 adventured it at any other season than the one 
 in which the actual pressure of work lent an air 
 of credibility to his tale; never for more than a 
 febrile instant had he dared to contemplate such 
 a thing. But accidents happen in the bjest ^egu-. 
 lated sins. One August morning, into the rue de 
 la Paroisse came a white-bloused fellow with a 
 paste-pot; and through the bank window the 
 meagre clerk beheld him slap on to the hoarding 
 opposite, a picture of a disturbing damsel, in 
 three sections, and a tango posture. Grospiron's 
 dual mind skipped from the figures he was totting 
 to the floor of the Bal Tabaria. He reproved 
 himself, and oast the last column again. When 
 he had done so, his gaze involuntarily roved to 
 the calendar, and he sighed in realising the pro- 
 cession of dates that had to pass before the ap- 
 pearance of Christmas, 
 
154 While Paris Laughed 
 
 Strange as it may sound, Grospiron grew rest- 
 less during the ensuing week. As often as he 
 raised his head, the hussy on the hoarding wai 
 reminding him that he could be borne to Paris in 
 forty minutes, and attain the merriment of the 
 baU-room at the end of half an hour's palpitating 
 stroll. In fancy he pushed open the swing doors 
 and quivered. Constantly he dismissed the no- 
 tion "for good and all" — only to look up and see 
 the highly coloured siren beckoning to him agaia. 
 When she had been on the hoarding for ten days, 
 his fever had mounted to the degree of considering 
 how to dupe his wife in August, 
 
 Four days more passed while he sought courage 
 to execute the plan. Then he murmured tenta- 
 tively that owing to the absence of a colleague he 
 might have to put in an hour or two overtime on 
 the morrow. Next, as she did not protest vehe- 
 mently, he moaned that it wouldn't surprise him 
 if it proved to be a "really late job." 
 
 When she had swallowed the yam with no more 
 than a choleric "Mais!" he wished that he had 
 said "this evening" instead. 
 
 How far was every one from divining the 
 tumult in his veins next morning! Externally he 
 was as deliberate as ever, and when the oldest 
 client of the branch presented a cheque payable 
 to "Self," Grospiron 's meticulous examination 
 of it was so prolonged that he seemed to be at 
 the point of charging the client with having forged 
 his own name. 
 
The Banquets of Kiki 155 
 
 In the deceiver's purse were fifteen francs. 
 Not without a pang had he put them there to 
 be scattered, but after vacillating during two- 
 thirds of the night he had determined that fif- 
 teen francs should be the sum. The afternoon 
 pulsed with promise. At seven o'clock he sidled 
 towards the station, and as the woman in the 
 booking-office slid out his return ticket he held his 
 head warily above her view. 
 
 In the corner of a compartment he consulted 
 the current time-table and confirmed his convic- 
 tion that the last train for Ville-Nogent left at 
 12.30. When Paris was reached, he made assur- 
 ance doubly sure by inquiring of two officials, 
 and set his nickel watch by the station clock. 
 
 "Ah!" said Grospiron to himseK with bound- 
 less satisfaction, hastening down the steps. 
 
 How good the shining streets looked! How 
 exhilarating was the movement of the crowds! 
 He twirled his, httle moustache excitedly, and was 
 scant of breath with pleasure. 
 
 As usual, the temptations of a myriad enter- 
 tainments confused him as he walked; as usual, 
 before proceeding to Tabarin, he was beset by a 
 desire to venture a franc or two upon some new 
 experience, and then hesitated in the fear that 
 when he got to the ballroom all the chairs would 
 be engaged. "Moulin Rouge," " Jardin de Paris," 
 "L 'Alcazar," a thousand glittering signs dizzied 
 and delayed him. . . . Since he had had no din- 
 ner, he would be boimd to order a snack at some 
 
156 While Paris Laughed 
 
 period of tlie evening! He resolved to have a 
 sandwich and a glass of heer at once. "While he 
 discussed them he could make up his mind. 
 
 Pleasure was giving place to anxiety, as it al- 
 ways did. As on every previous occasion, his 
 hrain buzzed in the consciousness that an experi- 
 ment might ruin the whole spree. On the other 
 hand, what visions of delight he might be miss- 
 ing! . . . "Ah!" he exclaimed again, with the 
 torrent of significance with which a Frenchman 
 can flood the monosyllable, and made impetuously 
 for the Alcazar. 
 
 "When he had paid for admission, and treated 
 himself to a programme, and found that he could 
 neither see nor hear much of the entertainment, 
 his regret was riotous. Continuously lamenting 
 that he had come, but reluctant to abandon a seat 
 that had cost him one franc fifty, he fumed and 
 fidgeted till half-past nine. Then he strode to 
 Tabarin at such a pace that by the time the rue 
 Victor-Masse was attained he felt that the ladies 
 of the cloak-room might have wrung him out like 
 something from a wash-tub. 
 
 Luck was against him still. The doors that had 
 been swinging in his imagination for the past 
 fortnight disclosed an almost empty scene. 
 
 "Mon Dieu," groaned Grospiron, "the night 
 fails!" His despair was accentuated by a view 
 of gala baubles, suspended from the ceiling and 
 intimating what high jinka were to be expected on 
 the following Saturday. 
 
The Banquets of Kiki 157 
 
 Gulping a bock, and dabbing Mmself with, bis 
 handkerchief he eyed the few gyrating couples 
 morosely. So deep was his chagrin during the 
 ensuing hour that not even the brief appearance 
 of a troupe of paid danseuses could stir him to 
 applause. 
 
 "Where is the tango artiste that one sees ad- 
 vertised on the walls?" he demanded angrily of 
 a waiter. And, the waiter proving obtuse, a lady 
 explained, with a smile, "It is not an artiste, mon- 
 sieur, it is a symbol." 
 
 "It is not a symbol, it is a fraud!" growled 
 Grospiron, disconcerted. "I am bored here." 
 
 "It was joUy last night," said the lady, by way 
 of comfort. 
 
 She suggested taking refreshment in his com- 
 pany, and sat down. Far short as she fell of the 
 tango witch, she was some one to talk to, and his 
 gloom lifted a little by degrees. He was sorry 
 when, her glass being empty, she rose to express 
 an intention of going to the Joyous Jackdaw. 
 
 "What is it, the Joyous Jackdaw?" he asked, 
 pricking his ears. 
 
 She replied that it was a cafe, and that he should 
 make its acquaintance. "It is amusing!" 
 
 "And expensive?" 
 
 "Oh, quite the reverse !" 
 
 Grospiron was agog to take her tip. But did 
 time remain? At twelve sharp he must set forth 
 for the station. He consulted his watch. 
 
 "How long will it take to get there?" 
 
158 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "Not two minutes!" 
 
 "I am with you!" he proclaimed debonairly. 
 And as he strutted round corners beside her he 
 felt that he was penetrating the mysteries of Paris 
 at last. 
 
 On entering the cafe he was a little dashed at 
 her discovering two of her friends, for she cor- 
 dially invited them to drink at his expense. They 
 were Kiki Toulotte and Louison-Flore. Their mien 
 was moody at the moment of the introduction, 
 for Kiki had been dwelling on the impracticability 
 of her birthday party, and Louison-Flore was 
 pondering upon Pitou. Both cheered up wonder- 
 fully, however, when the lady extended her invita- 
 tion to the length of hard-boiled eggs. 
 
 "Hard-boiled eggs also!" assented Grospiron, 
 slapping the table. The spurt of festivity had oc- 
 curred too late to make the evening a success, but, 
 sapristi! it should yield him one gay memory. 
 
 And no quartette in the cafe was more vivacious. 
 Laughter pealed, and his spirits rose so high that 
 he did no more than wince when it transpired that 
 the prices were 50 per cent, more than they ought 
 to be. His consuming care was that he was bound 
 to flee at midnight. Again he looked at his watch, 
 and was agreeably surprised to find that it was 
 only twenty-five minutes past eleven. 
 
 "He is like Cinderella!" cried Kiki amid gen- 
 eral mirth. 
 
 "Still more like the Prince ! " thought Grrospiron 
 as he saw himself committed to cigarettes. But 
 
The Banquets of Kiki 159 
 
 he forced a boisterous air, and, reckless in the 
 possession of his return ticket, practically emptied 
 his little purse. 
 
 It was when half the packet of cigarettes had 
 been smoked that he pulled out his watch again — 
 and stared at it with his blood running cold. It 
 stood at twenty-five minutes past eleven still! 
 Paralysed with fear he questioned how long ago 
 it had stopped. 
 
 "The time?" he gasped, starting to his feet. 
 "Mon Dieu, my train! Gargon, the right time!" 
 
 "A quarter past twelve, monsieur," announced 
 the waiter as if it didn't matter in the least. 
 
 The little man. turned grey to the lips. Unless 
 he took an auto-taxi to the station, there was no 
 possibility of his reaching home before the milk. 
 Am auto-taxi — and nothing remained to him but 
 coppers ! 
 
 "Ladies, ladies," he babbled in a panic, "my 
 train goes at 12.30. It is the last! I need an 
 auto-taxi; I have not the money! Lend it me, 
 I implore you, I entreat you on my knees! It is 
 a situation the most desperate. I am a gentle- 
 man, I live at Ville-Nogent, my name is Grospiron 
 — ^I confide all to you. I will repay you to-morrow 
 — ^to-morrow, on my honour! Three francs for 
 a cab, I supplicate ! It is life or death to me." 
 
 His excitement did not communicate itself to 
 his guests. 
 
 "Ah, par example!" objected his guide, with 
 
i6o While Paris Laughed 
 
 the calmest of shrugs. "Three francs! I regret 
 infinitely." 
 
 "Then you, mademoiselle?" he panted, pre- 
 cipitating himself towards Louison-Flore. 
 
 "Alas! I am not a millionairess, monsieur!" 
 said she. 
 
 "I will pay interest, I will give security, I will 
 do anything," he besought, his knees clacking 
 together. "Mademoiselle Kiki? For the love of 
 heaven, have you three francs?" 
 
 "Well, yes, I have it," admitted Kiki, "but 
 ma f oi ! o'est un pen fort — ^we are not the oldest of 
 friends. People don't do such things." 
 
 "I will pay five — ten! As security I offer — ^I 
 offer my watch!" 
 
 "Which doesn't go!" 
 
 "It is a good watch," he shrilled, with a sob; 
 "it is the first time it plays me such a trick. Ah, 
 come to my rescue! I will give you an lOU. Be 
 compassionate, be quick — any second may be 
 fatal!" 
 
 Now the prospect of turning three francs into 
 ten sorely tempted Kiki; such a windfall would 
 permit her picnic to materialise. And when 
 Grospiron frantically snatched the watch from its 
 guard, and scrawled an lOU with his n^me and 
 address on the tariff, and positively danced before 
 her with extended arms, she said: "Alors, I risk 
 it ! It is understood that you send me ten francs 
 to-morrow; and I wiU post the watch to that 
 
The Banquets of Kiki i6i 
 
 address. Take down mine. I have not a card — 
 give me something to write on." 
 
 He thrust the Alcazar programme on her, 
 stuffed it back in his coat, and, grabbing the loan, 
 rushed out. By a dispensation of Providence, a 
 vacant taxi was at the kerb. He fell into it, half 
 blind with terror. His heart and head were throb- 
 bing deafeningly, and as he pelted up the station 
 steps he was voiceless. But a breakneck race along 
 the platform enabled him to catch the train. Half- 
 way to ViUe-Nogent, by force of habit, he searched 
 his pockets, to be sure that they contained nothing 
 to incriminate him. Only as he tossed the Alcazar 
 programme through the window did his disordered 
 brain realise that it bore his creditor's address. 
 
 He had never read the address. He couldn't 
 send her the ten francs — and she knew where he 
 lived! When she wrote to revile him, his wife 
 might read the letter! He cursed the Joyous Jack- 
 daw, and Paris, and himself. . Though he was 
 streaming with perspiration, his teeth chattered 
 like castanets. 
 
 For the next few days he felt as if he lived on a 
 bomb. 
 
 But Kiki did not write to revile him; her gift 
 for correspondence was by no means equal to what 
 she wanted to say. .When five days had passed 
 without the arrival of a remittance, and she had 
 ascertained that the utmost to be realised on the 
 security with a broken mainspring was one franc 
 
i62 While Paris Laughed 
 
 fifty, she jabbed pins through her hat with an air 
 that boded ill for him, and proceeded "par tram- 
 vay" to make investigations. By tram the jour- 
 ney to Ville-Nogent is slow, but cheap: 
 
 The rural aspect of the place appealed to her. 
 And, though she hadn't been sanguine of it, the 
 street existed — and the number was to be dis- 
 covered too; and a black-and-gold plaque on the 
 white wall announced the domicile to be a board- 
 ing-house. The only remaining question ia her 
 mind, as she rang the bell, was whether anybody 
 called "Grospiron" boarded there. 
 
 The door was opened by a vast woman with a 
 crimson face. The ingratiating smile that she put 
 on made it immediately evident that she was the 
 proprietress. 
 
 "Monsieur Grospiron," asked Kiki sweetly — 
 "is he at home?" 
 
 The woman, ceasing to try to look like a benign 
 mother, regarded the attractive stranger sus- 
 piciously. ' ' No, ' ' she grimted. ' ' You see madame 
 Grospiron; what is it that you desire?" 
 
 "Tiens!" reflected Kiki delighted; "my little 
 swindler is the boss. And married to a mountain 
 with a temper! This is luck. If he would not 
 rather pay up than be given away I am no judge of 
 red faces." It being necessary to account for her 
 inquiry, she simpered, "Pardon, madame, it is 
 the same thing ! I seek a private hotel, and I was 
 told that by far the best was that of monsieur 
 Grospiron." 
 
The Banquets of Kiki 163 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed tlie huge woman, beaming 
 anew. "It is I who conduct the house, mademoi- 
 selle — ^my husband has his business outside. Will 
 you give yourself the trouble of entering?" 
 
 Kiki would have preferred to learn forthwith 
 where his business was situated, but she was 
 afraid of displaying too much interest. She prom- 
 ised herself to acquire the information within. 
 
 "Here is the dining-room," said madame Gros- 
 piron. "It gives on to the beautiful garden. One 
 might be in the heart of the country, n'est oe pas? 
 Everybody finds it a veritable paradise; I have 
 people who return to me agaia and again. There 
 is a family — ^very distinguished; the monsieur is 
 an advocate — ^who have passed every summer with 
 me for twenty years. This year, for the first time, 
 they did not oome — ^they went to Switzerland. 
 They write me, 'We have made an error. Never 
 again! For the future, every summer with you!' 
 The nourishment, how abundant you will find it ! 
 And of the first quality I assure you. The menus 
 for this evening are not ready yet, but you will see 
 on the slate in the kitchen what we shall have. 
 A lady and her daughter here — ^very highly born ; 
 they have been accustomed to all that there is the 
 most luxurious — ^teU me every day, 'There is no 
 place but yours, in all the suburbs of Paris, where 
 we can eat.* How ridiculous they are, the others ! 
 What is the use of the fine air for the lungs if there 
 is not good food for the stomach? This way, 
 
164 While Paris Laughed 
 
 mademoiselle, if you will be amiable enough to 
 view the bedrooms ! ' ' 
 
 Kiki was not eager to view the bedrooms ; she 
 was no longer impatient even to view her debtor. 
 An inspiration had flashed upon her, and her 
 nimble mind was enchanted by a prospect of 
 blackmail. How far more substantial, how far 
 more chic than the cheap hamper of her dreams 
 would be that abundant nourishment in the din- 
 ing-room giving on to the beautiful garden ! When 
 the bill was presented, the errant husband himself 
 should privately provide the money to pay it. 
 
 "I have not explained myself, madame," she 
 said. "I do not come to Ville-Nogent to stay, at 
 present; I desire simply a day's repasts. I pro- 
 pose to spend Sunday here, en plein air, with a 
 little family party. It will be my birthday. If 
 one could arrange for an ample dejeuner, and a 
 good dinner in the tranquil atmosphere of some 
 establishment like this, it appears to me that it 
 would be preferable to taking our meals amid the 
 noise of a cafe." 
 
 "But assuredly!" assented the other, crestfal- 
 len. "Then, if you and your friends should be 
 disinclined to make an immediate return to the 
 Park — after a meal one wishes to repose un pen, 
 n'est ce pas? — you will have a garden in the mean- 
 while. It is much more practical. How many 
 persons? Regard, I can put you at the smaller 
 table all by yourselves!" 
 
 " There will be four of us. As to terms? Our 
 
The Banquets of Kiki 165 
 
 tastes are not extravagant, but if you provide 
 anything special for us, naturally you will increase 
 the price a shade. I shall not complain of that." 
 
 "Listen," said madame Grospiron; "you will 
 be thoroughly content. I shall give you assorted 
 hors d'ceuvres — anchovies and butter, salad of 
 tomatoes; then, oeufs-sur le-plat, or a rabbit in 
 ;white wine. . . . That pleases you?" 
 
 "I have a fancy for vol-au-vent; let us have a 
 vol-au-vent as well!" 
 
 "Certainly! — a nice vol-au-vent. And then, a 
 bifteck cotelette, or a faux filet " 
 
 "A vrai filet!" said Kiki. "The difference in 
 the quality is worth the extra cost." 
 
 "I am of your opinion, mademoiselle! Bien! 
 un vrai filet with fried potatoes. Afterwards, 
 epinards au beurre, compote of apples — ^it will be 
 the best in your life, because I introduce always a 
 suspicion of vanilla, I ! — a sound bordeaux and a 
 cup of coffee that you will pronounce 'superb.' 
 For dinner — But wait ! Leave me to arrange, and 
 you will not call it expensive. Ordinarily our 
 charge to a passant is three francs for a luncheon, 
 and four for a dinner. It is not dear, hein? For 
 you I shall make a few improvements, and, as you 
 say, it will come to a trifle more. But with us 
 there are no exorbitant figures. And it will be, 
 I assure you, a veritable menu for a fete — far bet- 
 ter than you could procure at a restaurant at 
 double the price! If you will consent to view the 
 
i66 While Paris Laughed 
 
 bedrooms for later in tlie season, mademoiselle, 
 there are only a few stairs to mount." 
 
 Kiki returned to Paris enraptured, and called 
 on Tricotrin. 
 
 "Ah, mon enfant!" said the poet, raising his 
 head from his manuscript. "How goes it? You 
 find me immersed in work." 
 
 "Are you writing a tragedy, Maitre?" asked 
 Kiki with reverence. 
 
 "No, but it is a tragedy that I should be writing 
 it ; I pronounce a decree, for my Fashions for Men 
 article, on the correct use of the waistcoat slij) — 
 an embellishment that I have never possessed the 
 means to adopt. One must live, Kiki, and my 
 Muse is hard of heart." 
 
 "I do not understand what the creature can be 
 thinking of!" avowed Kiki shyly. 
 
 The poet ignored the hint, being at this period 
 faithful to a memory. He did no more than re- 
 flect, "She is charming, this little one!" and then 
 valiantly reverted to his ordinance on waistcoat 
 slips. 
 
 "I have come," she continued, subduing a sigh, 
 "to request the honour of your company to-mor- 
 row, and that of your friend, monsieur Pitou. I 
 give a little feast at Ville-Nogent ; there will be 
 a dejeuner and a dinner, and my guests are to be 
 stuck for nothing beyond their tram fares." 
 
 "A dejeuner and a dinner?" cried Tricotrin. 
 ' ' Are you delirious ? How do you do these things ? 
 You are bien gentille, Kiki, but while my mouth 
 
The Banquets of KikI 167 
 
 waters, it is my duty to dissuade you from such 
 regal hospitality." 
 
 "You need not consider my outlay — ^it will be 
 well within my resources I" declared Kiki. And 
 Pitou arriving at this juncture, she went on, 
 "Monsieur Pitou, may I have the pleasure of see- 
 ing you lunch and dine with me at Ville-Nogent 
 to-morrow? We are aU going to weave daisy- 
 chains and listen to the nightingale, if these 
 things happen to be in season, and put away 
 square meals in the entr'actes." 
 
 "She has inherited a million or two, it seems," 
 commented Tricotrin. "What do you say?" 
 
 "Of whom does the party consist?" inquired 
 the composer, beginning to tremble. 
 
 "There will be," she murmured reflectively, 
 "you, and monsieur Tricotrin, and — I have not 
 asked any one else yet." 
 
 "Listen, Eaki!" exclaimed Pitou. "You have 
 a kind nature, but between Louison-Flore and me 
 all is overl She deceived me heartlessly, and I 
 can never pardon her. Do not imagine that by 
 throwing us together for a day you can heal a 
 breach that is eternal." And he folded his arms 
 like the hero of a drama. 
 
 "But why tell me what I already know?" re- 
 monstrated the girl. "Besides, Louison-Flore 
 would refuse to come if she knew you were to be 
 present. Does she not swear that you misjudged 
 herr? Do not fear. Rather than betray to you 
 
i68 While Paris Laughed 
 
 the tenderness tliat she still cherishes, the poor 
 child wiU pine proudly into her grave." 
 
 "As to that," said Pitou, in an emotional 
 voice, "it would, of course, be possible to include 
 her without mentioning my name. Far be it from 
 me to deny you the pleasure of entertaining your 
 own chums!" 
 
 Kiki betook herself to Louison-Flore briskly. 
 "Will you spend a happy day in the country Avith 
 me to-morrow?" 
 
 "Who else is going?" demanded Louison-Flore. 
 "Listen, old dear. I know how well you mean, 
 but Nicolas Pitou and I are strangers to each other 
 ever more! He wronged me cruelly, and I can 
 never forgive him. Do not figure yourself that 
 by popping us together under the same tree you 
 can revive a passion that is extinct." And she 
 clenched her hands like the leading lady at the 
 Ambigu. 
 
 "But why inform me of what I have heard a 
 thousand times?" expostulated Kiki. "Besides, 
 monsieur Pitou would decline my invitation if he 
 guessed you were to be there. Does he not realise 
 that you are adamant to his sufferings ? Have no 
 misgiving. Rather than let you see the despair 
 that is devouring him, the poor lad will waste 
 away into his tomb. ' ' 
 
 "So far as that goes," said Louison-Flore 
 chokily, "if you are keen on asking him, there is 
 nothing to prevent your doing so without alluding 
 to me. I am the last person ito expect my personal 
 
The Banquets of Kiki 169 
 
 sorrows to forbid you the society of your own 
 friends." 
 
 "Tiens!" thought Kiki, "these two are going 
 to be all right. If only the poet would look more 
 favourably on little me!" 
 
 "You got your ten francs then, after all?" 
 said Louison-Flore. 
 
 "No," said Kiki; "but, between ourselves, the 
 crook is a married man, and runs a pension de 
 famille. It is there that we feed to-morrow. I 
 project it as a joyful surprise to him!" 
 
 "But it will come very dear, that?" ejaculated 
 the other, after a stare, bursting into laughter, 
 
 "On the contrary! If he does not wish me to 
 refer my claim to his wife, it will come very cheap. 
 Not a word to the boys about it, mind!" 
 
 With what dignity next morning did Pitou and 
 Louison-Flore dissemble the shock that they felt 
 at seeing each other! With what tact was her 
 tram-fare paid by Tricotrin, while Kiki's fare was 
 defrayed by Pitou ! And how Arcadian were the 
 tortuous paths that repeatedly separated the ex- 
 cursionists into couples! The luncheon hour ar- 
 rived too soon for everybody. 
 
 What shall be said, however, of the guests' en- 
 thusiasm when they were conducted to that 
 luncheon? The young men could scarcely unfold 
 their napkins for bewilderment, and Louison-Flore 
 kicked her hostess in ecstasy under the table. 
 "She transports us to scenes of splendour!" 
 gasped the poet. "It is a chapter out of TM 
 
170 While Paris Laughed 
 
 Thousand-And-One Nights! Am I daft, or is that 
 item on the menu vol-au-vent?" 
 
 It was when they had begun to fall to on the 
 anchovies and butter, with fascinated glances 
 towards the boarders, who, in various stages of 
 decrepitude, shuffled in on sticks, that the unsus- 
 pecting Grospiron appeared. To Grospiron's 
 haunting fear of an abusive letter reaching the 
 wrong hands, the Sabbath was promising a brief 
 respite, for there was no more than one postal 
 delivery on Sunday, and that was over. He en- 
 tered with his first appetite since the hard-boiled 
 eggs. As the thunderbolt of Kiki's countenance 
 smote his sight in the very heart of his pension de 
 famille the man jerked so electrically that, if his 
 wife had not had her face in her soup-plate, noth- 
 ing could have saved him. 
 
 He crumpled into his chair with his faculties 
 spinning. From the sick void where his stomach 
 had been, tremors rose clammily to the crown of 
 his head. By a desperate effort he effected a sig- 
 nal of secret understanding, but it was received 
 with a glare of scorn. What did her presence 
 portend? How to obtain a clandestine word with 
 her? He dared not refuse his food, lest he arouse 
 his better half to watchfulness, and the protests of 
 his oesophagus under the compulsion that he put 
 upon it to swallow, were something frightful, 
 "When the deaf boarder opposite condemned him 
 to the torture of bawling small talk, death would 
 have com? as a happy release, 
 
The Banquets of Kiki 171 
 
 Not till the evening, after the bohemians had 
 returned to a recherche dinner, bearing great 
 bunches of wild flowers, had he a chance of the 
 clandestine word. Then his creditor sought him. 
 
