An Old Maid | Page 9

Farnese Hercules, and not the slender
articulations of the Venus de' Medici, Apollo's graceful consort.
"Well, my child, tell me your great or your little adventure, whatever it
is."
The particular point about the chevalier which would have made him
noticeable from Paris to Pekin, was the gentle paternity of his manner
to grisettes. They reminded him of the illustrious operatic queens of his
early days, whose celebrity was European during a good third of the
eighteenth century. It is certain that the old gentleman, who had lived in
days gone by with that feminine nation now as much forgotten as many
other great things,--like the Jesuits, the Buccaneers, the Abbes, and the
Farmers-General,--had acquired an irresistible good- humor, a kindly
ease, a laisser-aller devoid of egotism, the self- effacement of Jupiter
with Alcmene, of the king intending to be duped, who casts his
thunderbolts to the devil, wants his Olympus full of follies, little
suppers, feminine profusions--but with Juno out of the way, be it
understood.
In spite of his old green damask dressing-gown and the bareness of the
room in which he sat, where the floor was covered with a shabby
tapestry in place of carpet, and the walls were hung with tavern-paper
presenting the profiles of Louis XVI. and members of his family, traced
among the branches of a weeping willow with other sentimentalities
invented by royalism during the Terror,--in spite of his ruins, the
chevalier, trimming his beard before a shabby old toilet-table, draped
with trumpery lace, exhaled an essence of the eighteenth century. All
the libertine graces of his youth reappeared; he seemed to have the
wealth of three hundred thousand francs of debt, while his vis-a-vis
waited before the door. He was grand,--like Berthier on the retreat from
Moscow, issuing orders to an army that existed no longer.
"Monsieur le chevalier," replied Suzanne, drolly, "seems to me I

needn't tell you anything; you've only to look."
And Suzanne presented a side view of herself which gave a sort of
lawyer's comment to her words. The chevalier, who, you must know,
was a sly old bird, lowered his right eye on the grisette, still holding the
razor at his throat, and pretended to understand.
"Well, well, my little duck, we'll talk about that presently. But you are
rather previous, it seems to me."
"Why, Monsieur le chevalier, ought I to wait until my mother beats me
and Madame Lardot turns me off? If I don't get away soon to Paris, I
shall never be able to marry here, where men are so ridiculous."
"It can't be helped, my dear; society is changing; women are just as
much victims to the present state of things as the nobility themselves.
After political overturn comes the overturn of morals. Alas! before long
woman won't exist" (he took out the cotton-wool to arrange his ears):
"she'll lose everything by rushing into sentiment; she'll wring her
nerves; good-bye to all the good little pleasures of our time, desired
without shame, accepted without nonsense." (He polished up the little
negroes' heads.) "Women had hysterics in those days to get their ends,
but now" (he began to laugh) "their vapors end in charcoal. In short,
marriage" (here he picked up his pincers to remove a hair) "will
become a thing intolerable; whereas it used to be so gay in my day! The
reigns of Louis XIV. and Louis XV.--remember this, my child--said
farewell to the finest manners and morals ever known to the world."
"But, Monsieur le chevalier," said the grisette, "the matter now
concerns the morals and honor of your poor little Suzanne, and I hope
you won't abandon her."
"Abandon her!" cried the chevalier, finishing his hair; "I'd sooner
abandon my own name."
"Ah!" exclaimed Suzanne.
"Now, listen to me, you little mischief," said the chevalier, sitting down

on a huge sofa, formerly called a duchesse, which Madame Lardot had
been at some pains to find for him.
He drew the magnificent Suzanne before him, holding her legs between
his knees. She let him do as he liked, although in the street she was
offish enough to other men, refusing their familiarities partly from
decorum and partly for contempt for their commonness. She now stood
audaciously in front of the chevalier, who, having fathomed in his day
many other mysteries in minds that were far more wily, took in the
situation at a single glance. He knew very well that no young girl
would joke about a real dishonor; but he took good care not to knock
over the pretty scaffolding of her lie as he touched it.
"We slander ourselves," he said with inimitable craft; "we are as
virtuous as that beautiful biblical girl whose name we bear; we can
always marry as we please, but we are thirsty for Paris,