Baron Montes de Montejanos was a lion, but a lion not for. Fashionable Paris, Paris of the and of the town, the of this gentleman, his patent-leather boots, his sticks, his much-coveted horses, and the who the and who were and most thrashed.
His was well known; he had a account up to seven hundred thousand in the great banking house of du Tillet; but he was always alone. When he to "first nights," he was in a stall. He no drawing-rooms. He had his arm to a girl on the streets. His name would not be with that of any woman of the world. To pass his time he played at the Jockey-Club. The world was to calumny, or, which it funnier, to laughing at his peculiarities; he by the name of Combabus.
Bixiou, Leon de Lora, Lousteau, Florine, Mademoiselle Heloise Brisetout, and Nathan, one with the Carabine, with a large party of lions and lionesses, had this name with an explanation. Massol, as being on the Council of State, and Claude Vignon, Professor of Greek, had related to the the famous anecdote, in Rollin's Ancient History, Combabus, that Abelard who was in of the wife of a King of Assyria, Persia, Bactria, Mesopotamia, and other to old Professor du Bocage, who the work of d'Anville, the of the East of antiquity. This nickname, which gave Carabine's guests for a of an hour, gave to a series of over-free jests, to which the Academy not the Montyon prize; but among which the name was taken up, to on the of the Baron, called by Josepha the Brazilian—as one might say a Catoxantha.
Carabine, the of her tribe, and had the of the Thirteenth Arrondissement from the hands of Mademoiselle Turquet, by the name of Malaga—Mademoiselle Seraphine Sinet (this was her name) was to du Tillet the banker what Josepha Mirah was to the Duc d'Herouville.
Now, on the of the very day when Madame de Saint-Esteve had success to Victorin, Carabine had said to du Tillet at about seven o'clock:
"If you want to be very nice, you will give me a dinner at the Rocher de Cancale and Combabus. We want to know, once for all, he has a mistress. I that he has, and I should like to win."
"He is still at the Hotel Princes; I will call," du Tillet. "We will have some fun. Ask all the youngsters—the Bixiou, the Lora, in short, all the clan."
At half-past seven that evening, in the room of the restaurant where all Europe has dined, a service was spread, on purpose for where pays the bill in bank-notes. A of light in on the rims; waiters, a might have taken for but for their age, solemnly, as themselves to be overpaid.
Five guests had arrived, and were waiting for nine more. These were and Bixiou, still in 1843, the salt of every dish, always with fresh wit—a as in Paris as is; Leon de Lora, the painter of and the sea who has this great over all his rivals, that he has his successes. The with these two kings of wit. No supper, no dinner, was possible without them.
Seraphine Sinet, Carabine, as the en of the Amphitryon, was one of the to arrive; and the off her shoulders, in Paris, her throat, as as if in a lathe, without a crease, her saucy face, and dress of in two of blue, with Honiton to have a whole village for a month.
Pretty Jenny Cadine, not acting that evening, came in a dress of splendor; her portrait is too well to need any description. A party is always a Longchamps of dress for these ladies, each to win the prize for her by thus announcing to her rivals:
"This is the price I am worth!"
A third woman, at the stage of her career, gazed, almost shamefaced, at the luxury of her two and companions. Simply in white with blue, her had been with flowers by a of the old-fashioned school, hands had the of to her hair. Still to any finery, she the timidity—to use a phrase—inseparable from a appearance. She had come from Valognes to in Paris some use for her youthfulness, her that might have the of a man, and her beauty, to its own with any that Normandy has to the theatres of the capital. The lines of that were the of purity. Her milk-white skin the light like a mirror. The pink in her might have been on with a brush. She was called Cydalise, and, as will be seen, she was an in the game played by Ma'ame Nourrisson to Madame Marneffe.
"Your arm is not a match for your name, my child," said Jenny Cadine, to Carabine had this of sixteen, having her with her.
And, in fact, Cydalise to public a pair of arms, and satiny, but red with healthy blood.
"What do you want for her?" said Jenny Cadine, in an to Carabine.
"A fortune."
"What are you going to do with her?"
"Well—Madame Combabus!"
"And what are you to for such a job?"
"Guess."
"A service of plate?"
"I have three."
"Diamonds?"
"I am selling them."
"A green monkey?"
"No. A picture by Raphael."
"What is that in your brain?"
"Josepha makes me with her pictures," said Carabine. "I want some than hers."