 "Many thanks for a delightful day, monsieur," 
 she said. "Your wife's bill comes to fifty-six 
 francs seventy-five!" And she held out a cheeky 
 palm. 
 
 "Comment? What do you say?" stuttered 
 the wretched man. "Listen, ma petite, you are 
 doing me a grave injustice! I am honest; I am 
 enchanted by this opportunity to hand you the 
 ten-franc piece and regain my property. I swear 
 it to you ! When we parted, I intended most con- 
 scientiously to remit, but in my excitement I 
 threw your address out of the traiii." 
 
 "Bien sur!" said the girl. "It was the same 
 with me; when I started I intended most con- 
 scientiously to pay, but in my excitement I threw 
 out my purse. . . . Fifty-six francs seventy-five! 
 Do not put me to any inconvenience in collecting 
 it, or we will all come and stay for a month." 
 
 "Are you mad?" shrieked Grospiron. "You 
 commit an outrage. Have you no conscience? 
 Fifty-six francs seventy-fiVe, in addition to what 
 I squandered in Paris? And for what? I cannot 
 do it! Do you imagine I have such a sum lying 
 loose in my pocket? C'est enorme. Show me the 
 bill. Fifty-six francs seventy-five for two meals ? 
 It is robbery!" 
 
 "Well, let it be a lesson to you not to overcharge 
 
172 While Paris Laughed 
 
 here for the future!" said KiM. "Your wife ex- 
 pects me in her office in half an hour ; would you 
 prefer to supply me with the sum in the mean- 
 while, or for me to show her your lOU and your 
 watch?" 
 
 Some little time afterwards, when the watch 
 was back in Grospiron's keeping, and the receipted 
 bill was in the young lady's sac-a-main, Tricotrin 
 murmured to Pitou: 
 
 "What a revelation she has been, that girl! 
 Her mind is a fountain of allurements. To me 
 this festival has yielded the most delicious of dis- 
 coveries!" 
 
 "To me, also," responded the composer raptly. 
 "For I have learnt that Louison-Flore was faith- 
 ful to me always — and she has pardoned my abom- 
 inable suspicion." 
 
 Stars winked over the Land of Cockaigne as the 
 two pairs of Parisians wound their way to the 
 station. 
 
 "There is but one crumpled rose-leaf in my 
 Eden," breathed the poet, an arm round his host- 
 ess's waist. "Thou wert in no position to afford 
 the lavish entertainment thou hast showered on 
 us." 
 
 "Ah, tais-toil" cooed Kiki. "The avowal of 
 thy tenderness awakes in me emotions so unfore- 
 seen that — ^without exaggeration — I cannot re- 
 member that the day cost me anything except my 
 heart!" 
 
vin 
 
 The Poet Grows PeactioaIj 
 
 IF you were on the boulevard de Eocliecliouart, 
 not far from the rue des Martyrs, that New 
 Year's Day about 4.15 p. m., you may have seen a 
 little lady, who was returning from a rehearsal, 
 exchange a careless bow with two young gentle- 
 men who were removing their household belong- 
 ings in a hip bath. This is the history of that 
 bow. 
 
 It is communicated, under the veil of fictitious 
 names — the surname of "de Varangeville" is 
 manifestly feigned — ^lest any student of the pres- 
 ent volume should be in danger of assuming that 
 the poet's only qualification for literary eminence 
 was his long hair. 
 
 One night he remarked abruptly, "There are 
 people who regard me as a dreamer, a poet with- 
 out a practical side to him!" 
 
 Pitou responded, "There is a poor composer 
 who knows you thoroughly." 
 
 "Nevertheless I am about to say something that 
 will astonish you. Some months ago I stumbled 
 upon a little cafe in the rue des BatignoUes where 
 
 a MarteU, three stars, cost only ten sou s " 
 
 173 
 
174 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "Astonishing, in truth! You mentioned it at 
 the time." 
 
 "That is not the point of my narrative. This 
 afternoon while I was debating which should be 
 the first theatre to refuse my new comedy — I have 
 decided to entitle it La Feuillaison — ^my constitu- 
 tion demanded such refreshment. The little cafe 
 recurred to me fondly. It was a long way to go, 
 but I remembered that the glass at ten sous had 
 been of more generous dimensions than one gets 
 at places where the price is twelve, and fifteen — ^to 
 say nothing of haunts of fashion where they have 
 the impudence to charge thirty. Well, when I ar- 
 rived in the street, what was my chagrin to find 
 myself uncertain which of the cafes it was — ^" 
 
 "I am astonished, as you foresaw," put in 
 Pitou. 
 
 "Peste! the point is still ahead. You shall 
 have a cue for that astonishment of yours. I 
 took a seat on a bench, searching my memory. 
 Beside me a bill-sticker was posting playbills on 
 a colonne Morris. One of them announced the 
 forthcoming piece by de Varangeville — his third 
 this year — and I smiled to note with what mirac- 
 ulous speed some of our popular dramatists can 
 supply a laboriously constructed play. A hen 
 does not lay an egg so casually." 
 
 "The toil is divided," said the composer; "an 
 obscure man writes the play, and the popular man 
 writes his name." 
 
 "Don't be trite. To-day I fell to studying the 
 
The Poet Grows Practical 175 
 
 obscure man's philosophy, and I found something 
 to be said for it by a poor devil who trudges kilo- 
 metres to save a copper. It is true that he has no 
 laurels, but he has dinners ; the back that he turns 
 upon ambition has a good coat on it. Though he 
 does not earn any kudos, he earns a living. Nicolas, 
 as I sat there, opposite the Mairie in the rue des 
 BatignoUes, staring at the colonne Morris, it was 
 revealed to me why I am perennially hard up; 
 I saw why I have struggled and achieved nothing 
 — why our attic is a cemetery of rejected plays. 
 They have been submitted in the wrong quarters ; 
 I have sent them to theatrical managers — I should 
 have offered them to popular playwrights." 
 
 Pitou stood horrified. 
 
 "Well, it is not too late to turn my meditations 
 to account! I cannot propose to celebrities that 
 they should father manuscripts that have been 
 hawked round Paris beariug my own autograph — 
 nor, as a matter of fact, are they all quite so tran- 
 scendent as I once thought them — ^but La FeuU- 
 laison is virgin. I have determined to sacrifice 
 it upon the altar of Mammon." 
 
 "I forbid thee to talk so!" cried Pitou. "Yes, 
 my astonishment is immense, and I condemn the 
 cue with all my heart. You, whose unfaltering 
 aspiration and resolve has helped me to bear my 
 own adversities, you talk of bartering your heri- 
 tage for the wages of a 'ghost'? What would the 
 dinners and the coat amount to in your apostasy? 
 Thistles, and a horsehair shirt ! Better a herring. 
 
176 While Paris Laughed 
 
 and no socks, with the prospect of renown! My 
 friend, your reflections on the bench were rotten. 
 Eemember that the virgin is not too literary to be 
 amusing, and shut up." 
 
 "My more than brother, how rejoiced I am to 
 find that you agree with me!" returned Tricotrin 
 affectionately. 
 
 "What do you say?" 
 
 "My sacrifice will not extend to the lengths 
 that you assume. My first thought, I avow, was 
 to permit another chap to appropriate all the 
 credit for what I have done; but the notion was 
 commonplace — I felt it to be unworthy of me. I 
 sat seeking a more brilliant scheme, a sacrifice 
 with inspiration. Bref, I have decided to retain 
 half the credit, and half the fees ; I shall read my 
 completed play to de Varangeville and suggest 
 that he figures as part author of it." 
 
 "That I approve!" ejaculated Pitou, admir- 
 ingly. "You will bfi parting with a good deal, 
 but — ^ma foi! if de Varangeville consents to an 
 ostensible collaboration, it will be an enormous 
 thing. The piece might be done at the Gymnase ; 
 you will become a playwright of the Boulevard; 
 you will never look back!" 
 
 "That's it!" 
 
 "You have a head on you!" 
 
 "Yes, my practical side is to be top dog hence- 
 forward. Artistically, of course, it is atrocious, 
 heartrending, and diabolical that I cannot do ^with- 
 out him — and I shall need all your sympathy to 
 
The Poet Grows Practical 177 
 
 sustain me ; indeed, I do not know in which case I 
 shall be the more trying — if the play succeeds and 
 he gets half the admiration, or if it fails and there 
 isn't any. 'Zere's ze rub,' as 'Amlet says! But 
 commercially, the project is sound. It promises 
 a fat purse. Conspuez ideals, larks, love affairs ! 
 I am a new man with an eye to the main chance." 
 
 How little the belauded and prosperous de 
 Varangeville, in his majestic study, divined that, 
 in a distant garret, two shabby bohemians had 
 settled for him the terms of a secret partnership I 
 
 And the initial difficulty was how to enlighten 
 him. The tactful request for an interview "on 
 a matter of mutual interest," which had been in- 
 dited as soon as his address was ascertained from 
 Bottin, evoked no answer. 
 
 "He deserves that I should let him slide!" 
 said the poet wrathfully. "If it were not that 
 my judgment tells me he is the man for my pur- 
 pose, I would promptly transfer the opportunity 
 to somebody else. Now what am I to do — ^I can- 
 not persuade myself that my eloquence is likely 
 to accomplish much if I waylay him in the street? 
 Yet another of those problems that punctuate our 
 chequered careers confronts us! Query: how to 
 obtain an appointment with a personage who 
 ignores one's letters?" 
 
 "We could not beat up any one who might 
 manage to procure a line of introduction for 
 you?" said Pitou dubiously. 
 
178 While Paris Laughed 
 
 * ' You are right, ' ' said Trieotrin ; * ' we couldn't. ' ' 
 
 The young men pondered. 
 
 "To-morrow," said Pitou, "is to see the repeti- 
 tion generale of his new thing. There should be 
 a hint derivable from that. But I confess that I 
 fail to grasp it." 
 
 Trieotrin raised his head: 
 
 "We are on the right track, though. Yes. 
 Wait! I approach an idea. . . . Which journal 
 shall I choose? I think Le Demi-Mot. Upon my 
 word, I believe I see my way!" 
 
 And next morning he called upon the Editor 
 of Le Demi-Mot. 
 
 "Monsieur," he announced, "I am about to 
 spend an afternoon with my friend de Varange- 
 ville, and I shall be in a position to supply copy of 
 a far more intimate nature than the ordinary in- 
 terviewer can hope to get hold of. Would it suit 
 your policy to take a thousand words from me at 
 a special rate?" 
 
 The Editor, who was wide-awake, too, did not 
 commit himself; but the visit enabled the appli- 
 cant to annex a sheet of note-paper headed Le 
 Demi-Mot in imposing type. And equipped with 
 this, he wrote to de Varangeville again. The epis- 
 tle was actually penned, in the attic, before the 
 gentleman's piece had seen the light, but it was 
 not dispatched till afterwards, of course. It ran 
 thus: 
 
 "Monsieur — ^What a work of genius is your 
 play! With what spirituality, what wit and in- 
 
The Poet Grows Practical 179 
 
 sight yon have conducted this exquisite comedy in 
 which life is viewed always through the medium 
 of your delicate and poetical imagination — in 
 which tears of sensibility are always near to joy- 
 ous smiles i How enchanting it is, how ravishing, 
 how irresistible ! Dare I hope that you will favour 
 us with your views upon the interpretation of 
 your chef d'ceuvre for the purpose of a special ar- 
 ticle? I should be honoured to call upon you at 
 any hour. 
 
 "Eeceive, monsieur, I pray you, the expression 
 of my sentiments the most distinguished — Gustave 
 Tricotrin." 
 
 To the appreciative Pitou, the correspondent 
 observed, "If he does not jump at the chance of 
 doing the box office a bit of good I am a babe in 
 arms. I collar two birds with one stone, voyons, 
 for it will be as easy as shelling peas to dish up 
 a column or so for Le Demi-Mot out of our little 
 chat. This calls for drinks; a cheval!" 
 
 Paris was mauve, and the glare of electricity 
 had begun to leap into the waning daylight when 
 the poet descended the rue Lepic and proceeded 
 anxiously towards the more opulent district in 
 which de Varangeville dwelt. What a crisis had 
 arrived! If the scheme came off, the humble 
 scribe, to whom a louis looked as big as a cart- 
 wheel, might be a distinguished author in a fur 
 overcoat by Christmas. His brain span in think- 
 ing of it; and as he passed through the porte 
 
i8o While Paris Laughed 
 
 cochere, and went up the carpeted staircase, lie 
 wiped beads of trepidation from his brow. 
 
 De Varangeville had paid him the compliment 
 of setting a scene for him. The successful drama- 
 tist was discovered in the flood of composition, 
 and a richly embroidered dressing-gown. En- 
 treating monsieur Tricotrin's patience for a few 
 minutes, he strode about the room, alternately 
 clapping a hand to his heart, and apostrophising 
 the heavens, while he dictated a torrent of emo- 
 tional dialogue to his stenographer. The rapidity 
 with which polished speeches poured from his 
 mouth would have been miraculous if they had not 
 been written already and committed to memory 
 for the purpose of impressing the newspaper-man. 
 
 "Qa y est!" he panted, falling into a chair. 
 "A thousand apologies, monsieur; I must beseech 
 your pardon! That situation rushed upon me 
 an instant since, and the artist in me would not 
 be denied. I am enchanted to have the oppor- 
 tunity to Ah! a moment more, I pray^you. 
 
 Mademoiselle: a correction for the penultimate 
 line; for 'without thee my heaven would be a 
 blank,' substitute 'without thee my heaven would 
 be a void.' C'est tout, you may retire. Voila, 
 monsieur! I am wholly at your service, though 
 I confess to the fear that I have but little to say. 
 The sensational triumph that we have just 
 achieved — ^the box office is veritably besieged! — 
 is the result of a nerve strain positively terrible. 
 Never before in my career have I rehearsed so 
 
The Poet Grows Practical i8i 
 
 strenuously, never have I hurled the stimulus of 
 my personality into a production with such bound- 
 less force. I am suffering from the reaction; I 
 should have a tranquil environment, I should have 
 absolute repose : but que voulez-vous ? The over- 
 whelming pressure of other work cannot be es- 
 caped — and one must avow the truth! — I would 
 not escape it if I could. A-ah ! there is the secret. 
 My bondage is sweet to me. I shall die in harness, 
 but my shafts are decked with flowers. Mon 
 Dieu, how inexorable, but how aUuring is this 
 art!" 
 
 "You cannot act so weU as you can write!" 
 reflected Tricotrin. "If I had not more valuable 
 fish to fry, I could do a column on you that would 
 tickle Paris to death." And aloud he murmured, 
 "The Muses hke their joke, monsieur — to be a 
 Master one must be a slave." But both his re- 
 sponses and his questions were superfluous — de 
 VarangeviUe had decided what he was going to 
 say, and said it. 
 
 It was when his performance had concluded and 
 he looked for Tricotrin to get up, that the visi- 
 tor began nervously to shuffle his feet. At last, 
 with a slight stammer, he said : 
 
 "It has been a great joy to me to be received 
 by you, monsieur. May I own that I had personal 
 reasons for aspiring to the privilege? I am not 
 journalist solely; I am dramatist as well." 
 
 "Tiens!" said de VarangeviUe, who was not in 
 the least interested to hear it. 
 
i82 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "I even venture to think that yom would see 
 merit in my latest comedy. How hard it is for a 
 writer without reputation to gain an entrance! 
 Actually I delay to offer my piece now that it is 
 written," 
 
 "One must persevere," yawned the other; "one 
 must continue always." 
 
 "A piece that strikes a totally ne^ note — a 
 note that will startle. With a small east — ^no long 
 salary list for a manager to pay — no elaborate 
 mise en scene for him to shy at. And with quali- 
 ties that render it a lucrative property for Amer- 
 ica and England." (He added mentally, "That 
 ought to fetch you ! " ) " Oh, ' ' he exclaimed, ' * there 
 is money in it, pots of money ! Yet because I am 
 unknown it can go begging." 
 
 "You have not yet submitted it anywhere?" 
 inquired de Varangeville. 
 
 "Nowhere. For one thing, the ink on it has 
 not long been dry; and for another, when your 
 amiable note arrived, the daring fancy seized me 
 that, if I should catch you in a generous mood, 
 you might deign to hear it and grant me a little 
 guidance." 
 
 "Ah, par exemple!" cried the dramatist wildly, 
 "have you any conception, my young friend, of 
 the demands upon my time?" 
 
 "What a boon, what a priceless service it would 
 be!" urged Trieotrin, taking the manuscript from 
 beneath his pelerine. "By a single suggestion 
 you might double the value of my play. Mt/ play? 
 
The Poet Grows Practical 183 
 
 It would suddenly be yours too! Audacious as 
 it sounds, I should be uplifted to the plane of a 
 collaborator. Ah, consider, monsieur! I realise 
 that I appear to you a novice, I realise that you 
 believe this work to be waste-paper — I realise 
 that you would perhaps be justified in wagering 
 a hundred to one that it is waste-paper; yet, you 
 wiU not deny that there exists the remote con- 
 tingency that it isn't? Well, have a gamble, listen 
 to the first Act ! True, it will cost you forty pre- 
 cious minutes, but risk forty minutes for the 
 chance of gaining a six months' run!" 
 
 "You are a droll chap," laughed de Varange- 
 ville, attracted in spite of himself. "WeU, fire 
 away, then! But I warn you that if I find you 
 have been talking through your hat, I shall ring 
 the curtain down long before the Act is done." 
 
 "What a chapter for my Biography!" thought 
 the poet, trembling ia every nerve. 
 
 The celebrity's thoughts were (1) "I am an ass 
 to consent"; (2) "There may be something in 
 it, after aU"; (3) "Sapristi! I am going to hear 
 this right through!" And when the crowning 
 words of the final Act had been uttered — when the 
 author, with his heart full of excitement, and his 
 head full of his beautiful lines, prayed breathlessly 
 for an emotional tribute from the Master — ^the 
 Master mused, "All the alteration that it needs 
 I could make in a day. No work to do, and the 
 lion share of the fees would not be half bad busi- 
 ness!" 
 
184 While Paris Laughed 
 
 Some forty minutes later Tricotrin, whose capi- 
 tal was five francs, reeled into an auto-taxi, and 
 spread his limbs in it as extensively as he could. 
 "Hoot I" he commanded, as his slum was reached. 
 "Continuous and triumphant hoots!" The mag- 
 nificence of the arrival brought Pitou tumbling 
 out upon the pavement, white-faced. "This sov- 
 ereign splendour can mean only that you have 
 conquered?" he gasped. And, falling into his 
 arms, the poet babbled incoherently. 
 
 "C'est epatant!" cried the musician again and 
 again when details were unfolded. "Mon Dieu, 
 it is like a fairy tale, it is the summit — ^you have 
 arrived ! And what house — did he say what house 
 was probable?" 
 
 "The Vaudeville! They have been pestering 
 him to give them something. 'By Andre de Var- 
 angeville and Gustave Tricotrin!' Though it is 
 an outrage that his name should come first, that 
 won't look so dusty on the bills of the Vaudeville 
 — ^hein? I shall buy a camp stool and sit outside 
 the theatre all day admiring them. Well, I could 
 not arrange for an equal division of royalties ; in- 
 stead of 50 per cent., I have agreed to accept 40. 
 After all, it is good enough — ^he gets 10 per cent, 
 more than I do." 
 
 "He gets 20 per cent, more than you do," said 
 Pitou. 
 
 "What! How do you make that out? I should 
 have had fifty, and I have consented to forty; so 
 I cede him 10 per cent," 
 
The Poet Grows Practical 185 
 
 "But his share is 20 per cent, more than yours." 
 
 "How can ten be twenty, duffer?" 
 
 "You do not follow me!" 
 
 "Morbleu! he cannot receive twenty, since I 
 only give him ten." 
 
 "No, listen! You are to have forty?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Forty from a hundred leaves sixty?" 
 
 "It does," assented Tricotria, after considersr 
 tion. 
 
 "Which goes to de Varangeville?" 
 
 "Eight!" 
 
 "Enfin, if he gets sixty while you get forty, he 
 gets 20 per cent, more than you." 
 
 "It is black magic!" faltered the poet, dis- 
 mayed. "It appears that he is a sharper. I agreed 
 to ten, and it becomes twenty ! It is a great deal, 
 that; it is far too much. Do you think the vaga- 
 ries of arithmetic are liable to make it more still 
 presently? You know, you have the brain of a 
 financier! I also am a business man, but I see 
 largely — ^I am not altogether infallible in the 
 minutiae of affairs." And his exultation was 
 damped for a quarter of an hour, as he dwelt upon 
 de Varangeville 's share. 
 
 However, there was a brighter prospect to dwell 
 on. Probably no greater sensation had ever been 
 known in the Cafe du Bel Avenir than he created, 
 during the one-franc dinner, when he remarked 
 listlessly, "Ah, by the way, de Varangeville and 
 I have decided to do a piece together!" So stupe- 
 
i86 While Paris Laughed 
 
 fied was Lajeunie that he put a mussel into his 
 mouth shell and all, and the waiter, who over- 
 heard the announcement, ran, round-eyed, to re- 
 port it to the proprietress. She could not fail to 
 be impressed, though her comment was the Trench 
 for "Eats!" 
 
 Indeed, there were moments when the poet him- 
 self came near to wondering whether it wasn't 
 "rats" — ^whether the brilliant outlook that daz- 
 zled him was not destined to conclude with that 
 familiar curtain, "And then he woke up!" Divers 
 as were the moods in which he had promenaded 
 the boulevard de Eochechouart during his siege 
 of Paris, never before had he paced it in such a 
 one as this. When he stalked, with a pass, now 
 into the fauteuils of some minor theatre, he fore- 
 saw himself conspicuous in a loge and evening 
 dress at the Vaudeville. When he cooked her- 
 rings and lentils for his evening repast in the 
 attic, he anticipated ecstatically the cuisine of 
 Paillard's. 
 
 And need one say that Pitou was to participate 
 in the splendours — Lajeunie, and Sanquereau, and 
 Didier as well, for that matter, but Pitou before 
 all? Pitou's compositions were no longer to lack 
 a friend at court to call attention to their excel- 
 lence; within twelve months, at the outside, the 
 music of Nicolas Pitou was to be the rage! It 
 was all decided. 
 
 A month passed; and though de Varangeville 
 had not found time to consider further the altera- 
 
The Poet Grows Practical 187 
 
 tions that he had vaguely contemplated, it was 
 elysian to be received by him and mark his infinite 
 confidence. To offer a comedy, and to place it 
 appeared to be, with him, one and the same thing. 
 True, the nectar was adulterated; he seemed un- 
 conscious that as yet he had not contributed a 
 single idea to the piece and had a maddening trick 
 of referring to some of its best features as sugges- 
 tions of his own. But, his boasts being blent with 
 compliments, it would have been unbecoming to 
 oavU. He would say, in a most gracious way : 
 
 "Your journalism has distinction, you know; 
 that article in Le Demi-Mot was capitally done. 
 For that matter, you are not altogether without 
 the sense of the theatre — I see some dramatic 
 promise in you. To others it would not be per- 
 ceptible, but I see it, myself. I detect m your 
 stuff a ray that makes me hopeful of you. One 
 day you will write a play. Do not despair. You 
 will learn. You are quick to seize the value of a 
 hint, my young friend — it is not many young men 
 of your age who would have grasped so promptly 
 the reasons why their piece was no good." 
 
 A little later on he was referring to all its best 
 features as suggestions of his own ; and unmindful 
 of the "quickness to seize the value of a hint," 
 deplored pathetically that every one of the sug- 
 gestions had been opposed. 
 
 "What an undertaking it was to convince you 
 that these improvements were necessary!" he 
 mourned. "What endless arguments! They wore 
 
l88 While Paris Laughed 
 
 me out. The trouble with, you young men is that 
 you regard every line you write as sacred — it must 
 not be touched! You resent the deletion of a syl- 
 lable. But is it not always frightful to me to 
 collaborate? Veritably, it is a curse. A thousand 
 times I have sworn never to collaborate again. To 
 write a great play alone consumes my energies 
 far less — ^it makes less demand on my invention, 
 is iu every respect less exhausting— than to work 
 on some little thing with a collaborator." 
 
 And Tricotrin ached to answer, "In our ease, 
 however, you haven't tried working yet!" But 
 he was heroically dtunb. Only to Pitou did he 
 let himself go. "Oh, mon Dieu!" wailed the 
 aspiring playwright, "what one has to put up 
 with, in being practical." 
 
 When he had at last perused the piece, pencil 
 in hand, de Varangeville decided that three of 
 the scenes must be wholly reconstructed. And one 
 momiug he actually sat down to reconstruct them. 
 But, on second thoughts, he sent for his collabora- 
 tor to do it, instead. So Tricotrin sweated in his 
 attic for a fortnight, and then read the new scenes 
 to the great man, who reclined on a yeUow sofa, 
 smoking a cigar. And when the reading was con- 
 cluded, de VarangeviUe wiped beads from his brow 
 and said faintly, "Thank God, the toil of crea- 
 tion is now over! I could have done no more." 
 
 During the evening he rallied sufficiently to 
 write a six-page letter specifying his symptoms in 
 "this reaction, when I must face the sombre truth 
 
The Poet Grows Practical 189 
 
 that I am on the verge of mental and physical 
 collapse." 
 
 Tricotrin, as in duty bound, paid a visit of sym- 
 pathy, and found him disposing of a Gargantuan 
 repast. 
 
