In the Days of My Youth: A Novel

  CHAPTER XXI.

  I FALL A SACRIFICE TO MRS. GRUNDY.

  "A word with you, if you please, Basil Arbuthnot," said Dr. Cheron,"when you have finished copying those prescriptions."

  Dr. Cheron was standing with his feet firmly planted in the tiger-skinrug and his back to the fireplace. I was busy writing at the studytable, and glancing anxiously from time to time at the skeleton clockupon the chimney-piece; for it was getting on fast towards five, and athalf-past six I was to take Josephine to the Opera Comique. As perversefortune would have it, the Doctor had this afternoon given me moredesk-work than usual, and I began to doubt whether I should be able todine, dress, and reach the theatre in time if he detained memuch longer.

  "But you need be in no haste," he added, looking at his watch. "That isto say, upon my account."

  I bowed nervously--I was always nervous in his presence--and tried towrite faster than ever; but, feeling his cold blue eye upon me, made ablot, smeared it with my sleeve, left one word out, wrote another twiceover, and was continually tripped up by my pen, which sputteredhideously and covered the page with florid passages in little roundspots, which only needed tails to become crotchets and quavers. Atlength, just as the clock struck the hour, I finished my task and laidaside my pen.

  Dr. Cheron coughed preparatorily.

  "It is some time," said he, "since you have given me any news of yourfather. Do you often hear from him?"

  "Not very often, sir," I replied. "About once in every three weeks. Hedislikes letter-writing."

  Dr. Cheron took a packet of papers from his breast-pocket, and rufflingthem over, said, somewhat indifferently:--

  "Very true--very true. His notes are brief and few; but always to thepurpose. I heard from him this morning."

  "Indeed, sir?"

  "Yes--here is his letter. It encloses a remittance of seventy-fivepounds; fifty of which are for you. The remaining twenty-five beingreserved for the defrayal of your expenses at the Ecole de Medecine andthe Ecole Pratique."

  I was delighted.

  "Both are made payable through my banker," continued Dr. Cheron, "and Iam to take charge of your share till you require it; which cannot bejust yet, as I understand from this letter that your father supplied youwith the sum of one hundred and five pounds on leaving England."

  My delight went down to zero.

  "Does my father say that I am not to have it now, sir?" I asked,hesitatingly.

  "He says, as I have already told you, that it is to be yours when yourequire it."

  "And if I require it very shortly, sir--in fact, if I require it now?"

  "You ought not to require it now," replied the Doctor, with a cold,scrutinizing stare. "You ought not to have spent one hundred and fivepounds in five months."

  I looked down in silence. I had more than spent it long since; and I hadto thank Madame de Marignan for the facility with which it had flown. Itwas not to be denied that my course of lessons in practical politenesshad been somewhat expensive.

  "How have you spent it?" asked Dr. Cheron, never removing his eyes frommy face.

  I might have answered, in bouquets, opera stalls, and riding horses; indress coats, tight boots, and white kid gloves; in new books, new music,bon-bons, cabs, perfumery, and the like inexcusable follies. But I heldmy tongue instead, and said nothing.

  Dr. Cheron looked again at his watch.

  "Have you kept any entries of your expenses since you came to Paris?"said he.

  "Not with--with any regularity, sir," I replied.

  He took out his pencil-case and pocket-book.

  "Let us try, then," said he, "to make an average calculation of whatthey might be in five months."

  I began to feel very uncomfortable.

  "I believe your father paid your travelling expenses?"

  I bowed affirmatively.

  "Leaving you the clear sum of one hundred and five pounds." I bowedagain.

  "Allowing, then, for your rent--which is, I believe, twenty francs perweek," said he, entering the figures as he went on, "there will be fourhundred francs spent in five months. For your living, say thirty francsper week, which makes six hundred. For your clothing, seventy-five permonth, which makes three hundred and seventy-five, and ought to be quiteenough for a young man of moderate tastes. For your washing andfirewood, perhaps forty per month, which makes two hundred--and for yourincidental expenses, say fifteen per week, which makes three hundred. Wethus arrive at a total of one thousand eight hundred and seventy-fivefrancs, which, reduced to English money at the average standard oftwenty-five francs to the sovereign, represents the exact sum ofseventy-five pounds. Do I make myself understood?"