Du Tillet came with the Brazilian, the hero of the feast; the Duc d'Herouville with Josepha. The singer a plain gown, but she had on a necklace a hundred and twenty thousand francs, pearls from her skin like white petals. She had one in her black hair—a patch—the was dazzling, and she had herself by eleven of pearls on each arm. As she hands with Jenny Cadine, the said, "Lend me your mittens!"
Josepha them one by one and them to her friend on a plate.
"There's style!" said Carabine. "Quite the Duchess! You have the to dress the nymph, Monsieur le Duc," she added to the little Duc d'Herouville.
The took two of the bracelets; she the other twenty on the singer's arms, which she kissed.
Lousteau, the cadger, la Palferine and Malaga, Massol, Vauvinet, and Theodore Gaillard, a of one of the most political newspapers, the party. The Duc d'Herouville, to everybody, as a how to be, the Comte de la Palferine with the particular which, while it not either or intimacy, to all the world, "We are of the same race, the same blood—equals!"—And this greeting, the of the aristocracy, was to be the of the upper citizen class.
Carabine Combabus on her left, and the Duc d'Herouville on her right. Cydalise was next to the Brazilian, and her was Bixiou. Malaga sat by the Duke.
Oysters appeared at seven o'clock; at eight they were punch. Every one is familiar with the bill of of such a banquet. By nine o'clock they were talking as people talk after forty-two bottles of wines, by fourteen persons. Dessert was on the table, the of the month of April. Of all the party, the only one by the was Cydalise, who was a tune. None of the party, with the of the country girl, had their reason; the and the were the of the that sups. Their were bright, their glistened, but with no of intelligence, though the talk into satire, anecdote, and gossip. Conversation, to the circle of racing, horses, on the Bourse, the different of the lions themselves, and the of the town, a to up into tete-a-tete, the of two hearts.
And at this stage, at a from Carabine to Leon de Lora, Bixiou, la Palferine, and du Tillet, love came under discussion.
"A doctor in good talks of medicine, true speak of their ancestors, men of do not discuss their works," said Josepha; "why should we talk business? If I got the put off in order to here, it was not to work. So let us the subject, dear children."
"But we are speaking of love, my beauty," said Malaga, "of the love that makes a man all to the dogs—father, mother, wife, children—and retire to Clichy."
"Talk away, then, ‘don't know yer,'" said the singer.
The words, from the Street Arab, and spoken by these women, may be a on their lips, helped by the of the and face.
"What, do not I love you, Josepha?" said the Duke in a low voice.
"You, perhaps, may love me truly," said she in his ear, and she smiled. "But I do not love you in the way they describe, with such love as makes the world dark in the of the man beloved. You are to me, useful—but not indispensable; and if you were to me over tomorrow, I have three for one."
"Is true love to be in Paris?" asked Leon de Lora. "Men have not time to make a fortune; how can they give themselves over to true love, which a man as water melts sugar? A man must be rich to in it, for love him—for instance, like our Brazilian friend over there. As I said long ago, ‘Extremes defeat—themselves.' A true lover is like an eunuch; have to for him. He is mystical; he is like the true Christian, an of the desert! See our Brazilian."
Every one at table looked at Henri Montes de Montejanos, who was at every on him.
"He has been there for an hour without discovering, any more than an ox at pasture, that he is next to—I will not say, in such company, the loveliest—but the woman in all Paris."
"Everything is fresh here, the fish; it is what the house is famous for," said Carabine.
Baron Montes looked good-naturedly at the painter, and said:
"Very good! I drink to your very good health," and to Leon de Lora, he his of port and it with much dignity.
"Are you then in love?" asked Malaga of her neighbor, thus his toast.
The Brazilian refilled his glass, to Carabine, and again.
"To the lady's health then!" said the courtesan, in such a that Lora, du Tillet, and Bixiou out laughing.
The Brazilian sat like a statue. This Carabine. She perfectly well that Montes was to Madame Marneffe, but she had not this fidelity, this of conviction.
A woman is as often by the of her lover as a man is from the of his mistress. The Baron was proud of his to Valerie, and of hers to him; his had, to these connoisseurs, a touch of irony; he was to look upon; had not him; and his eyes, with their as of gold, the of his soul. Even Carabine said to herself:
"What a woman she must be! How she has sealed up that heart!"
"He is a rock!" said Bixiou in an undertone, that the whole thing was a practical joke, and the to Carabine of this fortress.
While this conversation, so frivolous, was going on at Carabine's right, the of love was on her left the Duc d'Herouville, Lousteau, Josepha, Jenny Cadine, and Massol. They were such were the result of passion, obstinacy, or affection. Josepha, to death by it all, to the subject.