 "I am more dead than aKve," repined the glut- 
 ton. "It is always so when I have completed a 
 play — above all, after the strain of collaborating. 
 I see that some paper questions which of the social 
 evils is the worst; I could supply the answer: 
 collaboration! Do not distress yourself; I have 
 only my own literary excesses to thank. While 
 I am at work I do not notice how prodigally I am 
 pouring it out; or, if my nerves expostulate, the 
 tornado of my imagination refuses to be checked. 
 So long as there is work to be done, I am a giant 
 squandering his forces ; and then — ^what will you? 
 — ^I am like this!" He feebly shook his head, 
 and attacked the fourth course — a fillet and fried 
 potatoes. 
 
 "Literally, I swoon in thinking of the weight 
 I must support when the piece goes into rehear- 
 sal," he resumed, grabbing the mustard. "I ask 
 myself, trembling, 'How will you survive it?' 
 Your little part of the work is done, fortunate 
 young man, but for me remains the achievement 
 that will quadruple the value of the play. Stu- 
 pendous! You do not dream what you wiU owe 
 to my labours at rehearsal; you do not dream 
 what inversions and transmutations I make in a 
 play when I begin to build it up before me on the 
 
190 While Paris Laughed 
 
 stage. Astounding! I live in the theatre; if I 
 withdraw for a moment it is fatal. I never eat. I 
 never sleep. Of course it is suicide," — he smacked 
 his lips over another glass of burgundy, and as- 
 sumed a posture of dauntless command — "but I 
 know that I must keep my hand at the helm. For 
 instance, they say to me, 'What a fine scene you 
 have given us here — how splendidly it will go!' 
 I reply, *It is atrocious — it disgusts me.' They 
 are dumbfounded. 'Do not speak to me,' I tell 
 them — *I must find some idea.' The company re- 
 gard me, breathless. I close my eyes. Like this. 
 Suddenly I utter the inspired decree: 'We shall 
 turn that scene upside down!' As a result, the 
 play takes Paris by storm. Mon Dieu ! you have 
 got a soft partnership; by rights I ought to charge 
 you ten thousand francs for what I shall have 
 to do to the piece at rehearsal!',' 
 
 However, he contented himself with sending a 
 typewritten copy at which Tricotrin looked dis- 
 tractedly for his own name. Sobbing with wrath, 
 he saw, beautifully spaced : 
 
 La Fbuhi/Aison 
 comedy in four acts 
 
 BY 
 AWDBB DE VAEANGEVILLB. 
 
 He arrived at the majestic study head first. 
 *' Comment done? I have had nothing at all 
 
The Poet Grows Practical 191 
 
 to do with the play, then, hein? My name is in- 
 visible!" he gasped. 
 
 "Is it so?" asked de Varangeville, gently sur- 
 prised; "I had not remarked the detail. What do 
 these things matter?" 
 
 "Matter? Whether I remain unknown, or not? 
 It is of some slight consequence. To me, anyhow! 
 That is why I sign my work. And I am not unique. 
 Other authors have the same idiosyncrasy. I 
 believe it is rather usual to find an author's name 
 on a play? What do you imagine I write for? 
 Money? As well! Not solely. If money were 
 all I wanted, I should not write at all. I could do 
 better in business. Matter? Before I would con- 
 sent to remove my name from the play I would 
 tear the four acts into pipe-spills!" 
 
 "But compose yourself, my young friend, I 
 pray you ! ' ' expostulated de Varangeville blandly. 
 "The duologue does not call for pipe-spills. If 
 you set any store by it, your name is easily added. 
 I attach no importance to such trifles, myself; I 
 am too old a hand at the game — ^I am not out 
 for laurels. All that concerns me is to get a suc- 
 cess. Whether it bears one name, or two — ^I am 
 above these vanities! Ah, at your age — I under- 
 stand! It is natural. I do not reproach you; I 
 can make allowances." And, having flourished a 
 pen, he wrote the name, after his own, with an air 
 of so much toleration and benignity that Tricotrin 
 nearly felt contrite for having complained of the 
 outrage. 
 
192 While Paris Laughed 
 
 Thus the poet's mighty project of collaboration 
 was fulfilled. And then, in the history of the pro- 
 ject, an unforeseen event occurred: the Heroine 
 entered. 
 
 She entered, in a very dirty white frock, with a 
 bouquet of rag roses in her hand, as the ingenue 
 in a fourth-rate theatre one night ; and the young 
 man, who had been yawning dismally, sat up in 
 his chair. His admiration for her histrionic gifts, 
 which were not unusual, may have originated in 
 the fact that she boasted two attributes which 
 were very unusual indeed in an ingenue there — 
 youth and good looks; but he beheld a situation 
 entirely after his own heart. He beheld Gustave 
 Tricotrin, the dramatist, discovering a star! He 
 applauded like one whose approval was a cachet. 
 Ostentatiously he underlined the name of "Mile. 
 Delacour" on his programme. "She will go far, 
 that little one ! " he murmured, loud enough to be 
 heard by his neighbours. Several of them turned 
 to regard him. It was extremely pleasant ; he had 
 rarely enjoyed himself in a theatre so much. 
 
 Presently it occurred to him that it would be 
 a kindly act to inform her that she had won a 
 dramatist's approval; he perceived that the legiti- 
 mate sequel to the situation was for him to utter 
 a few encouraging words to the attractive girl. 
 When the representation of the ancient melodrama 
 was complete, therefore, he proceeded with im- 
 portance to the stage door, and though he did not 
 possess a card, the tone in which he pronounced 
 
The Poet Grows Practical 193 
 
 his name was so impressive that it did the trick. 
 He was admitted to her dressing-room. 
 
 The expression of interest observable on made- 
 moiselle Delacour's piquant face, as he entered, 
 faded somewhat as she noted the stranger's shab- 
 by clck. But the next instant she questioned 
 whether he might not be "somebody" after all. 
 Having advanced to the centre of the room, with 
 the gravity of the Directeur of the Theatre 
 Frangais, and contemplated her in silence for 
 some seconds, the young man said solemnly : 
 
 "Mon enfant, well done! Your performance 
 pleases me — ^I am content." 
 
 "Oh, monsieur!" she faltered. 
 
 "Not often can a playwright of the. Boulevard 
 commend a performance in shows like this ! But 
 I find much that is thoughtful in your work. Con- 
 tinue, my child, continue with confidence. It is 
 I who say it — ^you wiU arrive !" 
 
 Now, it must not be inferred that no one but 
 Tricotrin thought well of her abilities — ^happy-go- 
 lucky little bohemian though she was, she had a 
 good opinion of them herself; and at the words 
 "a playwright of the Boulevard" she did not 
 doubt that an offer was on the way. 
 
 "Ciel! but you make me proud, monsieur!" she 
 murmured. And, throwing up her eyes, she went 
 on in the difficult key that the gentleman seemed 
 to expect of her: "How I adore it, my beautiful 
 art ! What devotion it inspires in me ! My dream 
 is, that I may one day interpret a role of subtlety. 
 
194 While Paris Laughed 
 
 Ah, quel bonheur! Is it not rapture to study in 
 that hope — ^to study, though, one knows that a 
 lifetime itself would he insufficient to master even 
 half the complexities of an art at once so elusive 
 and profound?" 
 
 "Ah, mais non!" said Tricotrin to himself; "I 
 had to stomach that sort of tosh from de Varange- 
 ville, but I am not here to stick it from you!" 
 He replied: "Tiens! Well, to descend from the 
 hilltop, I am very glad to make your acquaintance. 
 If I may say so, you are even prettier 'off' than 
 'on.' " 
 
 "Too amiable, monsieur!" she smiled, not un- 
 willing to be herself again. The glance that she 
 cast at him was, indeed, liable to be called coquet- 
 tish. Then in a voice disconcertingly brisk, she 
 added : 
 
 "Having bumped to business, as you suggest, 
 may I ask why you wished to see me?" 
 
 "Er — ^why I wished to see you?" said Tricotrin. 
 
 "Just so!" said she. And now there was a 
 shade of impatience in her voice. 
 
 "Well," he acknowledged, "you have put a 
 very interesting question to me. Why did I wish 
 to see you? A minute since I believed that I 
 knew; suddenly I begin to ask myself if my mo- 
 tives were not more intricate than I realised. That 
 I was moved to congratulate you is perfectly true. 
 Do not query that. If you have any doubt on the 
 point, I will congratulate you again. But now 
 that I find myseK in your presence I am not cer- 
 
The Poet Grows Practical 195 
 
 tain, upon my word, but what the mortal girl in- 
 fluenced me as much as the divine artist. As- 
 suredly your reception of me would faU short of 
 my ideal if you continued to address me in the 
 strain of a popular actress being interviewed for 
 the Press." 
 
 Subduing a smile, she said sharply: 
 
 "I say! Are you a dramatist really?" 
 
 "If I am a dramatist?" cried the poet. "Mon 
 Dieu! Oh, you will not better that! Posterity 
 will hold its sides when it reads that question. If 
 I am a dramatist ! Have you ever heard the name 
 of 'de VarangevilleT' 
 
 "What about him?" 
 
 "He is a collaborator of mine, that is all. Oh 
 yes, I am very much a dramatist ! Do not figure 
 yourself, because affectations are foreign to my 
 nature, that I am of no account. I may not, in 
 this scene, be precisely famous — ^I may not be 
 opulent — ^but I am a very gifted chap." 
 
 She smiled outright now. "Well, don't forget 
 me when your piece is ready to be cast!" 
 
 "Have no misgivings! My recognition of your 
 talents increases with every line you speak. The 
 role of 'Fifi' in my comedy might actually have 
 been written for you." 
 
 "Comme vous etes gentil!" she exclaimed — and 
 was sorry that the need for exchanging her stage 
 costume for her own frock forbade her to prolong 
 the conversation indefinitely. 
 
 Tricotrin regretted it no less than she. 
 
196 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "If I migM be permitted to wait outside while 
 you make your toilette, I could give you an idea of 
 the part in escorting you home," he suggested. 
 Mademoiselle Delacour yielded a graceful assent. 
 And, though a stroll through the least frequented 
 streets with a captivating companion on his arm 
 was far from being the kind of thing that he had 
 foreseen in the fauteuils, it proved a by no means 
 disagreeable development. At the outset, to be 
 sure, some suspicion of his veracity seemed to lin- 
 ger in her mind ; but when his flow of details had 
 persuaded her that she was not being hoaxed, the 
 soft pressure of her arm was almost a caress. 
 
 And, in every minute, Tricotrin the sentimental 
 grew more oblivious of the potential star, and 
 more appreciative of the captivating companion. 
 In the life of every bohemian, shiftless, fantastic, 
 or sordid as it may be, there persists one imperish- 
 able hope — ^the hope that circumstances will re- 
 veal a confidante who will understand and adore 
 him. 
 
 "But 'Fifi' herself?" she asked. "Is it a big 
 part — ^what does she do?" 
 
 "She loves," said Tricotrin. 
 
 "And besides?" 
 
 "She is unmercenary. An actress naturally 
 mercenary could not play 'Fifi' — she would lack 
 the temperament; 'Fifi' loves a poor man." 
 
 "As for me, I thoroughly comprehend that that 
 could occur." 
 
 "It promises well for your success. Hard up 
 
The Poet Grows Practical 197 
 
 though he is, he can render her a valuable service, 
 and this makes him diffident of avowing his ten- 
 derness — ^he would not have her think him one of 
 those odious creatures who say to a girl, 'Yes, I 
 wiU further your career, but only on conditions I ' " 
 
 "Ah!" she said. 
 
 "But 'Fifi' is shrewd. She perceived the sin- 
 cerity of his attachment even in their first meet- 
 ing. They sauntered together at Montmartre un- 
 der the moon, as you and I are sauntering now, 
 and he confided to her his prospects and ambi- 
 tions." 
 
 "It is pretty!" 
 
 "There is reality in it, n'est ce pas? The poor 
 boy's pockets were so light that he was unable to 
 propose supper, and he blushed in wondering what 
 she thought of his omission. But 'Fifi' did not 
 wrong him by supposing that it was because he 
 was mean." 
 
 "As if she would!" 
 
 "A propos, mademoiselle, I see a cafe opposite! 
 Will you do me the honour to sip a book while I 
 tell you the rest?" 
 
 "With much pleasure, monsieur." 
 
 "The best he could do was to offer her a bock. 
 They seated themselves in a comer of the little 
 terrace, just as you and I have seated ourselves, 
 and " 
 
 "There are in fact several points of resem- 
 blance?" 
 
 "I do not deny it. But he possessed one dra- 
 
198 While Paris Laughed 
 
 matic advantage tliat I lack. Wlien lie could sup- 
 press the truth no longer and his homage burst 
 from him, he knew her christian name." 
 
 Mademoiselle Delaoour was not immediately re- 
 sponsive to this hint. 
 
 "Of course, courtships go faster on the stage 
 than they do off if!" she reminded him. 
 
 "Do not disparage my plot; if there is no such 
 thing as love at first sight, the comedy is a frost !" 
 
 "Off it, a girl takes longer to be sure of her 
 heart." 
 
 "How long?" 
 
 "Ah, that depends!" 
 
 "On what?" 
 
 "For one thing, on the value of the heart." 
 
 "I shall not disguise from you," said Tricotrin 
 earnestly, "that it is your own heart that I have 
 in mind. Perhaps you have suspected it?" 
 
 Perhaps she had. But what neither of them 
 suspected yet was that three o'clock was to boom 
 before they parted from each other regretfully on 
 her doorstep. How true it is that only the un- 
 foreseen comes to pass ! At fifteen minutes to mid- 
 night they had never met, yet the actress mounted 
 her black staircase in a highly romantic mood, and 
 the poet made for his garret, murmuring rhymes 
 to the name of "Yvette." 
 
 ""Where on earth have you been all this time?" 
 growled the composer, whom his entrance wak- 
 ened. 
 
 "The most extraordinary experience!" cried 
 
The Poet Grows Practical 199 
 
 Tricotrin rapturously. "I have not only discov- 
 ered the ideal 'Fifi' for La Feuillaison, but I have 
 found the one woman in the world who has ever 
 fully comprehended me!" 
 
 "Again?" 
 
 "Ah, this is no illusion, I assure you. I am a 
 changed man! She is adorable. What sensibil- 
 ity ! Figure yourself that we took a bock together 
 after the performance, and that ever since we 
 have been walking up and down the avenue de St. 
 Ouen — which had become a glen in Arcadia— * 
 talking of the future!" 
 
 "You are a changed man, with original ideas 
 of a pleasant evening," was the composer's com- 
 ment. And he fell asleep again, little surmising 
 to what the avenue de St. Ouen was to lead. 
 
 It was not the last night on which that normally 
 unattractive thoroughfare revealed Arcadian 
 qualities to the poet and the actress ; nor was it 
 long before she consented to receive him at more 
 conventional hours in her lodging. He had an- 
 nounced his dramatic "find" to de Varangeville, 
 post-haste, on eight enthusiastic pages, and 
 though de Varangeville had not written yet to ex- 
 press his joy, Yvette was studying the role of 
 "Fifi" daily. Tricotrin conducted the rehearsals 
 of it with all the assiduity that his devotion would 
 allow, but interludes were frequent. As the grand 
 passion was now mutual, it was no rare event for 
 a rehearsal to begin at midday and conclude only 
 
200 While Paris Laughed 
 
 when the time came for her to remember that she 
 was an ingenue. 
 
 "How insufferable," she would lament, "to 
 descend to that rotten part after thy chef d'oeuvre, 
 Gustave!" 
 
 And Tricotrin would reply, "Courage, my 
 angel ; it is for the moment only ! Wilt thou not 
 soon be 'Fifi' at the Vaudeville?" 
 
 It was with a joyous project, and an elastic step 
 that he sallied forth one morning some three weeks 
 later. He had now pronounced her "exquisite" 
 as "Fifi"; and even Pitou, to whom her type of 
 beauty did not appeal, had conceded grudgingly 
 that she "might have been worse." The poet fore- 
 saw a triumphant afternoon. He intended nothing 
 less than to obtain an appointment for her to 
 startle his "coEaborator" with her genius. 
 
 "How goes it?" inquired de Varangeville. "I 
 have not forgotten you ; a dozen times I have had 
 the intention of scribbling a line, but . . . you 
 understand?" 
 
 "Ah, I know well!" said the poet, dropping in- 
 to the velvet armchair on the hearth. "No news?" 
 
 "What wiU you? While the business keeps up 
 there with the thing that they are playing, they 
 will have 1:10 ears for anything else. As soon as it 
 begins to drop, our comedy will be in their hands. 
 Do not fear!" 
 
 "Ah, it was not that I was impatient, no, no!" 
 said Tricotrin. "My motive in coming was to 
 ask you to grant me a pleasure j and in truth, to 
 
The Poet Grows Practical 201 
 
 accept a pleasure in return. If you can spare an 
 hour tMs afternoon it is my intention to give you 
 a treat." 
 
 "Ah! What is that?" 
 
 "Well, I desire you to hear an actress who pos- 
 sesses gifts of an order which I venture to assert 
 you will find amazing." 
 
 "Ah, yes, I remember! The little girl at the 
 Monoey, or the Montmartre, or the — ^what was 
 it? WeU, you know, mon vieux, it was absurd, 
 that! It was an access of imbecility." 
 
 "Imbecility?" ejaculated Tricotrin. "I do not 
 follow you!" 
 
 "You are not seriously expecting me to entrust 
 a part of prominence to a woman absolutely un- 
 known? Merci! She is, if you please, a histri- 
 onic diamond mine. But it is for somebody else to 
 erect the machinery! It is not I who am ambi- 
 tious of these distinctions." 
 
 "Mais Comment? . . . There is nobody 
 
 else who can realise the character so perfectly!" 
 gasped her lover. "I assure you!" 
 
 "Perhaps; I will not dispute it. I should be 
 a hypocrite to pretend that I am convinced, but 
 it is not necessary that we argue the point. Her 
 talents are irrelevant. I have one unswerving rule 
 — I engage the artists whom the public flock to 
 see. Give me a Blondette, who cannot act and 
 cannot sing, but who is a beautiful woman and 
 draws all Paris, in preference to a genius whose 
 popularity has still to be achieved!" 
 
202 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "But — it does not hold water, that! If every- 
 body proceeded on the same lines, it is obvious 
 that no actor or actress could make a reputation 
 at all." 
 
 De Varangeville blew cigar-smoke placidly. "Do 
 you figure yourself that I am in the business to 
 enable actors and actresses to make reputations? 
 Flute! Ah, mais non, mon ami, let us talk of 
 something else! It is not such a cast-iron cer- 
 tainty, our play, that we can afford to produce it 
 on philanthropic principles." 
 
 "In my case," returned Tricotrin angrily, 
 "there is no question of philanthropy." 
 
 ' ' Of infatuation, rather — ^hein ? ' ' 
 
 "Nor of infatuation, monsieur! Of devotion, 
 I avow it, I avow it proudly — of a devotion sublime 
 and eternal. But that in no way affects my 
 judgment — it is a question of my artistic convic- 
 tions. I speak simply as the author of the piece. ' ' 
 
 "Part author," said de Varangeville, with a 
 quick frown, "part author, mon petit!" 
 
 "Bien, as part author! I accept the correction. 
 As part author, then, I have pledged my word t-o 
 mademoiselle Delacour that she shall create the 
 part of 'Fifi,' and I must insist on her being en- 
 gaged." 
 
 * ' Oh, really ? ' ' panted de Varangeville. He rose 
 superbly, his arms folded across the heaving in- 
 dignation of his breast. "You must 'insist'?" 
 
 "It is true!" 
 
 "Mon Dieu! I begin to awake to my insignif- 
 
The Poet Grows Practical 203 
 
 icance; I do justioe at last to tlie glory that our 
 association would confer upon me." The satire 
 in his rolling tones would have thrilled an audi- 
 ence at the Ambigu. "It is an essential condition 
 of our affair that your little nothing-at-all shall 
 queer the play? Understood! . . . Take it back, 
 congenital idiot ! It is yours ; I shall survive with- 
 out it." And, flinging the manuscript at the poet's 
 feet, he waited like an outraged Jove to see him 
 make a panic-stricken meal of humble pie. 
 
 This Philistine did not comprehend the power 
 of eternal devotion. 
 
 "It is like that?" rejoined Tricotrin loftily; 
 and the gesture with which he met the outburst 
 was no less splendid than his opponent's. "The 
 price yon set upon your service is my dishonour? 
 For the boon you proffer, you ask me to be false 
 to my vows — ^to abandon one dearer to me than 
 life itself? It is to me you make this infamous 
 proposal? Listen, monsieur de Varangeville ! 
 Were all the gold to which you hold the key 
 amassed in one colossal heap in Brobdingnaglan 
 scales, it would not weigh with me against a single 
 ringlet of her hair. I spurn your vision of a gilded 
 shame. Poor in purse I may be, but I boast a 
 wealth that transcends all percentages, all pay- 
 ments on account and in advance — ^the celestial 
 treasure of a loyal woman's love." 
 
 The necessity for picking the manuscript up 
 marred the dignity of his exit to a very slight 
 extent. 
 
204 While Paris Laughed 
 
 If you were on the boulevard de Roohechouart, 
 not far from the rue des Martyrs, that New Tear's 
 Day about 4.15 p.na., it is reaffirmed that you may 
 have seen a little lady, who was returning from a 
 rehearsal, exchange a careless bow with two young 
 gentlemen who were removing their household be- 
 longings in a hip bath. The young men were MM. 
 Gustave Tricotrin and Nicolas Pitou, and the lady 
 was 
 
 "One of your ex-kindred souls!" observed the 
 composer. "At this date dare one inquire whether 
 that perfect union came to an end because she 
 could not be 'Fifi' at the VaudeviUer' 
 
 "Alas," said Tricotrin cheerfully, "it did not! 
 To have been banished from her presence with a 
 broken heart, after all I had renounced for her, 
 would have been dramatic and pleased me better. 
 We simply found each other tedious." 
 
 "And La Feuillaison, what has become of it?" 
 
 "I restored those three scenes to their original 
 beauty, and sent it round on my own. It met with 
 its twelfth rejection yesterday. Thirteen being an 
 undesirable number, I shall not try again. But 
 the masterpiece that I am writing! Ah, mon vieux 
 — ^the triumph that is in store! Congratulate 
 me!" 
 
IX 
 
 A ReFOEMED CpAEACTEB 
 
 AN attack of lumbago deterred a mercliant of 
 Bonnes from taking a journey to Paris, and 
 his sober-minded son said, "Mon pere, it is I wbo 
 will go in your stead." 
 
 "You? There are others who could arrange the 
 little affair," objected his father. 
 
 "Others to whom the interests of the firm are 
 so dear?" argued the young man, hurt. "Ah, 
 listen, mon pere I I know weU that when I saw 
 Paris last I was a feather-head, that I had artistic 
 ideas the most deplorable ; but all that is over — ^I 
 am a reformed character, awake to the realities of 
 life. Do not figure yourself that to return there 
 would revive my bohemian errors! On the con- 
 trary, I shall rejoice more ardently than ever that 
 I was influenced by your counsel and turned my 
 eyes to the main chance." 
 
 "It was not precisely by my cotmsel that you 
 were influenced," said his father, who had had to 
 exercise stringent economic pressure. 
 
 Mariquot junior flushed. By now he had taken 
 so kindly to commerce that reminders of his poet- 
 ical period were unpalatable to him. As a rule 
 
 205 
 
2o6 While Paris Laughed 
 
 the dejected aspirants whom fate compels to 
 abandon dreams of renown in Paris for prosaic 
 callings in the provinces resign themselves slowly. 
 They submit, they have their luxuriant hair cut, 
 and they put aside their fantastic hats, but they 
 wail in secret long after the world believes them 
 sage. Some day you shall hear of a middle-aged 
 rogue of a moneylender who, unknown even to the 
 wife of his bosom, annually brought forth from 
 his safe a fantastic hat, to become, for an hour 
 again, a youthful idealist beneath it. Mariquot's 
 lamentations, however, had been brief. After three 
 months he had approached his humdrum duties 
 without acute disgust. When six months had 
 passed, the reflection that he was saving money 
 had given him a thrill of satisfaction. At the end 
 of a year he had strutted into the office briskly, 
 and spoken in pompous tones to the staff. 
 
 Little the staff surmised that their prematurely 
 staid young boss had once declaimed verses to the 
 stars and come within an ace of flinging himself 
 into the Seine ! When the reformed character re- 
 membered how nearly he had been an exhibit in 
 the Morgue, instead of a future partner in a thriv- 
 ing business, his atrophic heart almost glowed 
 with gratitude to his preserver. 
 
 He got his way about going to Paris ; and within 
 three days he had arrsmged the little affair with an 
 avarice that would have done credit to a riper age. 
 On the third evening, as he indulged in an appe- 
 tiser, with which he debited the firm, and thought 
 
A Reformed Character 207 
 
 tow inconvenient an appetite had been when he 
 was a poet, Mariquot again gave thanks that a 
 beneficent Providence had guided him to higher 
 things. 
 
 Now, on this evening there was at least one 
 other young man in Paris who viewed the pro- 
 fession of a poet as unprofitable. Never had Tri- 
 cotrin seen less money in it. And never, at any 
 stage of their misadventures, had Pitou taken a 
 lower estimate of the financial promise of musical 
 composition. Moreover, their concierge's weari- 
 some custom of demanding rent for their attic had 
 just reached a point at which they were eompelled 
 to give it heed — she was going to turn them out 
 unless they paid by mid-day on the morrow. 
 