  I bowed for the third time.

  "Of the original one hundred and five pounds, we now have thirty notaccounted for. May I ask how much of that surplus you have left?"

  "About--not more than--than a hundred and twenty francs," I replied,stripping the feathers off all the pens in succession, withoutknowing it.

  "Have you any debts?"

  "A--a few."

  "Tailors' bills?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "What others?"

  "A--a couple of months' rent, I believe, sir."

  "Is that all?"

  "N--not quite."

  Dr. Cheron frowned, and looked again at his watch.

  "Be good enough, Mr. Arbuthnot," he said, "to spare me this amount ofuseless interrogation by at once stating the nature and amount ofthe rest."

  "I--I cannot positively state the amount, sir," I said, absurdly tryingto get the paper-weight into my waistcoat pocket, and then putting itdown in great confusion. "I--I have an account at Monceau's in the RueDuphot, and..."

  "I beg your pardon," interrupted Dr. Cheron: "but who is Monceau?"

  "Monceau's--Monceau's livery-stables, sir."

  Dr. Cheron slightly raised his eye-brows, and entered the name.

  "And at Lavoisier's, on the Boulevard Poissonniere--"

  "What is sold, pray, at Lavoisier's?"

  "Gloves, perfumes, hosiery, ready-made linen..."

  "Enough--you can proceed."

  "I have also a bill at--at Barbet's, in the Passage de l'Opera."

  "And Barbet is--?"

  "A--a florist!" I replied, very reluctantly.

  "Humph!--a florist!" observed Dr. Cheron, again transfixing me with thecold, blue eye. "To what amount do you suppose you are indebted toMonsieur Barbet?"

  I looked down, and became utterly unintelligible.

  "Fifty francs?"

  "I--I fear, more than--than--"

  "A hundred? A hundred and fifty? Two hundred?"

  "About two hundred, I suppose, sir," I said desperately.

  "Two hundred francs--that is to say, eight pounds English--to yourflorist! Really, Mr. Arbuthnot, you must be singularly fond of flowers!"

  I looked down in silence.

  "Have you a conservatory attached to your rooms?"

  The skeleton clock struck the half hour.

  "Excuse me, sir," I said, driven now to the last extremity, "but--but Ihave an engagement which--in short, I will, if you please, make out alist of--of these items, ascertaining the correct amount of each; andwhen once paid, I will endeavor--I mean, it is my earnest desire, to--tolimit my expenditure strictly to--in short, to study economy for thefuture. If, in the meantime, you will have the goodness toexcuse me...."

  "One word, young man. Will the fifty pounds cover your debts?"

  "Quite, sir, I am confident."

  "And leave you something in hand for your current expenses?"

  "Indeed, I fear very little."

  "In that case what will you do?"

  This was a terrible question, and one for which I could find no answer.

  "Write to your father for another remittance--eh?"

  "I--upon my word, I dare not, sir," I faltered.

  "Then you would go in debt again?"

  "I really fear--even with the strictest economy--I--"

  "Be so obliging as to le
t me have your seat," said Dr. Cheron, thrustingthe obnoxious note-book into his pocket and taking my place at the desk,from which he brought out a couple of cards, and a printed paper.

  "This ticket," said he, "admits the holder to the anatomical course forthe term now beginning, and this to the lectures at the Ecole Pratique.Both are in my gift. The first is worth two hundred francs, and thesecond two hundred and fifty. I ought, perhaps, in strict justice, tobestow them upon some needy and deserving individual: however, to saveyou from debt, or a very unpleasant alternative, I will fill them inwith your name, and, when you bring me all your bills receipted, I willtransfer to your account the four hundred and fifty francs which I must,otherwise, have paid for your courses out of the remittance forwarded byyour father for that purpose. Understand, however, that I must firsthave the receipts, and that I expect you, on the word of a gentleman,to commit no more follies, and to contract no more debts."