"You are talking of what you know nothing about. Is there a man among you who loved a woman—a woman him—enough to his and his children's, to his and his past, to going to the for the Government, to kill an uncle and a brother, to let his be so that he did not that it was done to his the into which, as a jest, he was being driven? Du Tillet has a cash-box under his left breast; Leon de Lora has his wit; Bixiou would laugh at himself for a if he loved any one but himself; Massol has a minister's portfolio in the place of a heart; Lousteau can have nothing but viscera, since he to be over by Madame de Baudraye; Monsieur le Duc is too rich to prove his love by his ruin; Vauvinet is not in it—I do not a bill-broker as one of the race; and you have loved, I, Jenny Cadine, Malaga. For my part, I but once saw the I have described. It was," and she to Jenny Cadine, "that Baron Hulot, I am going to for like a dog, for I want to him."
"Oh, ho!" said Carabine to herself, and looking at Josepha, "then Madame Nourrisson has two pictures by Raphael, since Josepha is playing my hand!"
"Poor fellow," said Vauvinet, "he was a great man! Magnificent! And what a figure, what a style, the air of Francis I.! What a volcano! and how full of of money! He must be looking for it now, he is, and I make no he it from the of that you may see in the of Paris near the city gates "
"And all that," said Bixiou, "for that little Madame Marneffe! There is a for you!"
"She is just going to my friend Crevel," said du Tillet.
"And she is in love with my friend Steinbock," Leon de Lora put in.
These three phrases were like so many pistol-shots point-blank at Montes. He white, and the was so painful that he rose with difficulty.
"You are a set of blackguards!" he. "You have no right to speak the name of an woman in the same with those creatures—above all, not to make it a mark for your slander!"
He was by and applause. Bixiou, Leon de Lora, Vauvinet, du Tillet, and Massol set the example, and there was a chorus.
"Hurrah for the Emperor!" said Bixiou.
"Crown him! him!" Vauvinet.
"Three for such a good dog! Hurrah for Brazil!" Lousteau.
"So, my copper-colored Baron, it is our Valerie that you love; and you are not disgusted?" said Leon de Lora.
"His is not parliamentary, but it is grand!" Massol.
"But, my most customer," said du Tillet, "you were to me; I am your banker; your on my credit."
"Yes, tell me, you are a " said the Brazilian to the banker.
"Thanks on of the company," said Bixiou with a bow.
"Tell me the facts," Montes on, of Bixiou's interjection.
"Well, then," du Tillet, "I have the to tell you that I am asked to the Crevel wedding."
"Ah, ha! Combabus a for Madame Marneffe!" said Josepha, solemnly.
She to Montes with a look, him on the head, looked at him for a moment with admiration, and sagely.
"Hulot was the of love through fire and water," said she; "this is the second. But it ought not to count, as it comes from the Tropics."
Montes had into his chair again, when Josepha touched his forehead, and looked at du Tillet as he said:
"If I am the of a Paris jest, if you only wanted to at my " and he sent a look the table, all the guests in a that with the sun of Brazil, "I of you as a to tell me so," he on, in a of almost entreaty; "but do not the woman I love."
"Nay, indeed," said Carabine in a low voice; "but if, on the contrary, you are betrayed, cheated, by Valerie, if I should give you the proof in an hour, in my own house, what then?"
"I cannot tell you all these Iagos," said the Brazilian.
Carabine him to say (baboons).
"Well, well, say no more!" she replied, smiling. "Do not make a laughing-stock for all the men in Paris; come to my house, we will talk it over."
Montes was crushed. "Proofs," he stammered, "consider "
"Only too many," Carabine; "and if the you so hard, I for your reason."
"Is this obstinate, I ask you? He is than the late King of Holland! I say, Lousteau, Bixiou, Massol, all the of you, are you not to with Madame Marneffe the day after tomorrow?" said Leon de Lora.
"Ya," said du Tillet; "I have the of assuring you, Baron, that if you had by any of marrying Madame Marneffe, you are out like a bill in Parliament, by a blackball called Crevel. My friend, my old Crevel, has eighty thousand a year; and you, I suppose, did not such a good hand, for if you had, you, I imagine, would have been preferred."
Montes with a half-absent, half-smiling expression, which them all with terror.
At this moment the head-waiter came to to Carabine that a lady, a relation of hers, was in the drawing-room and to speak to her.
Carabine rose and out to Madame Nourrisson, with black lace.
"Well, child, am I to go to your house? Has he taken the hook?"
"Yes, mother; and the pistol is so loaded, that my only is that it will burst," said Carabine.