 When she had offensively delivered herself of 
 this ultimatirai, and withdrawn, the pair sat gaz- 
 ing into vacancy, and so strained was the silence 
 that the ticking of their watches might have been 
 heard if those articles had not been in pawn. 
 
 Then Tricotrin sprang up and exclaimed, "I go 
 to throw myself at the landlord's!" 
 
 "At the landlord's— what?" 
 
 "Feet, of course, since you see me leap to my 
 own. In such a pass one must be economical even 
 of words. Happily, we know where his shop is !" 
 
 "I am with you!" proclaimed Pitou, rising too. 
 
 "No. If we failed together there would be no 
 more to be done ; let us divide our forces. Your 
 turn will come if I am beaten. But hope for the 
 best, my comrade. A tout a I'heure ! ' ' 
 
2o8 While Paris Laughed 
 
 It was a close evening, with, an autumn thirst 
 in it, though the month was May, and everywhere 
 syphons squirted melodiously. Striving to forget 
 how dry his tongue was, and the temptation of 
 the five sous in his pocket, the unfortunate young 
 man hastened past the crowded terraces of the 
 cafes, constructing his appeal. Street after street 
 he traversed miserably until, having descended 
 the rue de la Chaussee-d'Antin, he reached the 
 window of an antiquity dealer, which bore the 
 name of ' ' Salabert. ' ' It was now nine o 'clock and 
 the shop was shut ; but there was a private door. 
 He had no scruples ia infringing upon monsieur 
 Salabert 's leisure. 
 
 Scarcely had he puUed the bell when the door 
 was opened — and by a maiden who might have 
 stepped straight out of a canvas of Rossetti's. 
 She faltered, "Oh!" It was evident that she had 
 expected to see some one else. "I should offer 
 no opposition to being he!" reflected the young 
 man. And he said with the deepest deference, "A 
 thousand pardons, mademoiselle. I regret in- 
 finitely to disturb you. May I ask if monsieur 
 Salabert is at home?" 
 
 "Mais non, monsieur," she told him; "my 
 father is out." 
 
 "Now how unlucky that is!" sighed Tricotrin. 
 
 She seemed to feel for his disappointment, and 
 added gently, "He will be back at any moment, 
 however — ^I thought it was my father who had 
 rung." 
 
A Reformed Character 209 
 
 "Oh, you thought it was your father?" ex- 
 claimed Tricotriu — and perhaps something in. his 
 voice betrayed pleasure that she hadn't thought it 
 was a sweetheart, for on her lips flickered the sug- 
 gestion of a smile. 
 
 "If your business is of importance, mon- 
 sieur ?" 
 
 "It is of the highest importance, mademoiselle. 
 Indeed, if I fail to see him this evening the conse- 
 quences will be disastrous." 
 
 "Ah, excuse me a little moment, monsieur!" 
 she said; "I wiU speak to my mother." 
 
 Next, a portly woman, in her evening black, 
 advanced to him along the passage. "Enter, 
 monsieur, I pray you," she said solicitously; "my 
 husband will not be long. ... If you will take a 
 seat in the meantime?" And, somewhat embar- 
 rassed, he found himself nursing his hat in a cor- 
 ner of a diminutive salon obstructed by old 
 bronze, and brass, and enamelled saints, amid 
 which the mother and daughter sat repairing 
 paled brocade. 
 
 "Clearly the shop is too small to hold all the 
 stock," thought Tricotrin. "He has some nice 
 stuff here." But he could not do justice to it for 
 admiring the Rossetti profile of the girl. 
 
 "You had no appointment with my husband, 
 monsieur, hein?" asked madame Salabert in an 
 anxious voice. Dressed with the most scrupulous 
 care, and with her hair done to perfection, the wife 
 
210 While Paris Laughed 
 
 of the prosperous dealer was -working by a bad 
 ligbt as hard as any sempstress. 
 
 "No, madame, no; my call is totally unfore- 
 seen. ' ' 
 
 "It is about some order that you wish to see 
 him — there is something wrong?" 
 
 "Ah, have no misgiving, madame! My news 
 will not take him aback," he stammered. And 
 he began to debate whether it would not be wise to 
 divulge his errand and enlist the ladies' sympa- 
 thies before the antiquaire returned. Just as he 
 was making a start to do so, the bell pealed 
 sharply, and the girl ran to open the door again. 
 
 "He didn't take the key. How tiresome it ia 
 that one can't find a servant to sleep in, now- 
 adays ! I make no imputations, but I notice that 
 among servants there is none who is either single 
 or widowed. There must be a special dispensation 
 of Providence for them!" rattled the woman at 
 such a rate that no foreigner would have dis- 
 tinguished two words of what she said. 
 
 A parcel under his arm, as he bustled across the 
 threshold, indicated that little monsieur Salabert 
 had not been abroad on pleasure. His tenant was 
 unknown to him by sight, and he viewed him 
 apprehensively. 
 
 "This gentleman is waiting to see you, Edou- 
 ard." 
 
 "Ah oui, on m'a dit. You desire, monsieur?" 
 
 "Monsieur," said Tricotrin, who had risen with 
 a good deal of nervousness, "to begin with, I de- 
 
A Reformed Character 211 
 
 sire to offer my apologies for presenting myself at 
 this hour. I am a poet, and not having attained 
 the income that is my due, I occupy a room on 
 the top floor of your premises in the rue Cau- 
 chois." 
 
 "Mais! Tildette, you are required in the 
 kitchen," said her mother, with a snort. 
 
 "Ah! It is monsieur Tricotrin?" exclaimed 
 the landlord, scowling. 
 
 "How gratifying that my name is known to 
 you! I do not exaggerate when I assert that in 
 the next generation, pilgrims will behold a me- 
 morial plate on the front of the house, announc- 
 iug that I dwelt there. You are familiar with 
 my work, monsieur?" 
 
 "No. But I am familiar with your delays. 
 Bien! You have called to settle up. It was not 
 necessary — ^the sum should have been handed to 
 the concierge. Still, since I see you, I will take it 
 myself. Three-hundred-and-forty francs, n'est ce 
 pas? I will refer to my books." 
 
 "It was precisely on this subject that I wished 
 to make you an oral explanation," replied Trico- 
 trin, stumbling forward to turn the door-knob for 
 the girl, whose shy glance betokened sympathy as 
 she retired. And then, undeterred by two pro- 
 testing pahns, he launched into a flood of elo- 
 quence so torrential that the little antiquaire, 
 hopping with impatience, had the greatest diffi- 
 culty in stemming it. Not until a goodly part of 
 
212 While Paris Laughed 
 
 the peroration had been poured out could he con- 
 trive to do so, 
 
 ' ' Listen ! " he shouted. ' ' I have nothing to sub- 
 tract from the statement of the concierge. You 
 pay, or you go. And you will not remove so much 
 as a brush and comb," 
 
 "WeU put!" said the lady warmly. "Do you 
 figure yourself, young man, that monsieur Sala- 
 bert invests in house property in order to provide 
 the next generation with memorial plates? You 
 had impudence to intrude here." 
 
 "Leniency for another month!" persisted the 
 unhappy suppliant. "I ask no more." 
 
 "Too modest," said the landlord. 
 
 "It is unbelievable that you refuse!" 
 
 "However, it is a fact." 
 
 "Are you not human?" 
 
 "Yes; and your excuses would have soured a 
 seraph." 
 
 His imperious gesture of banishment brooked 
 no denial. Tricotrin tottered across the mat; and 
 the swish of a hasty skirt seemed to hint that 
 mademoiselle Tildette had been closer than the 
 kitchen. 
 
 An optimistic temperament did not suffice to 
 persuade him that Pitou was likely to fare any 
 better. Lagging home, with his parched mouth, 
 and defeat to communicate, his heart was like lead 
 with an ache in it. The loungers on every cafe 
 terrace that he passed now saw him waver more. 
 
A Reformed Character 213 
 
 And at last, succumbing at the seventeenth, he 
 dropped into a chair and moaned for beer. 
 
 It was when he had swallowed it and sat think- 
 ing how little of it there had been, that he noted 
 that, at an adjacent table, a young stranger of 
 moneyed aspect was regarding him with keen at- 
 tention. "Can it be that we have met somewhere 
 and he might stand me a drink?" thought the 
 poet alertly. 
 
 At this juncture the gentlemaa leant forward, 
 and performing a rite with his hat, remarked, "I 
 ask your pardon, monsieur : do I deceive myself, 
 or have I the pleasure of addressing monsieur 
 Tricotrin!" 
 
 "You! My dear fellow! I am enchanted to 
 come across you again," cried Tricotrin, wonder- 
 ing who on earth it was. 
 
 "We have met but once before, monsieur." 
 
 "None the less I rejoice to see you." 
 
 "You recall the circumstances of that meet- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Some minor details may elude me, perhaps." 
 
 "My name is 'Mariquot,' monsieur," said the 
 stranger impressively. * ' And you saved my life. ' ' 
 
 ' ' A lunatic ! ' ' reflected Tricotrin. ' ' But no mat- 
 ter; this should mean fluid in large quantities." 
 He responded, with a wave of the hand, "Ah, yon 
 make too much of it, my dear Mariquot! "Who 
 wo'idd not incur danger to save a feUow creature 
 from the tomb?" 
 
 "I shall refresh your memory," smiled Marl- 
 
214 While Paris Laughed 
 
 quot, wlio having done himself uncommonly well 
 at dinner, with which he had also deMted the firm, 
 was in an expansive mood. "But first, we shall 
 refresh the inner man, hein?" And when they 
 had been supplied with whisky-and-soda, and 
 straws, in accordance with the national belief that 
 all foreign beverages are imbibed through straws, 
 he went on, "It was quite a sensational episode in 
 which you cut such a dash, and your features have 
 remained stamped on my mind." 
 
 ' ' Sad ! ' ' mused the poet. ' * But while he orders 
 drinks, he may rave!" 
 
 "I am a business man, monsieur Tricotrin; 
 and I do not hesitate to say that those who are in 
 a position to judge would inform you that few 
 men in the trade know more of it than I do. This 
 may surprise you when you hear that as a boy I 
 was absolutely idiotic." 
 
 ' ' There we are ! From his first years ! ' ' thought 
 Tricotrin, grieved. 
 
 "I infer from your apparel that your walk of 
 life is literary still? Well, not so long ago, I was 
 a fellow victim. It is true. I lodged in the Mont- 
 pamasse quarter. To the consternation of a 
 worthy father, I was a poet. You will divine the 
 intensity of his horror when I mention that, on the 
 maternal side, my father was English. His tears 
 and arguments were without avail; I steadily re- 
 fused a position that offered prospects of the first 
 order. And if he had not, finally, adopted a 
 course of action that made resistance impossible, 
 
A Reformed Character 215 
 
 I might have remained a scatter-brain to this 
 day." 
 
 "You did — ^you might, I mean," assented Tri- 
 eotrin, finishing his whisky-and-soda. 
 
 "Well, when I realised that I must indeed quit 
 Paris," continued Mariquot, following his ex- 
 ample, "I had to break the news to a young 
 woman to whom I was attached. An actress." 
 He toyed with his moustache, simpering. "She 
 idolised me. As for me, the fact is I was already 
 a little tired of it. But I was weak; and when I 
 told her I must go, she made me scenes. Ah, mon 
 Dieu, the scenes she made me ! She entreated me 
 not to leave her — she vowed that she would drown 
 herself. She was distraught, positively dis- 
 traught. I said, 'I do not wish to leave you; it 
 rends my heart' — one must say such things! — 
 'but my father will not remit, and I cannot live 
 without any money, voyons.' Figure yourself 
 that she replied, 'Then die! My Love, let us 
 drown together.' Ah, there is no doubt that I was 
 all the world to her! . . . Let us have another 
 veesky-soda. Gargon, sst! Encore deux veesky- 
 sodas." 
 
 "And the ice!" said Tricotrin, his interest re- 
 viving. 
 
 "I repeat that I was weak — ^I was lacking in 
 the force of character to say 'Not much!' Osten- 
 sibly I agreed to her plan, stipulating only that I 
 should be too busy to execute it for a few days to 
 oome. My hope was that in the meantime her 
 
2i6 While Paris Laughed 
 
 enthusiasm for it would abate. But if it did so, 
 she concealed the fact with abominable cunning. 
 Enfin, the evening arrived when — ^my whole na- 
 ture protesting — ^we set forth together to hurl our- 
 selves into the Seine. ..." 
 
 "What a brute, that Salabert! We shan't be 
 able to get another place, without any luggage ; I 
 don't know where a roof is to come from!" 
 thought Tricotrin. "Your narrative enchaias 
 me," he put in politely, as the other paused. 
 
 "1 need scarcely say that, with all the tact at 
 my command, I strove, at this stage, to induce her 
 to abjure our compact. Without admitting that 
 I regretted it for my own sake, I spoke of the 
 brilliant future that she was sacrificing; I men- 
 tioned that she would have been crowned with 
 laurels, and diamond tiaras. The nearer we drew 
 to the river, the more I dwelt on them. Moments 
 there were when she seemed on the verge of ac- 
 knowledging that she wanted to back out. But 
 I realised by degrees that she was obstinately 
 waiting for me to do so. Doubtless she had 
 awakened by now to the fact that I had grown less 
 enamoured of her; and in the fury of her woimded 
 pride, she sought to thrust me into an ignominious 
 position. I did not find that good enough. It 
 was she who had originated the preposterous pro- 
 ject — ^it should be she to sing small first. Stub- 
 bornly, she would not. What a pig-head! We 
 reached the quay. As we stood waiting, with 
 
A Reformed Character 217 
 
 clasped hands, for our moment to die together, I 
 hated her." 
 
 The poet turned. "He who talks interminably 
 muat say a good thing sometimes," he reflected. 
 
 "Fortunately, the scene was as yet too animated 
 for our purpose; by a stroke of luck we had come 
 too soon. So we wandered on — and happened on a 
 humble cafe. And, having a franc in my pocket, 
 I proposed that we should go in and sit down. I 
 ordered bocks. The only other client was a ro- 
 mantic youth, who sat inditing a letter. . . . Does 
 your memory begin to stir, monsieur?" 
 
 "Upon my word, I have some recollection!" 
 murmured Tricotrin. 
 
 "Scarcely had we taken a pull at the bocks than 
 I discovered my franc to be a bad one. My com- 
 panion, needless to say, had left her purse behind. 
 In this predicament, which the insolence of the 
 waiter made the more iatolerable " 
 
 "The youth came gallantly to the rescue!" 
 cried Tricotrin. "Sapristi! so he did." 
 
 " Justement. He approached with considerable 
 elegance, and tossing down a coin " 
 
 "It was a piece of a hundred sous." 
 
 "He introduced himself, begging that we would 
 consider ourselves his guests." 
 
 "And a devilish pretty girl she was, I remem- 
 ber ! We aU talked for an hour or more." 
 
 "You did so, monsieur. You talked eternally 
 on some subject of personal interest to which I 
 was too perturbed to attend," 
 
2i8 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "Ah well, you have got back on me this evea- 
 ing," said Tricotrin. "Yes ; I have a hazy notion 
 that I announced the intent of committing suicid* 
 myself?" 
 
 "Possibly. I was not listening to you. The 
 fact for which I have never ceased to be thankful 
 is that your long-windedness had a charm for the 
 lady. Or, more precisely, your presence tempted 
 her to indulge that fury of wounded pride to 
 which I have referred. She languished at you, 
 with the design of convincing me that / was even 
 less indispensable to her than was she to me." 
 
 "I do not read it that way. Her infatuation 
 for me, if brief, was boundless." 
 
 "You deceive yourself. She had a tenderness 
 for the very rug under my slippers." 
 
 "I also have my reminiscences, mon ami." 
 
 "But it is of no consequence. To-day I even 
 forget her name." 
 
 "Her name? Her name was Now, what 
 
 the dickens was her name? However, as you say, 
 it is of no consequence." 
 
 "Her sheep's eyes at you, so far from incensing 
 me as she intended, thrilled me to the core with 
 joy — they provided a pretext for escape. I simu- 
 lated an outburst of jealousy. I reproached her 
 frantically for flirtation with another man in the 
 very hour that I meant to destroy myself rather 
 than bear life apart from her. Her remorse was 
 frightful " 
 
 "I do not seem to recall that." 
 
A Reformed Character 219 
 
 "Of course it was frightful. You were a this- 
 tledown, blown across her path, while I was her 
 Here and Hereafter. She was about to say so. A 
 moment more and she would have been on her 
 knees. But I was gone!" 
 
 "And then," said Tricotiin, "she was on 
 mine." 
 
 "As for that," said Mariquot irritably, "I don't 
 doubt that, with feminine artfulness, she dissem- 
 bled her dismay. The point is, that it was your 
 garrulity that saved me, and I have always been 
 conscious that I was greatly in your debt. Enfin, 
 it would give me infinite satisfaction to seize this 
 opportunity of repaying your service." 
 
 "Comment?" panted Trieotrin, leaping in the 
 air. 
 
 "The question that I ask myself is, what form 
 should my repayment take ? The most helpful 
 thing, if you had commercial capacity, would be 
 to transplant you to a clerkship in my office " 
 
 "Ah, no, no!" implored the poet wildly. 
 
 "But you have not. Very well then, I shall 
 make you a gift. I shall give you money. It 
 wiU not permanently improve your affairs, but 
 there is nothing else to be done." 
 
 "Oh, my royal benefactor!" shrieked Trieotrin, 
 nearly throwing himself on Mariquot 's neck. 
 "You little dream what your munificence means to 
 me — what a tight corner I happen to be in! . . . 
 Are you thinking of a tidy sum?" 
 
 Now, whiskey-and-soda, on top of the excellent 
 
220 While Paris Laughed 
 
 wine at dinner, was having its influence on Mari- 
 quot. He paddled in a wave of generosity. Or, 
 to speaJi with more exactitude, he experienced a 
 contemptible relish in parading to the gaunt eyes 
 of a quondam colleague the disparity of their 
 present positions. So he replied, in the tones of 
 a multi-millionaire, "A few hundred more or less 
 are of no importance to me. Let us say — a thou- 
 sand francs. I have not so much about me, but I 
 shaU give it you at my hotel. Come there to- 
 morrow morning. Here is the address." 
 
 "Oh, I have certainly tumbled into the columns 
 of a serial!" thought the dizzied poet, stuffing the 
 envelope into his pocket. "This is no longer real 
 life ; I am prepared for anything. In another mo- 
 ment I may be accused of his murder!" He was 
 all agog to speed with the prodigious tidings to 
 Pitou; and when a further quarter of an hour 
 had passed, he thanked his stars to see Mariquot 
 consult his watch. 
 
 "Well! . . . Eemember that I expect you in the 
 morning." 
 
 "Bien. No danger of my forgetting it." 
 
 "Say, eleven o'clock sharp. I leave Paris to- 
 morrow. If you come at eleven, we shall have 
 time for a little chat before I go." 
 
 "That will be superb. And I shall go to the 
 station to see you off." 
 
 "That wUl be ravishing. Au revoir, mon cher 
 Triootrin." 
 
 "A demain, mon noble ami." 
 
A Reformed Character 221 
 
 They parted effusively, and Tricotrin made for 
 home with such precipitance that at the foot of 
 the rue Lepic he nearly sent the stall of a vege- 
 table vendor flying. Pursued by her fluent com- 
 ments, he sprinted up the street, and mounted the 
 stairs to the attic three at a time. 
 
 "At last! Your clatter bespeaks victory. He 
 consents?" exclaimed Pitou. 
 
 "Consents? Who?" asked Tricotrin, mopping 
 his brow. 
 
 "Who? What do you mean by 'Who'? You 
 left here to see our landlord, didn't you?" 
 
 "Ah, so I did ! To be sure ! It had slipped my 
 mind. Well, I have incredible news for you, old 
 chap. Eejoice!" 
 
 "I feared you were finding him too much for 
 you. Eh bien? He says?" 
 
 "By way of welcome, he said I should have paid 
 the concierge. But he got ready to give me a 
 receipt." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "Then he gave me abuse, instead." 
 
 "Ah, zut! Stow it! Come to the point. 
 FinaUy?" 
 
 "Finally, he is a hog man." 
 
 "You mean it? You failed? . . . And it is on 
 that account I am expected to ' re j oice ' ? What are 
 you at? I believe you have been drinking spirits ! 
 Answer me : how did you raise enough money?" 
 
 "Ah, censorious one! What will you? To 
 own the truth, the obduracy of the hog man has 
 
222 While Paris Laughed 
 
 already faded from my thoughts. I no longer 
 recall the situation, 'save for one fair face, pure 
 as the image of some marble saint niched in 
 cathedral aisles.' There was my reward. I did 
 not stoop in vain. To be privileged to gaze upon 
 her was an ecstasy far transcending any financial 
 triumph." 
 
 "You find it so?" cried Pitou wrathfuUy. 
 "Well, I did not gaze upon her, and I should have 
 preferred you to pull off the job that you went 
 to do." 
 
 " 'Tis immaterial!" proclaimed Triootrin with 
 operatic insouciance, "Instead, we shall toss him 
 his gold. What are a mere three-hundred-and- 
 forty francs? An adventure has befallen me — I 
 have saved a life; and at eleven to-morrow we 
 shall be rich. See, here is the unassailable proof 
 of it — an address ! You shall go with me to collect 
 the treasure. I have only one regret — that I was 
 too dazed to touch him for a bit on account. We 
 would have cracked a bottle of the best now. Ah, 
 Pylades-Pitou, did you imagine I could play the 
 fool had I failed to rescue you? What agony that 
 you could misjudge me!" 
 
 "I did not, I did not imagine it!" asseverated 
 Pitou, embracing him. 
 
 * ' You did. And I should have been disappointed 
 if you hadn 't. How inconsistent is human nature ! 
 — a subject for a paper; I must write it one day. 
 Yes, the crisis is over. I have a most marvellous 
 recital for you. I have lived a whole installment 
 
A Reformed Character 223 
 
 of a sensational romance since I went out. Ton 
 shall have it in detail, you shall hear it line by 
 line. Embrace me again, and lend me your 
 ears!" 
 
 Now, as always, it was a case of one purse be- 
 tween those two; and when the astonishing tale 
 was told, they pranced up and down the garret, 
 discussing what they would do with the balance 
 of the windfall after the rent was paid. The poet 
 spoke of an elaborate writing-table. The com- 
 poser inclined to a fur overcoat. Both decided to 
 have their boots soled and heeled. It was an 
 unforgettable evening. 
 
 Meanwhile the expansive Mariquot had made 
 his way to a music hall on excellent terms with 
 himself. And it was not until the first dull turn 
 on the programme that it crossed his mind that he 
 had been unnecessarily lavish. His effect could 
 have been made with a smaller amount! Five 
 hundred would have met the case — ^why had he 
 said a "thousand"? He had been too impetuous ! 
 
 Philosophically he dismissed the vexing 
 thought. But shortly afterwards it recurred ; and 
 when he left the hall, the error chafed him all the 
 way to the hotel. Unlike Tricotrin, he mounted 
 the stairs in a state of depression. 
 
 Disrobing, he banished the matter formally 
 agaia. And a full hour had passed before he 
 realised that it had kept him wide-awake. At this 
 his blood boiled and he was enraged with Trice- 
 trin. "Why should it not be five hundred, after 
 
224 While Paris Laughed 
 
 all?" soliloquised Mariquot indignantly. "That 
 is what I shall do — I shall give him five hundred ! 
 And he will be very well content." And soothed 
 by the pleasing decision, he presently slept. 
 
 He awoke to congratulate himself upon it; and 
 his satisfaction did not begin to subside till he 
 was shaving. In shaving, the imminence of dis- 
 bursing five hundred francs for nothing gradually 
 elated him less. The decision looked pleasing no 
 longer; he could not see what he had found in it 
 to be so cheerful about. Five hundred was a lot of 
 money I 
 
 "And for a veritable pauper, mind! One must 
 remember his position; everything is relative," 
 ruminated Mariquot, frowning in the mirror. "To 
 such a fellow even two hundred and fifty would 
 be substantial. . . . Upon my word, I shall make 
 it two hundred and fifty ! I shall give him lunch, 
 and make it two hundred and fifty. It will be 
 quite enough." 
 
 Thereupon he was cheerful once more. And his 
 heart did not sink again till he began to count out 
 the billets-de-banque that he was to part with. 
 He fingered them reluctantly, and each of them 
 was laid aside more slowly than its predecessor. 
 . . . He sighed as he contemplated the total on 
 the toilet table. 
 
 Punctually at eleven o'clock the two bohemians 
 entered the hall of the hotel. It was with an 
 air that the poet requested the dame at the desk 
 
A Reformed Character 225 
 
 to inform monsieur Mariquot that monsieur Tri- 
 cotrin, accompanied by a friend, was inquiring for 
 him. 
 
 "Monsieur Mariquot has gone, monsieur," she 
 told him briskly. 
 
 ' ' Gone ? ' ' croaked the poet, blanching to the lips. 
 
 "There is a letter for 'monsieur Tricotrin.' " 
 
 "Ah!" He snatched at it. It felt affright- 
 ingly thin. The envelope revealed a letter and 
 nothing else. His panic-stricken rubbing and 
 shaking of the stationery produced no bank-note ! 
 The young men clung to each other for support, 
 and read: 
 
 "My deab Fbiend, 
 
 "It is with profound regret that I find myself 
 compelled to depart by an earlier train. 
 