  "Oh, sir!" I exclaimed, "how can I ever--"

  "No thanks, I beg," interposed Dr. Cheron. "Prove your gratitude by yourconduct; do not trouble yourself to talk about it."

  "Indeed, sir, you may depend--"

  "And no promises either, if you please. I attach no kind of value tothem. Stay--here is my check for the fifty pounds forwarded by yourfather. With that sum extricate yourself from debt. You know the rest."

  Hereupon Dr. Cheron replaced the cards and the printed form,double-locked his desk, and, with a slight gesture of the hand, frigidlydismissed me.

  I left the house quite chopfallen. I was relieved, it is true, from theincubus of debt; but then how small a figure I had cut in the eyes ofDr. Cheron! Besides, I was small for the second time--reproved for thesecond time--lectured, helped, put down, and poohpoohed, for the secondtime! Could I have peeped at myself just then through the wrong end of atelescope, I vow I could not have looked smaller in my own eyes.

  I had no time to dine; so I despatched a cup of coffee and a roll on myway home, and went hungry to the theatre.

  Josephine was got up with immense splendor for this occasion; greatly toher own satisfaction and my disappointment. Having hired a small privatebox in the least conspicuous part of the theatre, I had committed thecowardly mistake of endeavoring to transform my grisette into a woman offashion. I had bought her a pink and white opera cloak, a pretty littlefan, a pair of white kid gloves, and a bouquet. With these she wore adecent white muslin dress furnished out of the limited resources of herown wardrobe, and a wreath of pink roses, the work of her own cleverfingers. Thus equipped, she was far less pretty than in her coquettishlittle every-day cap, and looked, I regret to say, more like an_ouvriere_ than ever. Aggravating above all else, however, was her ownundisguised delight in her appearance.

  "Are my flowers all right? Is my dress tumbled? Is the hood of my cloakin the middle of my back?" were the questions she addressed to me everymoment. In the ante-room she took advantage of each mirror we passed. Inthe lobby I caught her trying to look at her own back. When we reachedour box she pulled her chair to the very centre of it, and sat there asif she expected to be admired by the whole audience.

  "My dear Josephine," I remonstrated, "sit back here, facing the stage.You will see much better--besides, it is your proper seat, being theonly lady in the box."

  "Ah, _mon Dieu!_ then I cannot see the house--and how pretty it is! Everso much prettier than the Gaiete, or the Porte St. Martin!"

  "You can see the house by peeping behind the curtain."

  "As if I were ashamed to be seen! _Par exemple_!"

  "Nay, as you please. I only advise you according to custom and fashion."

  Josephine pouted, and unwillingly conceded a couple of inches.

  "I wish I had brought the little telescope you gave me last Sunday,"said she, presently. "There is a gentleman with one down there inthe stalls."

  "A telescope at the opera--the gods forbid! Here, however, is myopera-glass, if you like to use it."

  Josephine turned it over curiously, and peeped first through one tubeand then through the other.

  "Which ought I to look through?" asked she.

  "Both, of course."

  "Both! How can I?"

  "Why thus--as you look through a pair of spectacles."

  "_Ciel!_ I can't manage that! I can never look through anything withoutcovering up one eye with my hand."

  "Then I think you had better be contented with your own charming eyes,_ma belle_" said I, nervously. "How do you like your bouquet?"

  Josephine sniffed at it as if she were taking snuff, and pronounced itperfect. Just then the opera began. I withdrew into the shade, andJosephine was silenced for a while in admiration of the scenery and thedresses. By and by, she began to yawn.

  "Ah, _mon Dieu!_" said she, "when will they have done singing? I havenot heard a word all this time."

  "But everything is sung, _ma chere_, in an opera."

  "What do you mean? Is there no play?"

  "This is the play; only instead of speaking their words, they singthem."

  Josephine shrugged her shoulders.