 "I have devoted to your affairs the most ear- 
 nest, the most sympathetic consideration, and I see 
 that to enrich you temporarily would be a mis- 
 taken kindness. The source of true happiness is 
 labour. To youth a windfall is a misfortune in 
 masquerade. If I sought no more than to take the 
 facile attractive course I should joyously enclose 
 herewith a handsome gift, but I recognise that 
 to do so would be to clog the wheel of your ener- 
 gies, and I withstand the temptation. It is poweif- 
 ful, but I master it. 
 
 ' ' Forward, my brave fellow ! Advance always ! 
 I am convinced that you will realise later that to 
 curb the baneful bestowing hand has required 
 
226 While Paris Laughed 
 
 some heroism on my part; I am convinced that 
 you will one day bless me for abstaining to in- 
 dulge myself in a present delight at the expense 
 of your future welfare. 
 
 "Eeceive in the meantime the assurances of 
 my undiminishing affection, my inalienable inter- 
 est in your career. 
 
 "X. M." 
 
 Speechless, they drooped from the hotel. 
 Speechless, they crawled back, up the hill, to the 
 garret. Both wondered, as they stared sightlessly 
 into the sunshine, whether the prohibition to re- 
 move so much as a brush and comb would be en- 
 forced. 
 
 And then, what should be awaiting them but 
 another letter — a line from the landlord, granting 
 the month's respite that they had craved I A mir- 
 acle had happened. Their tight throats relaxed 
 emotionally; their nostrils quivered — the strained 
 eyes gushed tears. 
 
 "Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" cried Triootrin. "It 
 is astounding ! There is but one thing to account 
 for it — ^his angel daughter interceded for me! 
 Nothing else can explain it. Oh, what bliss ! All 
 my crushing disappointment is forgotten." 
 
 "Ah, but no, mon vieux! That is going a bit 
 too far; to that length I cannot accompany you," 
 demurred the composer. 
 
 "Ah, understand me, I supplicate 1 I do not 
 say that I have forgotten yours. The shattering 
 
A Reformed Character 227 
 
 of your own expectations I shall lament eternally; 
 all my being is in crape for them. But as for my- 
 self, I repeat that the financial catastrophe has 
 sunk to insignificance. Naturally! Tell me: if 
 I may claim a ray of tender interest in a pure 
 girl's heart, is not that a richer possession than 
 the half of a thousand francs?" 
 
 "W-e-l-l — er — ^y-e-s — regarded from a literary 
 point of view," said Pitou. 
 
Antiques and Amoeetti 
 
 WHETHER Tricotrin's inference was cor- 
 rect, in attributing that reprieve to tlie me- 
 diation of Ms landlord's daughter, is a point that 
 research has failed to determine. No authentic 
 confirmation of his theory is known to exist. The 
 circumstances, it must be confessed, lend some 
 colour to the theory, but in examining the question 
 the impartial reader will bear in mind the poet's 
 deplorable propensity to construe any incident 
 that befell him in the way most gratifying to his 
 self-esteem. Quot homines, tot sententice. The in- 
 telligence of the reader will also intimate that the 
 poet tied his best bow and flew to bless the land- 
 lord, with the object of seeing the girl again. 
 
 But she was not there. And Tricotrin wished 
 much now that his garret were over the shop, that 
 he might meet her frequently on the stairs. Every 
 time that he took a little walk, his legs carried 
 him worshipfuUy to the shop window, and though 
 he did not dare to go in any more, he stood con- 
 templating the display of antiques behind the 
 plate glass till he could have catalogued them by 
 heart. Alas ! the Eossetti countenance of Tildette 
 
 22S 
 
Antiques and Amoretti 229 
 
 was never visible among her father's bric-a-brac. 
 
 One day, as be approached the window, be was 
 greatly annoyed to see Didier spying and craning 
 in front of it. 
 
 "Good afternoon, Didier," be said. "Are you 
 ia tbe act of choosing a present for me?" 
 
 "Abl How goes it?" responded the painter 
 with some embarrassment. "What alluring 
 things, hein? Those ancient spoons please me ia- 
 ordtnately. " 
 
 "Me, too," assented Tricotrin. "But why did 
 you pirouette on the tips of your toes to regard 
 them?" 
 
 "Did I pirouette on the tips of my toes? Any- 
 how, why not? Is it bad manners to regard an- 
 cient spoons on the tips of one's toes?" 
 
 "You cannot be arrested for it. I simply won- 
 dered whether you were striving to examine some- 
 thing precious in the interior?" 
 
 "No, no," averred Didier carelessly; "the 
 spoons, always the spoons ! . . . WeU, I must be 
 off; I have much to do. See you soon, dear' 
 boy!" 
 
 * ' I also, ' ' said Tricotrin. "So long, old chap ! ' ' 
 And they turned in opposite directions. 
 
 It was perhaps ten minutes later that, by a 
 strange coincidence, the poet and the painter blun- 
 dered into each other's arms on the same spot 
 again. 
 
 "Tiens! Still the spoons?" cried Tricotrin 
 angrily. 
 
230 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "Now is not tMs droll?" exclaimed Didier, 
 affecting amusement. "You have hit it; they 
 fascinate me! One cannot afford to collect such 
 articles, but that is all the more reason for feast- 
 ing one's gaze on them gratis. And you?" 
 
 "As for me, I was the prey of those old Chinese 
 ivory chopsticks in a fish-skin case," explained 
 the poet. And now who should come sneaking to 
 the scene but a composer of the name of Vidlou ! 
 
 It was evident that Vidlou was discomfited at 
 beholding them there, and he forthwith professed 
 to have been attracted by their presence. "Bon- 
 jour, you fellows," he faltered. "I was tearing 
 along on the other side, and I recognised your 
 backs." 
 
 "Jolly of you to cross over to greet us I" re- 
 plied the pair with no enthusiasm. "Quo vadis?" 
 
 "Er — I have to call on somebody in the avenue 
 de Malakoff," said Vidlou, obviously straining 
 every muscle to see over the top of the curtain 
 that screened the interior from view. "This ap- 
 pears to be an antiquity dealer's?" 
 
 "So it is. I had not remarked it," yawned 
 Didier. "Well, we must not detain you, Vidlou. 
 I myself have an appointment in a totally differ- 
 ent district. What road is yours, Tricotrin?" 
 
 "Ma foi!" said Tricotrin, "I am rushing home; 
 I have a man coming to see me, and I am late, so 
 I must take leave of you both." 
 
 Whereupon the trio scattered, with a great show 
 
Antiques and Amoretti 23 
 
 of activity, each of them rejoicing at the deparl 
 uro of the others. 
 
 Now, not a quarter of an hour had elapsed whe: 
 the three young men, stealing back to the anti 
 quaire's by various routes, converged under th 
 signboard and jumped dismayed. 
 
 "Men Dieu!" began Didier confusedly. "Thos 
 spoons " 
 
 * ' Are too thin ! ' ' interrupted the poet, stamping 
 "Do not seek to shelter yourself behind th 
 spoons, because they are inadequate. And ou 
 friend Vidlou, who was bound for the avenue d 
 Malakoff? Felicitations, Vidlou! Sapristi! yoi 
 have accomplished the quickest journey 01 
 record." 
 
 "Yes, what humbug!" agreed Didier passion 
 ately. " 'The avenue de Malakoff' — and he i 
 here again in a quarter of an hour ! Disgusting ! ' 
 
 "I fail to comprehend the tone?" said Vidlou 
 taken back. "I am not aware why either of yoi 
 gentlemen should construe it as a personal affron 
 that I changed my mind about the avenue di 
 Malakoff?" 
 
 "Ah, come off it, Vidlou!" fumed Tricotrin 
 "Your innocence is no go. ' This appears to be ai 
 antiquity dealer's'! It is not to see antiquitiei 
 that you spend your life here with your nose gluec 
 to the glass. It is to see nothing more antiqu* 
 than a damsel of perhaps nineteen summers 
 And the same remark applies to monsieu: 
 Didier!" 
 
232 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "And then, monsieur Tricotrin?" retorted 
 Didier, with folded arms. "On what grounds am 
 I required to offer you justification for my attach- 
 ments ? I have yet to learn that you are either 
 wedded or betrothed to the lady." 
 
 "Quite so!" said Vidlou, nodding. "Good for 
 you, Didier! I concur." 
 
 "Do not presume to concur with anything I say 
 — ^you are an odious rival!" exclaimed Didier at 
 white heat. "It must be understood that your 
 pretensions to the lady are to cease. My claim is 
 indisputable, and I yield to no one." 
 
 "Your claim, is indisputable? How is that?" 
 rejoined Vidlou and Tricotrin together. And the 
 former went on conciliatingly, "Come, come, we 
 are comrades, we three ; our friendship should be 
 able to survive the situation. Do not let us quar- 
 rel ! It is too painful, and it is also unnecessary. 
 If one of us has indeed a right to bid the others 
 retire, we may be sure that as men of honour we 
 shall acknowledge the fact amicably — and you will 
 both make way for me." 
 
 Much of this had touched the poet and the paint- 
 er. "What Vidlou says is just, excepting the rot- 
 ten conclusion," declared Tricotrin. "Very well, 
 then, we will investigate the case. Didier first! 
 Let us have particulars of his 'indisputable 
 claim.' " 
 
 "When I say 'indisputable,' I would not have 
 it understood to mean that I have any acquain- 
 tance with mademoiselle Salabert," said Didier; 
 
Antiques and Amoretti 233 
 
 "the courtship has not proceeded to such lengths 
 as that. But it is fully a fortnight now since I 
 lost my heart to her. She was dusting a shep- 
 herdess in that corner there, and I remained abso- 
 lutely transfixed with emotion. A hundred times 
 I have returned to the window in the hope of see- 
 ing her again. Further, I have painted her por- 
 trait from memory. Which of you dare boast of 
 having painted her portrait?" 
 
 "Ah, my own experience was far more inti- 
 mate ! ' ' broke in Vidlou. ' ' I have seen something 
 of the family, out of business hours. It was at 
 a cinema; she was with her parents. Her face 
 smote me during an interval. The effect on me 
 was so tremendous that, when the entertaimnent 
 was resumed, I sat unconscious of the screen. Do 
 not ask me whether the pictures were comic, or 
 blood-curdling, or educational. I know not. In 
 the great darkness, which seemed as if it would 
 never end, whUe I prayed feverishly for light, to 
 behold her again, I realised that I had met my 
 destiny. I realised that, when they left, I must 
 follow this family — that I must discover her 
 abode. Into a pastry-cook's, into an omnibus I 
 followed them. I parted from them only when 
 they had reached their door. And before I slept I 
 had composed a serenade to her. Can either of 
 you feUows pretend you have composed a sere- 
 nade?" 
 
 "As I foi^gsaw," exclaimed Tricotrin in tri- 
 umph, "the hero of the contest is irrefutably I! 
 
234 While Paris Laughed 
 
 You will readily grasp the vast superiority of iny 
 own position towards the household when I in- 
 form you that I owe her father money. He is my 
 landlord. I have exchanged some words with her 
 in the sanctity of her home. I have the strong- 
 est suspicion that she begged the old 'un to show 
 me clemency. More than that, I have written a 
 beautiful poem about her. Have you two chaps 
 the face to tell me that you have written a poem ? ' ' 
 
 His announcement that he had spoken to her 
 was plainly poignant to the other lovers. But 
 after a moment, Didier said in firm tones : 
 
 "While I do not deny that circumstances have 
 favoured you so far, I cannot allow that the 'ex- 
 change of some words' constitutes an inalienable 
 lien upon the lady's future." 
 
 "My view is not opposed to Didier 's. Which 
 I trust isn't offensive to him?" said Vidlou. 
 "Moreover, since we are told that the exchange 
 occurred within the walls of her home, we may 
 assume that it occurred in her parents' presence 
 and that the words were not passionate." 
 
 "Also I have exchEuiged words with her on that 
 very step!" proclaimed Tricotrin, pointing 
 proudly. 
 
 "Of a tender nature?" 
 
 "I do not say they were of a conspicuously 
 tender nature ; I inquired if Salabert was in, and 
 she said he was out. But the fact remains that 
 I have spoken to her. And her father is my very 
 own landlord! There can be no ^[uestion whioh 
 
Antiques and Amoretti 235 
 
 of us is on the most familiar footiag with the 
 family." 
 
 "I uphold Didier's judgment," insisted Vidlou. 
 
 "It is idle to vaunt 'familiar footing' on the 
 wrong side of a shop-window," said Didier, who 
 was now accepting Vidlou as an ally. "It can 
 impress no one. For myself, I am frank — I am 
 outside because I can't go in. Simulating interest 
 in the price of things, I have entered so often 
 without spending a sou, that it is impossible for 
 me to try it on any more." 
 
 "My own condition!" admitted Vidlou. "Just 
 so. Before we can consent to withdraw on the 
 strength of your familiarity with the family cir- 
 cle,, my dear Tricotrin, we are entitled to demand 
 a demonstration. All that is apparent in the 
 meanwhile is that you are an exterior suitor, like 
 ourselves." 
 
 At this taunt, Tricotrin haughtily expanded his 
 chest ; and a mighty impulse seized him to stride 
 into the establishment forthwith. But he could 
 think of no excuse for doing it. Since he was in 
 monsieur Salabert's debt for the rent of the attic, 
 he could not present himself as an intending pur- 
 chaser of monsieur Salabert's antiques. His chest 
 decreased, and he stood dumb. 
 
 His hesitation was not lost upon the others. 
 Their lips curved in a fine smile. 
 
 "I agree with the last speaker," said Didier. 
 " It is a practical suggestion. Come, demonstrate I 
 In lieu of gaping at cups and saucers in front of a 
 
236 While Paris Laughed 
 
 velvet curtain, drop in and pass an agreeable half 
 hour. Vidlou and I will wait for you ; we are not 
 in a hurry. There is a clock across the road — 
 we can time you by it. Look, it is a quarter to 
 four. We don't mind waiting till a quarter past ! ' ' 
 
 "Eh?" quavered Tricotrin, perspiring. 
 
 "Do you blench?" 
 
 "The test is not reasonable. It would be most 
 tactless to pay a prolonged visit to a prospective 
 father-in-law when he was absorbed in his trade. 
 It would be to give him a low opinion of my in- 
 telligence." 
 
 "You underrate your spell. As a favourite of 
 the family's you will be welcome. You may even 
 assist him to make a sale. Who knows?" 
 
 "I repeat that the test you propose is not rea- 
 sonable," objected Tricotrin; "he is a busy man." 
 And an auto-taxi deposited two customers at the 
 door even as he spoke; a young, plump, rather 
 pretty woman, superbly dressed, carrying a be- 
 ribboned lap-dog under her arm ; and a chic sylph- 
 like creature, who floated into the antiquaire's 
 on a puff of perfume. What language can do 
 justice to the poet's relief as he recognised in the 
 latter of these providential customers, his cousin, 
 madame Armel Duchambon, whom he had not be- 
 held since his uncle assaulted him for aspiring to 
 her hand! "Nevertheless, since it actually ap- 
 pears that my veracity is in question and you 
 have had the bad taste to issue such a challenge, 
 I accept it!" he continued loftily. 
 
Antiques and Amoretti 237 
 
 Now, as tlie recognition had not been mutual — 
 as neither of the ladies had bowed to him — ^Didier 
 and Vidlon were miles from tmnbling to the truth. 
 They looked at each other, startled, as he marched 
 with dignity iato the shop and was lost to view. 
 
 ' * Boimce ! ' ' faltered Vidlou. ' ' I give him three 
 minutes." 
 
 "Keep your eye on the clock. We'll rub it 
 in well!" assented Didier. 
 
 For an instant bewilderment clouded the beau- 
 ty's brow as she found a shabby bohemian ap- 
 proaching her with assurance. But when he 
 asked, "Am I forgotten, my cousin?" she gave 
 a little captivating cry, and a smile that disclosed 
 dazzling teeth, and a dimple. 
 
 ' ' What ? Why, it 's Cousin Gustave ! ' ' 
 
 "Himself! I saw you enter — and I\ could not 
 resist." 
 
 "Well, I should hope not! Mais vraiment! 
 I am enchanted to see you again after so long." 
 She turned gaily to her friend. "I discover one 
 of my family, voyez-vous ! Permit me to present 
 my cousin: monsieur Tricotrin — ^madame Beo- 
 querel." 
 
 "Charmed, monsieur," said the plump lady, 
 while the little dog yapped. "Be quiet, Mees! 
 What wilt thou, my angel? Nobody will do thee 
 any harm." 
 
 "Very honoured, madame," murmured Trico- 
 trin, bowing over his hat. 
 
238 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "Then I have not changed?" questioned the 
 beauty. 
 
 "Yes; you are even more so!" 
 
 "Ah!" Her eyebrows swept the compliment 
 aside, but her dimple approved it. "I am an old 
 married woman, vous savez. Figure yourself that 
 I have not seen this boy since I was affianced, ma 
 chere! How culpable I am! I reproach myself. 
 But, all the same, you know, my cousin, that I 
 was ignorant of your address. I was not even 
 sure whether you were in Paris, and " 
 
 "I understand perfectly." 
 
 "You could have called on me, however. It was 
 not necessary to wait for a gilt-edged invitation. 
 I am furious that you did not call. As children 
 weren't we plajrmates ? " 
 
 "But afterwards you grew up!" sighed Tri- 
 cotrin. "My aunt, my uncle, they are well?" 
 
 "Ah, oui, oui, ils se portent tres Men." 
 
 Little monsieur Salabert had witnessed the 
 fashionable woman's cordiality to his impecunious 
 tenant open-mouthed. "Comment done? Here 
 is a pauper who is in a position to introduce val- 
 uable clients," ran his thoughts. "On ne salt 
 jamais!" And he was so much engrossed by the 
 scene that he started when the plump lady began 
 to speak to him about a "Saint Sebastien." 
 
 Meanwhile the beauty and the poet continued 
 their colloquy. 
 
 "My father was indisposed during the v "nter," 
 she added. "Some medicament was reecmmend- 
 
Antiques and Amoretti 239 
 
 ed to him for obesity, and it did him harm in the 
 stomach. But he is quite all right again now." 
 
 He wondered if she had ever been apprised of 
 his brief matrimonial aspirations with regard to 
 her. "I fear that I am never mentioned, hein? — 
 I am still in their bad books? Answer me can- 
 didly, I beg it of you ! Am I still a ' good for noth- 
 ing'?" 
 
 She toyed with the tassels of her sunshade. 
 "I avow to you that papa and mamma have al- 
 ways regretted your choice of a profession. Above 
 all since " 
 
 "Since I agreed to chuck it and then went back 
 on my word? I understand. But your father, 
 at least, was aware of the reason. I was not the 
 weathercock that I may have appeared to you. 
 If I could tell you how it has grieved me that I 
 must have appeared to you a weathercock! Con- 
 stantly I have lamented that. Listen — — " 
 
 "But let us talk of pleasant things!" 
 
 "Permit me, I pray you, to make the explana- 
 tion that has burnt in my breast! When I so 
 eagerly consented to renounce my art in favour 
 of shekels, it was because of a secret attachment 
 that I must not allude to to-day. Commercial 
 prosperity had no longer any bait to offer me 
 when I discovered that you were betrothed to 
 another." 
 
 "Mais — ! What are you saying?" she remon- 
 strated, pealing with laughter. "Is that the 
 fashion in which you do not allude to subjects? 
 
240 While Paris Laughed 
 
 Don't be absurd. There was nothing too serious 
 in that attachment, my cousin. You had seen me 
 only once since I was confirmed." 
 
 "Once did it!" sighed Tricotrin tragically. 
 
 "Ah, je t'en prie, Mees! What is the matter, 
 my beloved? I implore thee be tranquil!" cried 
 the plump lady to the lap-dog, which seemed on 
 the verge of barking its ill-tempered little head off. 
 
 "Mamma and papa will be interested to hear 
 that I have met you," resumed the beauty when 
 the riot subsided. 
 
 "When you write to them I beg you will men- 
 tion that they are always in my thoughts." 
 
 "I will not fail. ... If I dare to say it, you 
 have been a goose, my poor friend. I have no 
 brother — ^papa used to regard you as a son. If 
 you had only been amenable there would have 
 been the most excellent prospects for you. It was 
 always his desire, no less than mamma's, to es- 
 tablish you well in life. Certainly, when one is 
 bom a poet it is not an easy matter to devote one's 
 energies to a business; I can understand your 
 distaste ; but it is not an easy matter, either, for 
 a poet to make money — and money is a necessary 
 thing, Gustave, You know that." 
 
 "Even better than yom, since you have never 
 lacked it. So I appear to you an idiot, Henriette, 
 and you lecture me?" 
 
 "I do not lecture, I have not the right; I simply 
 advise. Because even now, perhaps, it is not too 
 late." 
 
Antiques and Amoretti 241 
 
 "Ah, you have thoroughly the right to say what 
 you please! That point we need not discuss. I 
 am honoured by your interest." 
 
 "Thank you; I am glad. And are you con- 
 sidering my advice, with that pensive air?" 
 
 "Chiefly I am considering whether to be lec- 
 tured by you is painful, or delicious. It is a queer 
 sensation. The little cousin has become a woman 
 of the world, and the student of humanity feels 
 like a child before her. Also when you look at me 
 with that severe demeanour you are strangely 
 beautiful." 
 
 "Wretched boy! you are hopeless," she rip- 
 pled. 
 
 "One may worship, though hope is out of the 
 question." 
 
 "Can you never be serious?" 
 
 "If I can never be serious — I, whose whole 
 existence is a tragedy? Oh, you will not better 
 that ! Very well, we will talk profit and loss ! Can 
 you suppose I am unconscious of what a big thing 
 I have missed by estranging your father and 
 mother? Need I teU you that, again and again, 
 I have said to myself precisely what you have 
 said — and that I have said it with more forcible 
 epithets? Oh, I know weU that I have made an 
 unpractical choicl ! I know that the day may come 
 — that it is more than likely to come — ^when I shall 
 look back upon the past, from a mountain peak 
 of rejected manuscripts, with unavailing remorse. 
 But what will you? The poet cannot change his 
 
242 While Paris Laughed 
 
 spots ; I cannot re-create myself because I realise 
 that it would have been desirable to be made dif- 
 ferently in the first instance; I cannot re-write a 
 work of le bon Dieu's because I see faults in His 
 construction." 
 
 "You sell your manuscripts sometimes?" she 
 asked wistfully, 
 
 "To be sure I do ! What else have I got to buy 
 herrings with? I sell, though not at record prices, 
 nor so continuously that it becomes monotonous. 
 Ah ! you must not pity me too much, my fashion- 
 able cousin ; take me for all in all, I am a cheerful 
 idiot." 
 
 "I must talk to madame Becquerel, I must 
 help her choose her things ! ' ' she said. And they 
 joined her friend where Salabert was displaying, 
 with blandishments, a looking-glass that had been 
 the property of Louis XV. 
 
 "What do you think of it, monsieur?" inquired 
 the plump lady, turning to Tricotrin. 
 
 "Topping, madame!" exclaimed Tricotrin, 
 mindful of being in the dealer's debt. 
 
 "Observe that is of wood, monsieur, not plas- 
 ter," said Salabert deferentially, flipping the 
 carved gilded frame. 
 
 "And you assure me it is genuine Louis XV?" 
 asked madame Becquerel. "Ah, hold thy tongue, 
 Mees! It is insupportable! I can endure no' 
 more — thou drivest me to this extreme!" She 
 tapped the demented animal delicately with the 
 tip of one gloved finger. 
 
Antiques and Amoretti 243 
 
 "Little dear! What intelligent eyes it has!" 
 said Tricotrin, who would have liked to apply his 
 whole hand hard. "Ah oui, madame, the epoch 
 is manifest by the carving — see the nest between 
 the birds!" 
 
 "Ah, you are a connoisseur, monsieur?" 
 
 "An artist, madame, that is all." 
 
 "My cousin is a poet," said Henriette, rather 
 as if he were celebrated. 
 
 "Mon Dieu! even her cousin!" commented Sal- 
 abert to himself. 
 
 "A poet? Ah, what an ideal career!" gushed 
 madame Becquerel, lifting an enthralled gaze. "I 
 adore poetry." 
 
 "You have the air, madame," murmured the 
 scribe, trying to look as if he recognised a kin- 
 dred soul. 
 
 "It was a present from Louis XV to his maitre 
 d 'hotel; I give a guarantee to that effect. It is 
 unique. At the price I have mentioned it is an 
 unheard-of bargain!" rhapsodised the antiquaire, 
 in an attitude of devotion before the glass. 
 
 "Bien! Send it to me," said madame Becque- 
 rel. "That and the 'Saint Sebastien.' " 
 
 "How she chucks it about! I do not buy a 
 postage stamp so carelessly," thought the poor 
 literary man. 
 
 "Au revoir," said Henriette, giving him her 
 hand, and her card. "You must take luncheon 
 with us on Sunday, you must make up for lost 
 
244 While Paris Laughed 
 
 time. Armel will be delighted to meet you. And 
 we shall have a long talk." 
 
 "I thank you infinitely." 
 
 "Au revoir, monsieur. I hope I shall have the 
 pleasure again," smiled madame Becquerel. "We 
 go, my ill-used pet, my little maltreated one. Ah, 
 pardon the savage mistress that adores thee, ma 
 Meesie, ma Fifi, mon teuton!" 
 
 For some second Tricotrin stood lost in reverie, 
 while the penetrating protests of the little beast 
 grew fainter in the distance. Then, awakening 
 to the fact that Salabert was waiting for him to 
 go, and that the half hour could not be up yet, he 
 cast about htm for a subject of conversation. 
 
 "How it enchants me to have had this oppor- 
 tunity of furthering your interests, monsieur!" 
 he said. 
 
 "Mon Dieu! Is he going to try to touch me 
 for a commission?" the dealer asked himself, 
 aghast. And he replied with an air of ingenuous 
 surprise, "You consider your appreciation had 
 any influence ? I did not remark it, I ! " 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "Frankly, no. I cannot say that I remarked 
 it." 
 
 "I regret. It would have entranced me to 
 render you that gratuitous service." 
 
 "Ah!" The adjective melted his reserve. 
 "You are very amiable. Listen, monsieur. If, 
 from time to time, you can indeed bring me any 
 clients, it will not be a service that we shall enter 
 
Antiques and Amoretti 245 
 
 under the heading of 'gratuitous.' Eeciprocity is 
 the soul of commerce, n'est ce pas? My motto is 
 'Always reciprocity.' " 
 
 "Good," said Tricotrin, as if he had battalions 
 of clients at his beck and call. "May I beg you 
 to do me the favour to glance, from the window, 
 at the clock across the road?" 
 
 "The time?" He pulled out his watch. 
 
 "By the clock across the road." 
 
 "Ten minutes past four," answered the dealer, 
 complying. "Why 'by the clock across the road' 
 particularly?" 
 
 "I have an appointment by the clock across the 
 road five minutes hence. A thousand thanks. 
 As we were saying, if by some imforeseen mis- 
 chance, I should once more be a trifle late with the 
 rent, you will bear in mind that my friend bought 
 this costly glass?" 
 
 "Hold on! What?" objected Salabert. "One 
 must be accurate. Another motto of mine is 'Al- 
 ways accuracy.' No. I do not confuse my objects 
 d'art with my rents. Here I am antiquaire ; there 
 I am landlord. The antiquaire is an artist, but 
 the landlord is a man of iron. Also the customer 
 was not your friend — ^you were introduced to her 
 in my presence." 
 
 "By my first cousin!" 
 
 "Your cousin, however, was not the lady who 
 spent the money." 
 
 "The brighter future for you — she has all the 
 more left to spend. Then it is imderstood? I 
 
246 While Paris Laughed 
 
 shall spread the fame of your establishment among 
 all my swell acquaintances; and if I find myself 
 in a further predicament, I may count on your 
 sympathy as a fellow artist?" 
 
 "As an artist I should sympathise; but that 
 would not help you. For I repeat that as a land- 
 lord I should be strictly business-like." 
 
 "You do not fancy that the artist might put in 
 a plea for me with the landlord?" 
 
 "Not a word. They never meet." 
 
 "The landlord misses a fascinating companion. 
 Would it be imposing on your good nature to en- 
 treat you to tell me how the clock across the road 
 is going on?" 
 
 "Again? ... It is just a quarter past. Do 
 not forget that I have indicated a way to avoid 
 further predicaments. Your commissions might 
 be considerable." 
 
 "They might be," thought Tricotrin, "if it 
 weren't impossible for me to find any customers !" 
 And he answered, "You will see what you will 
 see!" He opened the door wide, and turned with 
 extended hands. "Au revoir, my good friend," 
 he said loudly. "We must meet again soon." 
 Salabert, responding to this effusiveness on the 
 step, had no idea what a sensation they created. 
 Didier and Vidlou could hardly credit their eyes. 
 
 "Gentlemen," drawled Tricotrin, rejoining 
 them, "I trust the truthfulness of my statements 
 is now above suspicion?" And, as the trio moved 
 away, he added with chill politeness, "It may in- 
 
Antiques and Amoretti 247 
 
 terest you to learn that, impressed by my mercan- 
 tile capacities, lie seeks me for Hs partner and Ms 
 son-in-law." 
 
 "Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" wailed Didier. 
 
 ' ' Hell and darkness ! ' ' groaned Vidlou. ' ' Your 
 mercantile capacities? "What does he know of 
 them?" 
 
 "I took Didier 's tip — I made a sale for him." 
 
 "Miserable ass that I was !" cried Didier, smit- 
 ing his breast. "What did you sell, curse you?" 
 
 "I sold, for fifty thousand francs, an article 
 that he would have given away for firewood." 
 
 "Ah, go and eat firewood! What do you take 
 us for? Fifty thousand francs! That was all 
 you got for it? You are sure it wasn't any more?" 
 
 ' * Fifty thousand francs. Neither more nor less. 
 And for a thing that he looked upon as lumber. 
 I don't mind telliag you that it was a broken 
 fiddle." 
 
 "He deals in fiddles?" 
 
 "It appears that it was part of an auction lot. 
 You will revoke the diet that you facetiously pre- 
 scribed when I mention that I identified it as the 
 violin of Smith." 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 "Smith! . . . You are not going to tell me you 
 never heard of the violin of Smith?" 
 
 "I cannot say I ever did." 
 
 "Where were you dragged up? The man with 
 this strange name was a violinist of England, who 
 had a devoted wife, called Pemelle. Perijelle 
 
248 While Paris Laughed 
 
 lived only for her husband, but the musician lived 
 chiefly for his art. No one else has ever slaved 
 at technique so inexorably as he; it was terrible 
 to her sometimes to watch him, pale, gaunt, half 
 famished, striving for mastery of the instrument 
 that was to bring him fame. And the bitter years 
 went by and the fame that he strove for did not 
 come. And Pemelle knew why it did not come — 
 she knew that there was no soul in his playing. 
 And her heart broke at the sight of his despair. 
 
 "By her death-bed an irresistible impulse urged 
 him to take up his violin again — and lo ! the notes 
 that issued from it were of such supernal tender- 
 ness that amazement stayed his hand. He seemed 
 to be in the presence of a miracle. He played on. 
 The attic and the dead woman on the bed were 
 forgotten — ^he was lost in the grandeur and glory 
 of the strains he evoked. 
 
 "Now the public and the critics marvelled at 
 him. He was acclaimed the greatest violinist of all 
 the ages. The world was at his feet. Bright eyes 
 caressed him; white arms were eager to do so, 
 too. But be had no thought to spare for love; 
 the unparalleled triumphs of his art were enough. 
 That is to say, they were enough until one night 
 in Rome. 
 
 / ' Some instinct warned him against his passion. 
 But it would not be denied, and he told her, *I 
 adore you. It is to you, Beloved, that I shall 
 play to-night.' 
 
 "The house wag thronged. The salvoes of wel- 
 
Antiques and Amoretti 249 
 
 come subsided. The multitude held their breath. 
 He drew his bow across the strings — and a ghastly 
 thing happened. There broke from the violin a 
 woman's frenzied sobs. It was as if an anguished 
 soul fled sobbiQg into space. 
 
 "When next h© tried to play, he was again 
 mediocre," 
 
 "Is this one of the Tales of Hoffmann?" scoffed 
 Didier and Vidlou. 
 
 "No, it is not," said Trieotrin, with indignation, 
 "But you may bet your shirt that it would have 
 been, if Hoffmann had thought of it, instead of 
 me." 
 
 "And you pitched this yarn and sold a rotten 
 fiddle for fifty thousand francs?" 
 
 "No. But I might have done so if a fiddle had 
 been there." 
 
 "Morbleu! Explain yourself!" volleyed the 
 pair. "Are you to marry the girl, or are you 
 not?" 
 
 "I am not," affirmed the poet devoutly. "More 
 than that, I do not aspire to marry her — ^I shall 
 never marry ; she whom I love is already a wife. 
 Ah, Henriette! Henriette! Pardon, my com- 
 rades, if I have disguised the aching love of a life- 
 time beneath a mask of levity! I withdraw from 
 the contest. It lies between you. Make the dam- 
 sel your bride — either of you; I am unbiassed. 
 Whether she becomes madame Vidlou, or madame 
 Didier I shall toy but feebly with the wedding 
 breakfast," 
 
250 While Paris Laughed 
 
 The astonished and grateful young men nearly- 
 wrung his hand off — and confronted each other 
 stiffly. With the retirement of the mutual enemy 
 they were allies no longer. 
 
 "Good day, monsieur Didier," sneered Vidlou, 
 with a formal salute. 
 
 "Good day, monsieur Vidlou," snarled Didier 
 with curling lip. 
 
 Not tiU a week later did it transpire — through 
 the servant at the antiquaire's — that the maiden 
 of the Eossetti face, whom a poet and a painter 
 and a composer had worshipped from afar, was 
 worshipping from afar on her own account — a 
 professional pugilist, whose prowess packed an 
 auditorium with the fair sex nightly. 
 
 "A pugilist? Ah, the new France!" gasped 
 the painter and the composer in an agony of hu- 
 miliation — and even the poet was perturbed. "We 
 are back numbers with the modem maid, we ar- 
 tists. Upon my word, I do not know what France 
 is coming to!" 
 
XI 
 
 Waiting foe Heneiette 
 
 HENEIETTE DUCHAMBON said to her hus- 
 band, "That cousin of mine! Figure thy- 
 self, cheri, that papa was eager to take him into 
 the business — and the crazy boy preferred to write 
 blank verse tragedies on a seventh floor! Tell me 
 — thou art a lawyer and knowest the world — ^what 
 can be done to assist a poet who has no common 
 sense?" And her husband, the advocate, answered 
 out of the depths of his wisdom, "Ma foi! one 
 might invite him to dinner, my angel!" 
 
 "How stupid thou art!" pouted Henriette, 
 throwing her powder-puff at him. 
 
 Then, taking tea with her friend, Simone Bec- 
 querel, she exclaimed, "Is it not extraordinary 
 that a young man can be so stupid as my cousin 
 Gustave? Figure yourself, ma chere — etcetera." 
 Whereat madame Becquerel, who was the roman- 
 tic widow of a Depute who had made an evil repu- 
 tation and a pot of money, replied, "T caimot say 
 I agree with you, my dear. Myself, I find such 
 devotion to an ideal altogether charming. And it 
 is thoroughly evident by his brow that monsieur 
 Tricotrin has genius." 
 
 251 
 
252 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "Ah, flute!" returned Henriette, pettishly, 
 though she came near to kicking her ridiculous 
 heels on the footstool with delight. And forth- 
 with she conceived the lofty project of securing 
 her cousiu's future by marrying him to Simone 
 Becquerel. 
 
 So it came about that Tricotrin, little dreaming 
 that his beloved hostess planned to dispose of 
 him to somebody else, met madame Becquerel in 
 the urbane salon on the boulevard de Courcelles 
 not infrequently. And in Montmartre they said, 
 "Have a care, mon vieux! Poets should not be 
 adipose till they are independent. Very noticeably 
 you are putting on flesh!" Sheer envy, that, fo'r 
 the normal entertainment consisted of conversa- 
 tion, coffee, and cakes, with musical interludes on 
 the semi-grand. But. when they saw him sally 
 forth in his best clothes and pictured him dipping 
 into gratuitous dainties, the poor devils' mouths 
 used to water. All except Pitou's, who was too 
 loyal to allow it to do so. "Eat as much as you 
 can collar, my comrade," he urged; "heaven 
 knows you have many fasts to make up for!" 
 
 "Since I have confided in you, you are well 
 aware that the fatal attraction that draws me to 
 tbe boulevard de Courcelles is my cousin, and ndt 
 her pastry ! ' ' said Tricotrin with a frown. ' ' Could 
 I summon sufficient fortitude, I would register a 
 vow never to enter the place again. " All the same, 
 he was conscious that his love-lorn state had not 
 prevented his doing the fullest justice to two 
 
Waiting for Henriette 253 
 
 square meals there; between the courses he had 
 asked himself sadly, remembering a morning when 
 her maiden presence had deprived him of the 
 power of deglutition, "Can it be that I am grow- 
 ing old?" 
 
 "Commit no acts of renunciatory madness!" 
 counselled Pitou with all the emphasis at his com- 
 mand. "For not only have you many fasts to 
 make up for — ^you have doubtless many more to 
 anticipate. Nourish yourself while it can be done, 
 birdie. Besides, love is not injurious. On the 
 contrary, experience has taught me that a devas- 
 tating passion, providing it be sufficiently unre- 
 quited, is most beneficial to an artist." 
 
 "In that case, I am on the high road to be 
 nominated for the Academy!" groaned the poet, 
 cutting the coUoquy short. 
 
 To give him his due, his devastating passion 
 was very innocent; he sought no more that for 
 Henriette to regard him sympathetically as a 
 blighted being,- one who had loved and lost her. But 
 if he was alone with her in moments and seized 
 the opportunity to heave a sigh, or start drama- 
 tically when she addressed him, it was not bene- 
 ficial to hear her burst out laughing. Quite the 
 reverse. Her laughter had frustrated more than 
 one sonnet. He could not avoid perceiving that 
 in some aspects her attitude compared unfavour- 
 ably with her friend the widow's; indeed, he rec- 
 ognised that in other circumstances the plump 
 widow, who was not more than three or four years 
 
254 While Paris Laughed 
 
 his senior, might have made him delioiously un- 
 happy, and he resented the perversity of a fate 
 that had thrown a fashionable admiring woman 
 across his path only at a juncture when he was 
 incapable of falling in love with her. "In how 
 many arid intervals of unattachment an acquain- 
 tance with her would have come to me as manna in 
 the desert!" he mused bitterly. 
 
 However, being a Hterary artist, he put irrele- 
 vant thoughts like these aside. The thought on 
 which he dwelt, with melancholy gratification, was 
 that he had once proposed to make Henriette his 
 Avife and had his poverty thrown in his teeth. 
 Atrocious! That her engagement to Duohambon 
 had preceded any matrimonial intentions on his 
 own part was another detail that he swept from 
 his reveries. He had wished to wed her, and her 
 father had laid violent hands on him when he pro- 
 claimed his tenderness! Intense indignation re- 
 vived in his breast as he looked backupon the sum- 
 mary fashion in which his suit had been rejected. 
 "Base, mercenary man," he soliloquised, "to sac- 
 rifice your child to Mammon! Did you debate 
 which of us was her Affinity — did you for a single 
 instant question whether it might not be the poor 
 cousin who, in the long years before her, would 
 prove the more capable of comprehending the re- 
 quirements of her soul? Ah, no! Not you! And 
 because the chastisement of conscience is an in- 
 vention of the poets and novelists, I will not even 
 
Waiting for Henrietta 255 
 
 tell myself that to-day you would give your life 
 to undo your sin!" 
 
 Now, Henrietta, who saw that it would be an 
 enormous undertaking to marry a pauper to an 
 affluent widow if he didn't co-operate iu the effort 
 for all he was worth, was eager to hammer prac- 
 tical precepts into him and train him in the way 
 he should go. So, having met him near the flat 
 one afternoon — she had been cashing a cheque to 
 "Moi-meme" at the branch of the Credit Lyon- 
 nais — she took him home with her to feeve o'clock 
 and a tete-a-tete. 
 
 ""What were you doing here — ^were you coming 
 to see me ? " she inquired. 
 
 "No. I had only been sitting in the Pare Mon- 
 ceau, thinking of you and wishing you would ask 
 me again." 
 
 "I half thought that Simone might come in this 
 afternoon — I have not seen her for an age. By 
 the way, I heard her teU you her 'day.' Have 
 you called yet?" 
 
 "I went once, as in duty bound. These things 
 do not interest me," he said. 
 
 "These things?" 
 
 "The small talk of smart women who belong 
 to a Paris in which I am a foreigner — the spec- 
 tacle of young men who spend more on gloves than 
 I on rent." 
 
 "A propos there was some difficulty about the 
 rent, n'est ce pas? As a relative I claim the right 
 
256 While Paris Laughed 
 
 to repeat that it is not necessary for you to suffer 
 too long or excrutiatingly in the matter, Gustave." 
 
 "How sweet you are! But it is the landlord 
 who suffers. And that matter will arrange itself 
 — I have an offer for an old serial, from an editor 
 who does not remember that he rejected it under 
 another title. I thank you infinitely, though. 
 You are compassion personified, in some respects. 
 Mon Dieu! life is droll, heiu? It used to be my 
 dream to provide a home for you — and I live to 
 hear you offer me the rent for mine!" 
 
 "Ah! Now, listen! No nonsense-talk ! It must 
 be understood that you are not to speak like that. 
 I have a husband — and we are not in a play. Such 
 betises do not flatter me ; they do not even amuse 
 me. Do not pay me empty compliments, but treat 
 me as if I were a sister — and you wiU find me a 
 very good sort." 
 
 "Empty compliments ! Ha ha ! You know well 
 whether they are empty. So? I am to feign for- 
 getfulness. Bien ! I submit to you ia all things. 
 But do not talk to me through your rue de la Paix 
 hat, Henriette — do not, I entreat you, refer to 
 the ache that I shall always carry in my breast as 
 an 'empty compliment.' " 
 
 "The ache that you will always carry in your 
 breast ! ' ' Her merriment was most embarrassing. 
 "Poor anchorite, who has stUl to grow up! And 
 when you are a man and get married yourself?" 
 
 "I cannot agree to your addressing me as if 
 you were my grandmother j my 'sister' was bad 
 
Waiting for Henriette 257 
 
 enough, ' ' he remonstrated sulkily, * ' I snail never 
 marry— never ! " 
 
 "Then you will commit a very great error; 
 I should be delighted to see you marry. It is 
 just what you ought to do. Providing you don't 
 marry some girl without a dot!" she added, as 
 an after-thought. 
 
 "However, as I am not precisely a millionaire, 
 I cannot anticipate ardent overtures from the par- 
 ents of an heiress." 
 
 "There are wealthy women without parents/' 
 she yawned. ' ' Simone finds you rather agreeable, 
 doesn't she?" 
 
 ' ' Madame Becquerel ? ' ' faltered Tricotrin. The 
 immensity of the notion took his breath away. 
 "You are not suggesting that I might marry 
 madame Becquerel? What a madness!" 
 
 " 'Madness'? Wby?" 
 
 ""Why? For one thing, there is some disparity 
 of position. And for another, I detest her dog. 
 I could never write a line with, that dog barking 
 in the house all d'ay." 
 
 "She might, for your sake, consent to board 
 it out. Who knows? A woman in love will go 
 to great lengths. But I mentioned Simone merely 
 in passing — I daresay you wUl come across other 
 women who could be the making of you. I may 
 even be wrong in imagining that you could win 
 Simone, if you tried — she has plenty of admirers ; 
 it might be no easy thing for a young man like 
 you." She regarded him dubiously. "Your ap- 
 
258 While Paris Laughed 
 
 pearance is well enough, but I am not sure that 
 you have suflfioient personal magnetism," 
 
 "I thank you for the testimonial." 
 
 "But I may be wrong in that too. She is evi- 
 dently taken with you — and she could afford to 
 indulge a whim. In your place, I should call 
 there, not once, but often. She is fond of poetry. 
 Alors, seek her opinion of something you have 
 written! And if, by a stroke of luck, she should 
 comment unfavourably on a line, be enthusiasti- 
 cally grateful for her criticism. Then, when you 
 have changed the line, you can go and read the 
 new one. A poet reading his own work! It is 
 attractive. There might even be veiled allusions 
 to her in it. No woman could be insensible to the 
 charm." 
 
 "Henriette, when may I be permitted to come 
 and read my poetry to you?" asked Triootrin 
 mournfully. "Ah, mon Dieu, this is the uttermost 
 rim of the extreme edge of the limit! Impreg- 
 nable to my homage yourself, you instruct me in 
 the art of love-making for the conquest of an- 
 other. Ignominy could no further go. Cease, I 
 implore you! Are you without feelings?" 
 
 "My good boy " 
 
 "Permettez! Once more, I was acquainted with 
 you in your pinafores and your juvenility is no 
 secret from me. It is idle for you, therefore, on 
 the strength of having wedded my rival, to adopt 
 towards me the tone of the Oldest Inhabitant." 
 
 She accepted the correction with humility. "I 
 
Waiting for Henriette 259 
 
 was about to say that it is just because I have 
 feelings, because I take an affectionate interest ia 
 your welfare that I put myself to the trouble of 
 indicating to you which way the cat jumps. ' ' 
 
 "Much honoured. Too amiable! On my side, 
 I reward your ' affectionate interest' with candour. 
 I realise that the Henriette whose hand I sought 
 in days gone by exists no more. Madame Du- 
 chambon has forgotten ! But from the tablets of 
 my own mind Time has failed to erase the mem- 
 ory of your early love " 
 
 "Commentf" she cried. "I was never in love 
 with you in my life! "What are you talking 
 about?" 
 
 "Well, then, my early love. And for the sake 
 of what you used to be I shall remain constant 
 to what you are. ' ' 
 
 "Gustave," she said sharply, "I have told you 
 that I cannot have you talking to me in this strain ! 
 It is not gentU. Do not force me to rebuke you 
 again." 
 
 "I apologise. I am penitent. But if you fath- 
 omed the depths of my emotions " 
 
 "I do not wish to fathom them. I wish to hear 
 nothing about them." 
 
 "You have but to command!" 
 
 "No; you have also to obey. Now, be sensible, 
 je vous en prie, or you will make me seriously an- 
 gry with you." 
 
 "That is all that is lacking — for you to hate 
 me!" he groaned. "And yet, upon my word, I 
 
26o While Paris Laughed 
 
 am not certain but what I would rather have your 
 hate than your serene indifference." 
 
 "Enough! you go too far." She stamped her 
 foot. "And I said nothing of 'hate' — one does 
 not hate children. But " 
 
 "Jeer on! Mock me to your heart's content. 
 You have one?" 
 
 "But I shall not submit to a preposterous style 
 of address which I find an insult!" 
 
 " Ah, be just ! An ' insult ' ! " 
 
 "I have been patient. I have tried to check 
 you. I have warned you again and again. You 
 are too silly to see that you offend me. Enfin, 
 I must speak plainly. If you cannot come here 
 without making yourself ridiculous, you deny me 
 the pleasure of receiving you." 
 
 "So be it. You turn me from your door." He 
 took up his hat. "My humiliation is complete. 
 "We shall never meet again. ' ' 
 
 "We shall meet, I hope, when I can trust you 
 to behave properly." 
 
 "We shall never meet again. Adieu, madame. ' ' 
 
 "Bonjour, Gustave." 
 
 "But I repeat " 
 
 "I'd have bet my new frock to a sugar almond 
 that you couldn't get out of the room without turn- 
 ing round with a speech ! ' ' she cried, exasperated. 
 
 "But I repeat that I shall be constant to the 
 end. WThen the pride of your youthful beauty is 
 no more — ^when the treacherous years have dulled 
 your remembrance of our farewell itself and old 
 
Waiting for Henriette 261 
 
 age has bowed us both — ^you will know that up 
 a staircase at Montmartre there dwells a feeble 
 poet — that is to say, an infirm poet — ^who still 
 recalls you fondly as you look to-day." 
 
 And then he went, as enjoyably wretched as he 
 had ever been in his sentimental career. And 
 Henriette, who had really begun to feel sisterly 
 towards him, yearned to box his ears for com- 
 pelling her to forbid him the flat. 
 
 A week later, when madame Becquerel was to 
 spend the evening there and inquired, "And the 
 cousin, monsieur Tricotrin, he will be present 
 too?" she yearned to box them again. 
 
 Since he had muffed his matrimonial prospect 
 she regretted more than ever that his commercial 
 chance had been lost. Was he always to be the 
 family pickle, dreaming of fame and never at- 
 taining it? What an existence — in squalid lodg- 
 ings, and perpetual danger of ejectment! She 
 talked eloquently on the subject to her parents the 
 next time they were in Paris — they were not stay- 
 ing with her because they disliked the spare room 
 — and she painted an imaginary picture of his pri- 
 vations so pathetic that madame Eigaud's pince- 
 nez needed to be taken off and wiped, and the sUk 
 manufacturer — after a vehement recital of all the 
 wrongs that he had suffered at the poet's hands — 
 said grumpily, ' ' Weil, well, one does not desire to 
 see him die of hunger, however. I may look the 
 vagabond up. You shall give me his address. ' ' 
 
 Thus, all unexpectedly, into the affairs of Gus- 
 
262 While Paris Laughed 
 
 tave Tricotrin did Opportunity enter anew. An 
 Opportunity" unmerited and capable of extensive 
 developments. Having a lurking weakness for 
 him, despite Ms transgressions, monsieur Rigaud 
 took an auto-taxi to the Butte one morning with 
 more pleasure than he chose to admit. If his lips 
 were pursed, his eyes were soft. Once more he 
 was in the mood to let bygones be bygones. Once 
 more — after all the perversities of a headstrong 
 youth — 'it was conceivable that Fate might have 
 up her sleeve for the penniless poet a middle age 
 of prose and prosperity! 
 
 Monsieur Eigaud followed the directions of the 
 concierge, and tapped, exhausted at the door. 
 
 "My uncle!" ejaculated Tricotrin, in blank 
 astonishment. And drawing himself to his fullest 
 height he inquired sarcastically, "You have not 
 come to the wrong room?" 
 
 "Hein?" grunted the manufacturer, with a 
 scowl. "I have no acquaintance with anyone else 
 who resides in such a hole." 
 
 "Will you give yourself the trouble of enter- 
 ing?" Pitou was out, so it was possible for the 
 host to offer a chair without having to sit on a bed. 
 The cold courtesy with which he offered it was an 
 inadequate return even for the visitor's panting 
 perseverance with the stairs, and monsieur Ei- 
 gaud, who had expected to see the magnanimity of 
 the visit emotionally recognised, was taken aback. 
 