  "Ah, bah!" said she. "How stupid! I had rather have seen the _Closeriedes Genets_ at the Graiete, if that is to be the case the whole evening.Oh, dear! there is such a pretty lady come into the opposite box, insuch a beautiful blue _glace_, trimmed with black velvet and lace!"

  "Hush! you must not talk while they are singing!"

  "_Tiens!_ it is no pleasure to come out and be dumb. But do just see thelady in the opposite box! She looks exactly as if she had walked out ofa fashion-book."

  "My dear child, I don't care one pin to look at her," said I, preferringto keep as much out of sight as possible. "To admire your pretty face isenough for me."

  Josephine squeezed my hand affectionately.

  "That is just as Emile used to talk to me," said she.

  I felt by no means flattered.

  "_Regardez done!_" said she, pulling me by the sleeve, just as I wasstanding up, a little behind her chair, looking at the stage. "That ladyin the blue _glace_ never takes her eyes from our box! She points us outto the gentleman who is with her--do look!"

  I turned my glass in the direction to which she pointed, and recognisedMadame de Marignan!

  I turned hot and cold, red and white, all in one moment, and shrank backlike a snail that has been touched, or a sea-anemone at the first dig ofthe naturalist.

  "Does she know you?" asked Josephine.

  "I--I--probably--that is to say--I have met her in society."

  "And who is the gentleman?"

  That was just what I was wondering. It was not Delaroche. It was no onewhom I had ever seen before. It was a short, fat, pale man, with a baldhead, and a ribbon in his button-hole.

  "Is he her husband?" pursued Josephine.

  The suggestion flashed upon me like a revelation. Had I not heard thatM. de Marignan was coming home from Algiers? Of course it was he. Nodoubt of it. A little vulgar, fat, bald man.... Pshaw, just the sort ofa husband that she deserved!

  "How she looks at me!" said Josephine.

  I felt myself blush, so to speak, from head to foot.

  "Good Heavens! my dear girl," I exclaimed, "take your elbows off thefront of the box!"

  Josephine complied, with a pettish little grimace.

  "And, for mercy's sake, don't hold your head as if you feared it wouldtumble off!"

  "It is the flowers," said she. "They tickle the back of my neck,whenever I move my head. I am much more comfortable in my cap."

  "Never mind. Make the best of it, and listen to this song."

  It was the great tenor ballad of the evening. The house was profoundlysilent; the first wandering chords of a harp were heard behind thescenes; and Duprez began. In the very midst of one of his finest andtenderest _sostenuto_ passages, Josephine sneezed--and such a sneeze!you might have heard it out in the lobbies. An audible titter ran roundthe house. I saw Madame de Marignan cover her face with herhandkerchief, and yield to an irrepressible fit of laughter. As for thetenor
, he cast a withering glance up at the box, and made a marked pausebefore resuming his song. Merciful powers! what crime had I committedthat I should be visited with such a punishment as this?

  "Wretched girl!" I exclaimed, savagely, "what have you done?"

  "Done, _mon ami!_" said Josephine, innocently. "Why, I fear I have takencold."

  I groaned aloud.

  "Taken cold!" I muttered to myself. "Would to Heaven you had takenprussic acid!"

  "_Qu'est ce que c'est?"_ asked she.

  But it was not worth while to reply. I gave myself up to my fate. Idetermined to remonstrate no more. I flung myself on a seat at the backof the box, and made up my mind to bear all that might yet be in storefor me. When she openly ate a stick of _sucre d'orge_ after this, I saidnothing. When she applauded with both hands, I endured in silence. Atlength the performance came to a close and the curtain fell. Madame deMarignan had left before the last act, so I ran no danger ofencountering her on the way out; but I was profoundly miserable,nevertheless. As for Josephine, she, poor child, had not enjoyed herevening at all, and was naturally out of temper. We quarrelledtremendously in the cab, and parted without having made it up. It wasall my own fault. How could I be such a fool as to suppose that, with afew shreds and patches of finery, I could make a fine lady ofa grisette?

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