 "Well?" he demanded. "What have you got 
 to say for yourself, hein?" 
 
Waiting for Henriette 263 
 
 <n 
 
 'I? What I have got to say? I wait to hear 
 what has prooTired me the honour of the inter- 
 view." 
 
 ' ' Ah ! It is like that ? ' ' exclaimed monsieur Ri- 
 gaud, reddening with indignation. "What pro- 
 cured you the honour was the report that you 
 lamented the error of your ways. By your de- 
 meanour it appears that the report gave you credit 
 for more good sense than you can boast." 
 
 "My uncle," rejoined Tricotrin with immense 
 dignity, "to err is human, and I lament various 
 things. And, above all, I lament having submit- 
 ted to the tyranny of your deed which wrecked my 
 life." 
 
 "Comment done?" He stared at him for quite 
 a long while, striving to arrive at what he meant. 
 "Wrecked your life? I was not aware that you 
 had anything to reproach me with?" 
 
 "Ha, ha! , . . But it is superfluous to discuss 
 your crime." 
 
 After a further ineffectual effort, the manufac- 
 turer said anxiously, "Listen, mon enfant! Try 
 to understand that these are merely fancies; do 
 not harp on them, and they will pass. We shall 
 take you to a physician, who will put to rights 
 very soon." 
 
 "Physician?" cried Tricotrin furiously. "Ah, 
 o'est trop fort! He actually forgets!" 
 
 "But — ^name of a name! — what is it I forget?" 
 
 "My love for Henriette!" 
 
 "What? Silence, imbecile!" shouted monsieur 
 
264 While Paris Laughed 
 
 Kigaud, starting to his feet. "Your love for Hen- 
 riette? How dare you say it? It is you who for- 
 get ! You forget that your cousin is married now 
 and such allusions are not seemly. Also your 
 'love'? It is a large label for that foolery of 
 yours ! The aberration that you have the audacity 
 to recall to my mind was less serious than 
 measles." 
 
 "Would you have called it 'measles' had I 
 been a man of means ? If I had been in possession 
 of rentes, chateaux, automobiles, would your an- 
 swer have been a blow? Ah, you wince!" 
 
 "A 'blow'? Zut! Do not exaggerate!" 
 
 "Yes, yes, yes, you gave me a blow in the chest! 
 Make no illusions to yourself, my uncle. You 
 condemned me to despair, not because you doubted 
 my love, but because you disdained my position. 
 . . . And you sleep sound at night, hein? Ee- 
 morse does not rend you? What a world! It is 
 the upright whom remorse afflicts — the worthy 
 souls who have been betrayed into some venial 
 fault; the malefactors are conscienceless and 
 calm." 
 
 "I am not here to listen to your literary dis- 
 quisitions ! ' ' roared monsieur Eigaud. ' ' You may 
 go to hell!" 
 
 "Positively you dwell content," resumed the 
 poet, contemplating him with shrinking curiosity, 
 "you who divided two kindred souls for life! 
 What matters a nephew's desolation — ^what mat- 
 ter a daughter's tears? To glut your gaze upon 
 
Waiting for Henriette 265 
 
 her husband's income is enough — ^you are con- 
 tent ! Purseproud and myopic, you see no deeper 
 than your child's material welfare — ^the imperious 
 longings of her heart are hidden from you!" 
 
 For all his ire, he had no black intention to de- 
 ceive. That he conveyed a harrowingly false idea 
 was due to his instinctive obedience to the laws 
 of climacteric effect ; he was the sport of his own 
 oratory. But the agitated father stumbled down 
 those stairs in the firm belief that Henriette was 
 dying of love for her cousin; and next, madame 
 Rigaud feU into the flat on the boulevard de 
 Courcelles with her hat at the back of her head, 
 gasping : ' ' Ma petite, ma petite ! Ah, what horror ! 
 "Who could have foreseen that this fatal attach- 
 ment would consume thee?" 
 
 And when Henriette had succeeded in convinc- 
 ing her parents that she was really very chirpy — 
 which took a whole afternoon, because they kept 
 crying, "But confide in us, we implore thee! Do 
 not conceal thine agonies from thy mamma and 
 papa!" — and then when she had induced her 
 father to forego his design of revisiting the poet 
 with a stick, she wrote such a note to the culprit — 
 such a note ! — that, too distraught even to pen her 
 a last farewell, Tricotrin rushed headlong to the 
 river, and stood there for fully a quarter of an 
 hour, trying to think that he meant to throw him- 
 self in. 
 
 His reply to her on the morrow, beginning 
 "You will marvel that I linger — it is because I 
 
266 While Paris Laughed 
 
 cannot destroy myself till you have pardoned me," 
 would have filled two columns of Le Temps. 
 
 But it evoked no response. And though he 
 hung about a comer of her street until the con- 
 cierges, and the agents de police in the vicinity 
 eyed him as a suspicious character, he never had 
 the luck to meet her. 
 
 It was when he had grown embarrassed by the 
 scrutiny of the concierges and agents de police 
 that he inaugurated the practice of seeking her at 
 madame Becquerel's. 
 
 Madame Becquerel, who had of course remarked 
 his sentiments for his cousin, had a shrewd idea 
 why he was never to be viewed partaking of coffee 
 and cakes in the flat any more — an idea in no wise 
 affected by Henriette's explanation that it was be- 
 cause she was "furious with him for having re- 
 fused a definite offer of partnership from her 
 papa"; consequently the romantic lady was not 
 too dense now to divine the motive for his numer- 
 ous visits to herself. When an opulent young 
 widow who has some claim to good looks and who 
 therefore thinks she is a Helen of Troy, conde- 
 scends to muse upon a bohemian in a morning 
 coat that is bright green in the sunshine she may, 
 not unreasonably, resent his frequenting her house 
 in the avenue Henry-Martin for the purpose of 
 meeting another woman. So, on one occasion, she 
 delicately popped the poet in a stew. 
 
 "One does not see you nowadays at Henriette's, 
 monsieur," she said sweetly. And then, to add to 
 
Waiting for Henriette 267 
 
 his discomfiture, "I am sorry slie never happens 
 to drop in when you are here. It is unfortunate." 
 
 "Comment, madame?" He floundered, pink- 
 faced. "I had not observed it." 
 
 "No? Tant mieux. I feared it must grieve 
 you. . . . Might I trouble you to pass the choco- 
 late creams for my little dog? She adores them. 
 N'est ce pas, Mees?" 
 
 "You have heard, then?" faltered Triootrin. "I 
 was not aware." 
 
 "Ah oui. Henriette has confided in me." She 
 meant him to understand that she had been told 
 of his unreciprocated love, but when she had made 
 him sufficiently uncomfortable, she was going to 
 pretend to have been speaking of his adherence 
 to his art. "What a tragedy for you that she 
 should take it as she does ! But you know, mon- 
 sieur, frankly, many people would find your de- 
 votion incomprehensible. You do not mind my 
 saying so?" 
 
 "Incomprehensible? That is to say, 'culpa- 
 ble'?" 
 
 ' ' They would find it incomprehensible, too, many 
 people. They would not be able to see where the 
 fascination comes in." 
 
 "I am not of your opinion, madame," ex- 
 claimed the young man indignantly. ' ' The fascin- 
 ation must be patent to all the world. " 
 
 "Ah non! There are millions of persons who 
 judge only by appearances." 
 
 "Mais, ma foi . . .!" 
 
268 While Paris Laughed 
 
 "And, in this case, you -will admit that one must 
 look below the surface to find the charm — it is 
 certainly not the exterior that accounts for your 
 choice. That is why you engage my interest — ^you 
 do not mind features that would choke many men 
 off." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "It is rather fine of you. I said so to monsieur 
 Duchambon." 
 
 ''Bn—Duch—CommentF" 
 
 "There you have one person who cannot com- 
 prehend the fascination. You are a mystery to 
 liim. He said to me, 'Honestly, I cannot make 
 out what the attraction is'." 
 
 "He said that? He dared? Oh, mon Dieu, 
 what a blackguardism ! How did you reply ? ' ' 
 
 "I said, 'Tastes differ, mon ami. Monsieur 
 Tricotrin has no objection to the things that repel 
 you. He is an idealist. I admire him for it, 
 myself. More, I am convinced that one day we 
 shall see him triumph.' " 
 
 "You — ^you It was to Duchambon that you 
 
 said this?" 
 
 "Quite pleasantly, of course — in a friendly 
 way. . . . What is it? You are ill?" 
 
 "A slight attack of vertigo. It has passed. 
 Yes? Well?" 
 
 Her malice was assuaged. * ' That is all. Person- 
 ally, as I say, I admire your attitude; I find it 
 beautiful that you choose the literary life despite 
 its hardships, in preference to a partnership in 
 
Waiting for Henriette 269 
 
 Lyons. I find it unjust of Henriette to be so angry 
 with you about it." 
 
 After he had fetched his breath, Tricotrin said, 
 "Ah! I see my cousin has told you the whole 
 story. Yes, she thinks it very ungrateful of me 
 to refuse such a magnificent proposal from her 
 father — and, after all, how should an advocate 
 comprehend the ambitions of a poet? I rejoice 
 to have your encouragement, madame." 
 
 "It is a pity I am, not a pubUsher!" sighed 
 madame Becquerel, recovering all her gentleness. 
 And she went on artfully, "Some afternoon when 
 you come you are sure to meet her, and she wiU 
 forgive you. You have only to come often enough. " 
 
 * * How amiable you are ! I shall not bore you ? ' ' 
 
 "Not beyond endurance," she smiled; "I am 
 very strong." Mentally she moaned, "I am 
 shamefully weak. But he is such a lovable baby, 
 this boy!" And Tricotrin, as transparent to her 
 view as a shop window, reflected, "She is so sim- 
 ple-minded that I reproach myself for having to 
 take her in!" 
 
 So, locliing forward most faithfully to the after- 
 noon when he would meet Henriette there, he 
 went often to madame Becquerel 's, and though the 
 emotional afternoon was slow to arrive, he was 
 bucked in rehearsing it. He pictured himself 
 standing by the mantelpiece, the demeaned, yet 
 constant lover, when she was announced — or he 
 foresaw himself whitening to the Kps as he crossed 
 the threshold and beheld her. In either event it 
 
270 While Paris Laughed 
 
 would l)e apparent that her cruelty had shattered 
 him — and moved, she would yield him her hand. 
 Perhaps tact might accord him five minutes alone 
 with her? At any rate, there would be an oppor- 
 tunity to be snatched when she left. Before de- 
 parting for the avenue Henry-Martin, Tricotrin 
 used to study his aspect in the glass, and uncon- 
 sciously assumed a more woe-begone expression. 
 
 The anomaly was that he often forgot all about 
 it while he was there. It was easier to be con- 
 stant in a bare garret, with a poor composer, than 
 in a luxurious salon with an attractive hostess. 
 Struggle as he would, his nature responded to the 
 variety and expensiveness of her clothes. "What 
 a sensational experience it must be," thought the 
 slum-dweller, "to embrace such a series of gowns 
 on a woman ! ' ' That thought would obtrude itself 
 into his most earnest discourse with her, and re- 
 cur like an inapposite refrain. 
 
 Meanwhile Simone Becquerel recognised per- 
 fectly that she had supplanted Henriette, though 
 she didn't recognise how much the clothes had to 
 do with it. 
 
 One afternoon, she was posed on a couch, while 
 Tricotrin, at the uncomfortable end, sat recount- 
 ing the history of his life. He had reached the 
 epoch of his sixteenth year, amid strenuous pro- 
 tests from the damnable lap-dog. 
 
 "I am sure you must have been a. very good 
 son," murmured the lady. 
 
 "I believed so. But to be a good son one 
 
Waiting for Henriette 271 
 
 ought first to be a father. When I have a son of 
 my own, no doubt he will reveal to me that I 
 wounded my father very often. Now I come to 
 think of it, that is a grave reason why I should 
 never marry — or why my boy should be named 
 'Nemesis.' " 
 
 "You wiU marry, all the same," she laughed; 
 "and your boy will not be named 'Nemesis,' be- 
 cause your wife will think 'Apollo' more suit- 
 able." 
 
 "No, madame, I shall never marry," said Tri- 
 cotrin, recalling his fidelity to Henriette. 
 
 "Why not? To avoid the dissension about the 
 christening?" 
 
 He was silent. His insubordinate mind reit- 
 erated, "To know but once the exultation of en- 
 folding such a toilette in one's arms ! Would it 
 be feasible to clasp her ardently without damag- 
 ing the empiecement?" 
 
 "Why not?" she said again. 
 
 "Because, madame, there is only one woman — 
 and she is unattainable," returned the poet, with- 
 out being positive which woman he meant. 
 
 "Ah, what a misfortune! Married already?" 
 
 He tried to bow. But the toilette hypnotised 
 him. "Can it be possible I am irresolute in my 
 affections ? " he asked himself incredulously. And 
 then, like one to whom a revelation has been 
 granted, "Or was my sentiment for Henriette, 
 after all, tio more than a youthful folly — is this 
 the love of my life?" 
 
272 While Paris Laughed 
 
 He leant nearer to the lady, and shook his head. 
 
 "Then why 'unattainable'?" 
 
 "Mountains are between us — the mountains of 
 her gold." 
 
 "Love leaps mountains. If she loves you they 
 will not keep her from you. Beyond them she 
 will find a vaster treasure than gold — she will 
 find happiness. Perhaps for the first time!" 
 
 "You think so? How pensively you say it!" 
 
 "I speak from sad experience. Betrothed as 
 a mere child — ^what did I know of love, what has 
 life yielded me? The world deems me content 
 — I wear a smile — ^but I was meant for fine things. 
 The frivolities by which you see me surrounded 
 are no joys, believe me — they are but narcotics 
 to a mind iu pain." And she really thought so 
 in moods like this. 
 
 "Poor girl! Ah, yes, I have seen you were 
 solitary; from me you could not hide your nature. 
 Constantly I have regretted that you were not 
 poor, that you were not some humble midinette, 
 that I might speak to you from my heart without 
 danger of offence." 
 
 "Figure yourself that I am a midinette!" re- 
 plied the widow softly. "It is not a salon we are 
 iu — ^it is a little room under the tiles. It is not a 
 gown of Paquin's I have on — it is a little frock 
 that I stitched with my own hands. Look how 
 rough the needle made my finger ! ' ' 
 
 "Ah, you are exquisite!" gasped Triootrin, 
 smothering her hand with kisses. "And what a 
 
Waiting for Henriette 273 
 
 beautiful frock you have made ! Midinette, I adore 
 thee. See, through the attic window, that morsel 
 of the Heavens — it is not more eternal than my 
 love. Were I omnipotent! I'd thread the stars 
 for thee to wear, dear — a girdle for my Sweet; 
 I'd pluck the moon from out the sky. Love — a 
 bauble at thy feet. Alas ! I am mortal. I cannot 
 give thee the firmament, ma Midinette adoree, but 
 I beseech thee — ^give Paradise to me.'" 
 
 "Ci«l! how happy I am," breathed the roman- 
 tic widow. 
 
 "Who answers!" demanded Triootrin in- 
 tensely. 
 
 "It is thy Midinette." 
 
 ' ' The comedy is finished. I seek the woman be- 
 hind the mountains." 
 
 "And her name!" 
 
 "Is 'Simone.' " 
 
 "It is Simone who speaks," she whispered. And 
 they had barely time to jump apart as Henriette 
 was shown in. 
 
 "It is not that I doubt my devotion to her," he 
 explained to his delighted cousin later; "clearly, 
 we are aflBnities, she and I. But for weeks I have 
 intended a scene of a totally different genre when 
 you made your entrance — the situation is not the 
 one I had constructed. If you can understand me, 
 it is as a dramatist that I am a bit taken aback." 
 
XII 
 
 Antekuptial 
 
 FROM Lyons, madame Eigaud wrote, "I am 
 content to hear the great news of thee, my 
 nephew. Thou hast done well indeed. I had the 
 pleasure to meet thy future wife at Henriette's — 
 she is a fine woman ; and it is well known that Bec- 
 querel left a large fortune to her. How I felici- 
 tate thee! All thy days now thou wilt be rich, 
 despite thiue errors, whimsical one. Who would 
 have predicted for thee such a grand position? 
 
 "To spare thee embarrassment I send five hun- 
 dred francs, and a beautiful cornelian ring. Its 
 intrinsic value is not perhaps enormous, but thou 
 canst say to thy fiancee that is an heirloom. Be 
 not reckless with the money. Display would be 
 bad taste, siace she comprehends that thou art not 
 millionaire. Thou wilt repay the sum later. It 
 comes from my own purse, for thine uncle remains 
 incensed against thee and will give nothing. Never- 
 theless his heart of gold rejoices in privacy at thy 
 good luck." 
 
 "Privacy! I should have preferred parade!" 
 commented Tricotrin. "One cannot demonstrate 
 limitless devotion with five hundred francs." 
 
 274 
 
Antenuptial 275 
 
 "What changes in you the affair has wrought 
 — already you speak of five hundred with dis- 
 dain!" said Pitou, an undercurrent of pathos in 
 his voice. "Mon Dieu, how rum a world : I live to 
 see you — marry ! ' ' 
 
 "If you would know abiding happiness, follow 
 my example! Never have I set you a better one. 
 'Matrimony' is a synonym for 'bliss.' " 
 
 "There are purists who differentiate. However, 
 you may be correct, although you have not tried 
 it yet." 
 
 "Do not jest on sacred subjects," begged Tri- 
 ootrin earnestly. "That kind of cynicism jars on 
 me now. Yes, it is true that the affair has wrought 
 changes in me — I am ennobled ; I recall my former 
 ego with wondering contempt. It is my intention 
 to remove from my manuscripts two epigrams 
 which I took months to polish. "When I wrote 
 them, light had not been granted to me; my view 
 of life was narrow — ^I was not husband and 
 father." 
 
 "You are not husband or father now, so far as 
 I am aware." 
 
 "In spirit I am both. The revelation of it! 
 Only by marriage is the beatitude of love revealed. 
 Hitherto love was unknown to me — ^I had confused 
 the gas-jet with the sun and written in compara- 
 tive darkness. You imagine that you have known 
 love. Boy, you are deceived. You have been swin- 
 dled by a meretricious imitation. Marry, I charge 
 thee, marry ! Every moment is transfigured. Ciel ! 
 
276 While Paris Laughed 
 
 to bend over the cradle, beside the mother of one's 
 babe. What ineffable emotion! When I work, 
 to see her enter, our child laughing in her arms I 
 'Bonjour, mon p'tit mari' — 'Bonjour, papa.' As 
 a bachelor you cannot divine what it means. Often 
 I am incapable of replying. My eyes fill ; the pen 
 faUs from my hand. My art was ransacking the 
 language for beautiful words — and in an instant 
 I learned that the loveliest are 'mari' and 
 'papa.' " 
 
 " 'Premature' is rather decent too!" said the 
 composer. But there was no flippancy in his 
 mood. "Ah, yes, the regenerating influence of 
 matrimony is apparent even in advance — already 
 you are uplifted to a plane so dazzling that I 
 
 barely distinguish you ! I wonder " And he 
 
 sighed. 
 
 "It is false!" cried Tricotrin. "How can you 
 dare to assert that you wonder, when you know 
 in every fibre of your being that our affection is 
 immutable? We shall stick to each other to the 
 end of our days, we two. When I am married, 
 you will be no less at home in the avenue Henry- 
 Martin than you are now in the rue Cauchois. 
 Ma foi! with what content I shall watch you, as 
 you dine on meat of the best quality, and the valet- 
 de-chambre fills your glass. And sometimes, for 
 a joke, we will go and feed at the Bel Avenir; I 
 will put on my shabbiest jacket and we will pre- 
 tend that nothing has changed with me." 
 
 Pitou embraced him, with many nods. But at 
 
Antenuptial 277 
 
 the back of his mind he thought, "It will be a 
 joke with tears in it." He began to perpend a 
 composition to be called "La Fete Pathetiqne. " 
 
 The fact was that the impending severance gave 
 the musician the blues — and blues of a deeper dye 
 because he felt his dumps to be shameful. "A 
 fine Pylades I am!" the poor boy would say to 
 himself. "In lieu of exulting at the approach of 
 Orestes' magnificence, I weep at the vista of my 
 own desolation. ' ' Yet he could not avoid weeping. 
 Not even that tragedy of Tricotrin's resolve to 
 jilt his Muse for Henriette had been so bad to 
 bear, for then the blow and the wrench had been 
 sudden, and now the pain of parting was pro- 
 tracted. Moreover, Pitou had been presented to 
 madame Becquerel and was not sanguine of being 
 so much at home in the mansion. To some of the 
 crew, who were in high feather at their anticipa- 
 tion of an entrance into fashionable life, he had 
 said, "Do not bank on it! She is very amiable; 
 she told me she was enchanted to make my ac- 
 quaintance; I passed a pleasant quarter-of-an- 
 hour at the house. But when I left, it was with 
 no conviction that she would wait breathless for 
 my return. She marries a bohemian, but she 
 promises herself to convert him. You make a 
 bloomer in supposing she marries bohemia." 
 
 And his perspicacity was not at fault. Already 
 madame Becquerel had reflected more than once 
 that a gang of indigent artists with unknown 
 names would be no asset to her salon. She had 
 
278 While Paris Laughed 
 
 even recognised with a frown that the name of 
 her fiance was unknown. 
 
 In the first flush of betrothal she had been reluc- 
 tant to mention to him that his social circle struck 
 her as imperfect ; but some few weeks later, when 
 the presentation of Pitou had been succeeded by 
 the introduction of Lajeunie, and Didier, and 
 Sanquereau, and it appeared that these were but 
 the harbingers of a procession, she decided to 
 broach the matter. It was July. She had re- 
 nounced Deauville foi her lover and sweltered in 
 a strange Paris ; she felt it to be doubly just that 
 her lover should renounce something for her. 
 
 "How happy I am, Gustavo!" she breathed one 
 afternoon, with her head on his breast. "How ra- 
 diant is the prospect!" 
 
 The engagement was a month old now, and 
 strange to say, the poet had not been hearing 
 salutations from his "wife and child" for quite a 
 fortnight. Though he regularly reminded himself 
 that he swam in ecstasy, he had actually fancied 
 sometimes that he felt depressed. If he had not 
 known that an occasional quaking was pure rap- 
 ture, he might have taken it for a symptom of 
 alarm. "Angel!" he responded. 
 
 "You will love me just as much when you are 
 celebrated — ^when the world is at your feet? I 
 shall never point to your success and say, 'There 
 is my rival'?" 
 
 "What? How can you think such a thing?" 
 
 "I do not think it; I ask merely for the delight 
 
Antenuptial 279 
 
 of hearing your fine big 'What?' I dream of 
 your laurels all day. When we are married I shall 
 do better than dream of them — I shall begin to 
 pick. You will see ! A wife who is intelligent can 
 do much. I shall not rest till I help thee into the 
 coat of an Academician. How well thou wilt look 
 in it!" 
 
 "Baby!" murmured Tricotrin, chucking a 
 chest. 
 
 "One may discover short cuts to literary fame, 
 n'est ce pas — there is a royal road?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it! Oh, no!" 
 
 "No?" 
 
 ' ' That is to say, those who have arrived main- 
 taia that there isn't. Between ourselves, the 
 journey is shorter from the Bois than from the 
 Butte. For example, a comedy that is submitted 
 to a manager from a bedroom in Montmartre is 
 not so good as a comedy that is read to him in a 
 salon in the avenue Henry-Martin. There you 
 have one of the subtleties of dramatic art! It 
 shows the value of 'atmosphere.' " 
 
 "I prophesy that managers will find their way 
 to our salon. Editors too — the most prominent of 
 them. How I detest Montmartre when I think 
 what you have suffered there ! I give thanks that 
 the phase is nearly over — I shall be glad when 
 there lag no reminders of it. ' ' 
 
 "What does that mean — 'no reminders'?" 
 asked Tricotrin blankly. "One cannot inter one's 
 quartier. All my friends are of Montmartre." 
 
28o While Paris Laughed 
 
 "At present! But when the right people are 
 your friends, you will have no use for the tribe 
 there." ' 
 
 "Use? No, they cannot advance my career. 
 But they wUl remain my friends. Naturally!" 
 
 ' ' What a loyal nature you have ! How I admire 
 it!" she exclaimed. "I believe you are prepared 
 to travel through life with that crowd clinging to 
 your arms? But it would be to make our salon 
 an Exhibition of Failures. It would be fatal. The 
 right people do not thaw to a house where they 
 find a circle of the small fry. I speak of what 
 I know." 
 
 "But what are you saying? I don't under- 
 stand. You wish me suddenly to throw them over? 
 My pals?" 
 
 "Mais non — ^to throw them over suddenly. 
 There is always the gradual and graceful way. 
 One must use tact in these things. To throw them 
 over suddenly would be sauvage. It would be 
 like an Englishwoman that I know of, a madame 
 Brown. For years she signed herself to a cer- 
 tain friend, 'Yours affectionately, Agnes.' Mon- 
 sieur Brown, at the beginning, was nothing im- 
 portant — ^his name was 'Ferdinand' — ^but in time 
 he distinguished himself and grew rich. 'Ferdi- 
 nand Brown' became an eminent name in Eng- 
 land. One day the lady wrote to her friend, 'We 
 remove to Park Lane. It sounds very grand, but 
 it is only a small house, etcetera, — ^Yours affection- 
 ately, Agnes.' It was her last letter but one. The 
 
Antenuptial 281 
 
 last, a few months later, was a formal acknowl- 
 edgment of a little customary gift, and it was 
 signed, 'Yours sincerely, Agnes Ferdinand 
 Brown.' I do not desire to see thee commit a sot- 
 tise like that, my dear." 
 
 Tricotrin sat wide-eyed ; and after a moment of 
 disquietude, he said hesitatingly — 
 
 "Don't think me ungrateful, Simone — all my 
 being responds to your solicitude ; I am more than 
 proud to have inspired it. But to estrange my- 
 self from my friends by suave degrees would be 
 no easier to me than to drop them in the fashion 
 of madame Brown. The 'gradual and graceful' 
 way is as much beyond me as the other." 
 
 "You think so because you are a man and have 
 never tried it. With a woman to show you how, 
 you will find it quite simple." 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "Besides, there will really be nothing for you 
 to do ; it is always the department of the wife. You 
 may even wonder sometimes how it came about; 
 so far from feeling culpable, you may question, 
 'How is it that I never see them any more?' And 
 if you do happen to run across them, you wiU ask, 
 in all sinoetity, 'How is it that you never come?' " 
 
 "But ^Jl my affections protest! There are 
 things that one does not forget; I have spent the 
 most irfipressionable years of my life up there — 
 I have formed ties there that are indestinctible. 
 I cannot gather my friendships into a heap and 
 
282 While Paris Laughed 
 
 demolish them, the night before the wedding, like 
 a litter of love-tokens from bygone flames. ' ' 
 
 "You have many love-tokens to demolish?" 
 she queried quickly. 
 
 "If I did not worship you, if I did not recognise 
 you as the most noble of souls, I should answer, 
 'I have none.' But since to utter a falsehood to 
 you would make my flesh creep, I answer candidly. 
 Such things accumulate. I assure you, however, 
 that when they form a little bonfire, it will take 
 the normal course — ^there will be no tears to ex- 
 tinguish it, nor any sighs to fan its blaze. I shall 
 see but one face in that fire — ^thine. ' ' 
 
 She pigeon-holed his perversity for a future oc- 
 casion, and they talked on more sentimental top- 
 ics. But the opinions that she had expressed lin- 
 gered disturbingly with the poet. Though he told 
 himself that she had made her final reference to 
 the subject, his statement did not convince him. 
 Meeting with Sanquereau on the homeward walk, 
 he paused and addressed him with such unusual 
 tenderness that the mystified sculptor inquired if 
 he was ill. 
 
 "111?" 
 
 "Your manner makes one think of another 
 World." 
 
 "I am profoundly happy," explained Tricotrin, 
 enraged, "that is all." 
 
 And as he continued his way, he mused, "What 
 an idiot I was to dwell on those chance remarks 
 of hers ! She was wrong, and I told her she was 
 
Antenuptial 283 
 
 wrong. Voila tout. It is quite right, wliat people 
 say — I have a mercurial temperament; but mor- 
 bleu! to get such a hump about nothing. It was 
 ridiculous. One can be very certain that no years 
 of gilded misery are before me ! Ha ha! There 
 is no danger that I shall ever gaze out into that 
 high class avenue wishing to heaven I could ex- 
 change it for the common boulevard de Eoche- 
 chouart. The time does not approach when I shall 
 steal from an oppressive mansion to embrace a 
 crony on the sly. If I had any fear of such things 
 this all-gone sensation in the stomach might be 
 justified, but since no such misgivings enter my 
 head for a single instant " Here he was dis- 
 mayed to find that he was weeping. 
 
 "Now, upon my word, I should like to know 
 what I am weeping for ! " he reflected indignantly. 
 ' ' I shall end in losing patience with that tempera- 
 ment. I am to espouse a fine woman, who does 
 not ask better than to lavish her fortune on me, 
 and I adore her — I have told myself so a thousand 
 times ; and yet there is within me — ^I cannot deny 
 it — a kind of quahn which might be hastily defined 
 as 'funk.' . . . Ah, Simone, thou who art all in 
 all to me — or at any rate, more than anybody else 
 — or anyhow immeasurably dearer than any 
 other of thine own sex — pardon! It is the dole- 
 fulness of dusk, Beloved — it is only the dusk that 
 dims my joy!" 
 
 Meanwhile madame Becquerel soliloquised, "I 
 am living a beau roman, but . . . Ah well ! noth- 
 
284 While Paris Laughed 
 
 ing is perfect. The ideal, of course, would be for 
 another subsidence at Montmartre to ingulf the 
 whole district. N'est ce pas, Mees? Tell me, 
 thou dost not consider thy little mistress impru- 
 dent? Thou dost not mock thyself of my idyll? 
 Ah, do not disapprove me, ma Meesie, ma Fifi, 
 mon toutou!" 
 
 The Duchambons came back from Paris-Plage 
 soon afterwards ; and calling upon his cousin, with 
 whom he was now on capital terms, Tricotrin ob- 
 served : 
 
 "Verily women are a queer compound! Mark 
 Simone!" 
 
 "What has she done?" 
 
 "Well, she is spirituelle, hein? I pledge you 
 my word she has romantic, attributes " 
 
 "You need not, since she is affianced to a young 
 man without a sou, and frizzles here through the 
 summer." 
 
 "And yet she reveals in some respects a vein of 
 worldliness that one would not expect to strike 
 in her." 
 
 ' ' She has been bred m the world. All the better 
 for you, my cousin ! The more I think about the 
 engagement the more it entrances me. It's su- 
 perb." 
 
 "Ah, there we agree. I simply remark, in pass- 
 ing, that Woman's disposition is different from 
 Man's. It is a question whether Man wiU ever 
 understand her. " 
 
Antenuptial 285 
 
 "What an original reflection ! Do not forget to 
 make a note of that." 
 
 "And whether she will ever understand Man. 
 There you have another reflection — less flattering 
 to her, so not presented to her twenty times in 
 every novel; but no less true." 
 
 "The explanation of your 'remarks in passing' 
 is, of course, that you and Simone have had a 
 tiff? Much of a one?" 
 
 "Not even a tiff. But I confess that our views 
 are not identical in all things. When we' marry 
 she would like me to inaugurate a holocaust of all 
 my friendships, because the chaps are not yet 
 famous. I said it was out of the question, and she 
 did not persist — ^more than half an hour. But 
 instinct warns me that the subject is to be con- 
 tinued. It may run for years. Ah, Henriette, 
 be a good fellow! I need some one to talk to 
 and to cheer me up; I cannot confide the matter 
 to my chums themselves — ^it would be to insult 
 them." And he was garrulous. 
 
 "I understand the way Simone looks at it, you 
 know," she said at last; "I am not flabbergasted. 
 No, no, no, don't excite yourself! I understand 
 you, too." 
 
 "But I do not want impartiality — I want par- 
 tisanship; I come to be sympathised with." 
 
 "Very well, yes, all right! I sympathise. But 
 you must acknowledge there is some excuse for 
 her — a very good excuse: she loves you, and is 
 ambitious for you. She is eager to do everything 
 
286 While Paris Laughed 
 
 to advance your interests — every mortal thing 
 that her position permits. It is not a heinous of- 
 fence. It is, on the contrary, very touching. As a 
 poet you cannot be blind to its beauty? Take a 
 cigarette." 
 
 "What I wonder sometimes," he said diffi- 
 dently, after a heavy pause, "is whether I am jus- 
 tified in accepting her undoubted sacrifices? You 
 — ^you do not think I might prove my devotion best 
 by releasing her?" 
 
 "Comment?" she screamed. "Not by any man- 
 ner of means! What an idea!" 
 
 "Do not dismiss it too hastily. There may be 
 more in it than meets the cursory view. If that 
 is, indeed, my highest duty, I shall not shrink 
 from it, though my heart may break. ' ' 
 
 "But are you out of your mind? Whether the 
 match was good enough for her was for her to 
 judge. Even if you were mad enough to wish 
 to release her, on what grounds could you do so? 
 There is nothing for you to say." 
 
 "You cannot think of anything?" 
 
 "For the best of all reasons!" 
 
 "A family council would not meet the case?" 
 he suggested timorously. 
 
 "Gustave," she gasped, darting stem eyes, "do 
 not teU me that you want to back out! I could 
 not support the blow. It would be criminal." 
 
 "Back out?" he whimpered. "How do you 
 arrive at such a notion? Do I not pant to make 
 her mine? It is true that I begin to recognise 
 
Antenuptial 287 
 
 that the marriage state will be a new and strange 
 life; I avoid the fault of contemplating marriage 
 from a frivolous standpoint — it is a very solemn 
 step; but do not mistake my manly gravity for 
 dishonour, Henriette ! Why, even if I did desire 
 to commit such a scandalous act, I should be 
 ashamed to admit it to myself!" 
 
 "That part I believe," she said, studying him. 
 "Well, don't talk about it any more." 
 
 Ten minutes later, "Henriette disappoints me 
 ■ — it is fortunate she did not become my wife!" 
 growled Tricotrin, as he returned to bohemia un- 
 der an umbrella. And as he sat alone in the attic, 
 "Mon Dieu, how solitary I am! There is nothing 
 I want so much as to open my heart to Pitou — 
 and I cannot do it without planting a dagger in 
 his own. Ah, what do I say? 'Nothing I want so 
 much'? Heed me not, my bride to be ! It is the 
 patter of the rain, Simone — ^it is only the rain that 
 damps desire!" 
 
 In keenest contrition, he determined that the 
 hour had arrived for the burnt offering; and 
 feeling purified by the thought, set about stripping 
 the room of as many of the ladies' photographs 
 in it as belonged to him. The number was re- 
 spectable, if the ladies were not, and when he had 
 rummaged for the love-letters, and all the other 
 mementoes that he had preserved, he realised that 
 an empty grate was a drawback to destroying the 
 collection effectively. 
 
 It was no light undertaking to persuade the 
 
288 While Paris Laughed 
 
 astoimded and contentious concierge that he had 
 need of a fire at the close of a day on which the 
 temperature had been tropical; but he wrung fuel 
 from her at last, and ultimately he made it blaze. 
 
 "Behold, Simone! I do not hesitate!" he said 
 firmly, bearing the collection to the hearth. "All 
 that remains of errors that I deplore — ^I reduce 
 them to ashes!" And having seized at random 
 a photograph of a damsel in a fluffy frock reclin- 
 ing on the sward, he would have hurled it into the 
 fire the very next instant if it had not been that 
 his hand was suddenly arrested by remembrance. 
 
 "All the same, it had charm, that error," he 
 conceded, viewing the portrait thoughtfully. "How 
 delicious a fete this recalls to me — ^what a roseate 
 dawn of illusion ! Didn't you look a dream in that 
 white frock under the ahnond blossom? . . . 
 Done with! the folly is finished. StiU, I won't 
 bum you first, little woman!" And he took an- 
 other photograph instead. 
 
 "When all is said, you had qualities," he mur- 
 mured, contemplating it. "When you weren't 
 ia a temper, no one could be sweeter. And you 
 have nothing to reproach me with, hein? — ^you 
 could not expect copyright in me. To-day you 
 would not recognise me. I am reformed ; I would 
 not revive our romance if I could. Nevertheless — 
 for the sake of one scene in particular — ^you shall 
 not be the first, ma belle!" 
 
 "Sapristi!" he exclaimed, apostrophising the 
 next that he snatched, "how you could make me 
 
Antenuptial 289 
 
 laugh, you! You were good oompauy — ^you said 
 good things. Where do you say them now? Yes, 
 the epitaph is merited — I was never dull with you. 
 . . . Over! I shall never laugh again — ^I am an- 
 other and a better man. But for all that, you must 
 not suffer first, my child!" 
 
 Impatiently leaving the whole heap of photo- 
 graphs to be disposed of later, he bent to the let- 
 ters. ' * Eegard, Simone ! I am resolute ! " he cried, 
 casting an empty envelope into the flames. And be- 
 ginning to read the missive that it had contained, 
 he sighed: "Ma foi, how it takes me back! I 
 did not foresee, the morning I received it, that 
 this would be its fate ! Adieu, little letter that I 
 had prayed for through a sleepless night, that I 
 pressed to my lips so passionately when you 
 came! Your leaves bear my own kisses — and I 
 bum you. What a cynic is Time!" Whereupon 
 he laid the letter sacredly aside. 
 
 "Come, come," he went on, rousing himself 
 from reverie, "at this rate of progress I shall 
 not be through by the nuptial mom!" And now, 
 in all probability, he would really have made a 
 start but that he was interrupted. 
 
 "Ten thousand devils! A fire?" complained 
 Pitou, who entered, to stand panting on the 
 threshold. "The room is like a furnace. I fuse. 
 It is the heat of Hades. But this is outrageous, 
 a fire this weather ! Are you off your head?" 
 
 "Be gentle with me — I have been discharging 
 a melancholy task," said Tricotrin. "Yes, now 
 
290 While Paris Laughed 
 
 yoTi mention it, perspiration pours from me in 
 pools. Open the window ! Where have you been; 
 anything fresh?" 
 
 "Not till it has been open longer. Well, yes, 
 there is something fresh: I go to Chartres for 
 two months." 
 
 ' ' You go to Chartres ? For two months ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, I've had a letter. My mother reminds 
 me that it is a very long time since they saw me. 
 And my parents are not young, you know. I 
 should not be likely to find any job worth while 
 before September, and she wants to have me at 
 home till then." 
 
 "You go to Chartres? How soon?" 
 
 "She suggested that I should go at onoe — sh^ 
 sends the fare — ^but I have written her to expect 
 me the day after to-morrow. I did not like to 
 part froin you at five minutes' notice; much may 
 have happened to you before I come back." 
 
 "It is true. . . . Yes, the hekt is intolerable! 
 I suffocate." 
 
 "The date for the wedding is not fixed yet?" 
 
 "Not yet. But you are right — ^much may hap- 
 pen in two months. . . . We shall dine substan- 
 tially somewhere to-morrow, you and I!" 
 
 "That was my idea." 
 
 "And I shall not call on Simone to-morrow — 
 I devote the day to you in its entirety. If we 
 took a trip to Saint-Germain, or Saint-Cloud?" 
 
 "She would not be offended?" 
 
 "I shall send her a little note, explaining." 
 
Antenuptial 291 
 
 "Good. Let us go out, and you can write it at 
 the cafe." 
 
 However, they did not take a trip to Saint- 
 Germain, or Saint-Cloud, because in the morning 
 the poet evinced a preference for remaining in the 
 quartier; might it not be the last opportunity 
 they would have to spend a whole day together 
 there? "There are endroits that have meant a 
 good deal to us in our time, and we have not 
 clapped eyes on some of them for ages. We might 
 make a little tour of them. It would be interest- 
 ing?" 
 
 "You have struck it!" said Pitou. And starting 
 with the rue des Trois Freres, they passed a 
 leisurely forenoon, regarding bitter bygones that 
 had grace in the flattering light of retrospection. 
 A superior dejeuner at the Bel Avenir was pro- 
 longed till three o'clock; and a concert-aperitif 
 entertained them tiU the hour for dinner. 
 
 "What a swagger repast!" they observed to 
 each other at its conclusion, issuing from the 
 Taveme de Paris, arm in arm. "How delectable 
 a day!" And the prospect of a sprightly evening 
 was stiU before them. 
 
 It was not until the sprightly evening was on its 
 last legs that their cheerfulness waned. As they 
 drifted up the rue Fontaine, the impending return 
 to their room subdued them both; both thought, 
 "We may never return to it together any more !" 
 On the terrasse where they sought a.respite, their 
 bocks stood forgotten on the table, and they gazed 
 
292 While Paris Laughed 
 
 in silence at the garish scene to which a myriad 
 associations lent, to-night, factitious tenderness. 
 To their right, the crimson eyes of the Metro. 
 Across the road, the pink lamps of the Moulin 
 Rouge, not yet extinguished; the huddled little 
 bureau de tabac ; the name of the Brasserie Cyrano 
 in transparent capitals on its awning. Typical 
 of their struggles, the long yellow loaves behind 
 the baker's window, and the hint of climbing 
 lights in the me Lepic. 
 
 "I shall not see this so often in the future, 
 hein?" said Tricotrin dully. 
 
 "It will be no great loss. And you'll come 
 sometimes." 
 
 "To 'come' to Montmartre! It has a droll 
 sound. . . . The avenue Henry-Mariin is a long 
 way off — rather out of it?" 
 
 "You'll soon shake down there." 
 
 "Oh, yes ; one can get used to anything. I grieve 
 that you cannot be with me to the last, you know." 
 
 "Not more than I do ! Afterwards I shall miss 
 you at every step. It is not the first time we say 
 'good-bye'; do you remember?" 
 
 "Yes. In those days I was an ass." 
 
 "But both of us were younger; it hurts more 
 now. I am selfish to say that, but " 
 
 "No, no, you are not selfish; it is nice to hear. 
 That I shall be missed is good, because there is so 
 much that I am going to miss. . . . Nicolas, never 
 think that you are less to me, even if — Ah! how 
 shall I say it? — ^even if the years alienate us," 
 
Antenuptial 293 
 
 "Don't talk such rubbish ! I have no misgiving 
 — ^we are not made like that. You and I are loyal 
 pals, if we are fickle sweethearts." 
 
 ' ' My affection for you they cannot kill — I swear 
 it. But the cruelties of Time are furtive; per- 
 haps, unsuspected by myself, there will be m me 
 superficial changes that make me foreign to you — 
 that cause an estrangement that I lament, but 
 have grown too old to understand. If that hap- 
 pens, do not turn your back on me — do not be- 
 come Time's ally! Aid me. Bear in mind my 
 appeal of to-night always, always ! Strive against 
 the aversion I create. Say to me, 'You take the 
 wrong tone — ^you set my teeth on edge.' I shall 
 bless you for the tip; my heart will leap to its 
 deliverance ; thou wilt requicken for me the friend 
 that I mourned!" 
 
 "It is a vow." 
 
 "Never forget! . . . Do I go to the station with 
 thee in the morning, Nicolas?" 
 
 "Is it thy choice?" 
 
 "Yes. Last time I could not bear to part from 
 thee in a crowd; now I cannot bear to part from 
 thee sooner than can be helped." 
 
 "I ache to speak of aU I wish for thee in thy 
 marriage, Gustavo, but my throat gainsays me." 
 
 "An oration could not tell me more. . . . Well? 
 I have no zest for the return, but the room wiU 
 not come to us. Shall we?" 
 I And next day, when he had stared after the re- 
 ceding train, when he walked lonesomely, bUndly 
 
294 While Paris Laughed 
 
 back, he thouglit, "It is the first volume of my 
 life that has ended — and first things are best." 
 
 Conscience-stricken at his plaint, he drooped to 
 a bench. Overhead, a languid breeze murmured 
 among the debilitated boughs. "Ingrate! do, 
 you then ignore your joyousness?" he groaned. 
 "Simone, my sweeter self, forgive that blas- 
 phemy ! It is the wailing of the wind, my queen — 
 it is only the wind that howls regret ! ' ' 
 
 Now, it may be that Meesie, sa Fifi, son toutou 
 had failed to respond to the widow's petitions for 
 approval, or that Paris in the dead season had 
 got on her nerves ; or it may be that, on hearing 
 particulars of Ker engagement, one or two ac- 
 quaintances who were among the first to come 
 back, or the last to go away, had in her presence 
 lost control of their eyebrows. But for some 
 little time the lady also had wobbled in her mind. 
 Her fiance's hieroglyphics announcing his intent 
 to neglect her for the companionship of the Pitou 
 person had not served to confirm her ardour; and 
 plaintive reproaches followed. She consented to 
 forgive the affront, but she did not contrive to 
 forget it. And she was a widow young enough 
 to have relatives who felt entitled to be offensive 
 ' ' for her own good. ' ' 
 
 Moreover, his continued susceptibility to the 
 dusk, the rain, and the breeze may have told upon 
 his love-making. In any case, a day arrived 
 when, on her rose-tinted stationary with her mono- 
 gram in papier-mache, and in her most literary 
 
Antenuptial 295 
 
 French, she confessed to him that she had been 
 mistaken in her heart. In the envelope she placed 
 the cornelian ring. 
 
 It was maddening that he was admitted just 
 after the confession had been sent. Shunning his 
 embrace, she stood hampered by her reluctance 
 to speak phrases that he was soon to read, and her 
 consciousness that she fcould not rise to the occa- 
 sion without them. 
 
 "What is it?" he faltered. "Why do you re- 
 pulse me?" 
 
 "I have this moment written to you." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 "Gustave " She had urgent need of the 
 
 first line of the letter. 
 
 "Speak, for heaven's sake! You terrify me." 
 
 "Gustave It is difficult. I-— What I 
 
 have to say is, that I beg you to be generous ; I 
 am at your mercy." 
 
 "My mercy?" 
 
 "I must deal you a heavy blow." 
 
 "Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed. "You love me no 
 more. ' ' 
 
 She passed a very costly handkerchief across 
 her eyes. "I am at your mercy; I cannot defend 
 myself — the heart is mysterious; I owe you the 
 truth. I feel an exquisite friendship for you; 
 ever and ever I shall watch your career zealously 
 from afar, but " 
 
 "But you love me no more!" His head was 
 bowed, and he was silent for a long time. The 
 
296 While Paris Laughed 
 
 pathos of the scene moved him very mueh. His 
 own gaze was misty, too, though, by a strange 
 anomaly, he felt capable of bearing the loss with 
 vigour. "Do not weep," he said at last gently; 
 "do not weep, Simone! You are not to blame." 
 
 "Ah, you are good! I shall never forgive my- 
 self." 
 
 "There is nothing for you to forgive, my dear. 
 You were right and brave to tell me; I honour 
 you for it. That I have failed to hold your love 
 is not your unkindness — it is only my misfor- 
 tune," 
 
 "Gustave! how noble you are. I feared your 
 reproaches." 
 
 "I fear them, too — it is not so easy, after all, 
 to aver that it is only my 'misfortune'; no doubt 
 it is also my fault. The flower of your love was 
 yielded to me, and I have let it die. There will 
 be no death for my remorse. ' ' 
 
 "No, no, it is not true ; you make me feel guiltier 
 still! It was friendship always, Gustave; only, 
 I was mistaken. You must not suffer a hell like 
 that because a foolish woman did not understand 
 herself." 
 
 "You mean it sweetly, but Never to have 
 
 won your love — or to have lost it? Ah, leave me 
 the illusion, and the hell — I choose the thought 
 that once you loved me! You are weeping yet. 
 You must not. To make those eyes red for me! 
 Vouchsafe me one moment of authority, that I 
 may 'forbid.' " 
 
Antenuptial 297 
 
 "I cannot keep tears back. Never have you 
 spoken to me with so much tenderness!" 
 
 "Never perhaps have you been to me so dear. 
 Who knows? The heart, as you have said, is a 
 mystery. . . . Adieu, Simone. I wish for you a 
 happier life than any parting speech could hint, 
 so I will spare you the tiresomeness of listening 
 to one. There, perhaps, is the most unselfish 
 thing that I have done for any woman!" 
 
 And, sunk in melancholy on the tram, "It is 
 only now that I appreciate her at her worth," he 
 mused — "now that I have lost her!" That pri- 
 mary sense of vigour had fled, and sentiment over- 
 whelmed him. His mind turned to Pitou, and he 
 half thought of a hurried line to tell him what had 
 happened ; but m the knowledge that Pitou would 
 be wholly gleeful at the tidings, his sensibilities 
 shrank from such despatch. It seemed to him 
 that henceforward there would be one grief that 
 he must always bear alone — ^that, amid all their 
 confidences, there must be one subject on which 
 his comrade and he could never touch without re- 
 straint. 
 
 Averse from society, he sat brooding in the 
 garret till midnight; and then, driven forth by 
 himger, supped taciturnly in the darkest comer 
 of Le Lapin Agil'. 
 
 On the following day, a late post brought him 
 an incoherent summons from his cousin, who 
 wrote that she was "prostrated by what she had 
 just heard"; but since her incoherence appeared 
 
298 While Paris Laughed 
 
 to be more 'censorious than sympathetic, he did 
 not go. He repKed that he was too stricken to 
 leave the house. And as he left it, in the pleasant 
 eventide, to get a stamp at the tobacconist's, 
 something of resignation was borne to him on the 
 charm of the hour, something of endurance. He 
 sauntered further. Gradually his pace quickened. 
 Cheerfulness revived in him, and he rambled, 
 humming. 
 
 As the moon swam up, the crooked quartier 
 looked its tenderest. From afar, the fiddles of 
 the Moulin de la Galette were mellowed to a mad- 
 rigal. Each moment the scene wooed him with 
 a deeper note, and cooed to him a sweeter cove- 
 nant. "It is my Land, my Home!" he said. 
 "How could I desert it!" 
 
 Even the grim attic had a smile for his return. 
 It seemed to tell him, "Wayward child, you are 
 forgiven ! ' ' He hung his hat on the door at peace. 
 
 Suddenly he swung Ms chair to the table, and 
 scrawled : 
 
 "Such news! Nicolas, my brother, how happy 
 I am! I'm to rough it with you stm. Isn't that 
 fine? . . ." 
 
 He looked up from the letter and laughed for 
 joy. 
 
 "Isn't it fine?" he crowed. 
 
 THE EOT)