Balcony Stories | Page 8

of a mouth,--whenever she closed it,--a
perfect kiss.
"But you know, Louise," she said, beginning quite seriously at the
beginning, "papa would never have consented, never, never--poor papa!
Indeed, I should never have asked him; it would only have been one
humiliation more for him, poor papa! So it was well he was dead, if it
was God's will for it to be. Of course I had my dreams, like everybody.
I was so blond, so blond, and so small; it seemed like a law I should
marry a brun, a tall, handsome brun, with a mustache and a fine
barytone voice. That was how I always arranged it, and--you will
laugh--but a large, large house, and numbers of servants, and a good
cook, but a superlatively good cuisine, and wine and all that, and long,
trailing silk dresses, and theater every night, and voyages to Europe,
and--well, everything God had to give, in fact. You know, I get that
from papa, wanting everything God has to give! Poor papa! It seemed
to me I was to meet him at any time, my handsome brun. I used to look
for him positively on my way to school, and back home again, and
whenever I would think of him I would try and walk so prettily, and
look so pretty! _Mon Dieu!_ I was not ten years old yet! And afterward
it was only for that that I went into society. What should girls go into
society for otherwise but to meet their brun or their blond? Do you
think it is amusing, to economize and economize, and sew and sew, just
to go to a party to dance? No! I assure you, I went into society only for
that; and I do not believe what girls say--they go into society only for
that too.
"You know at school how we used to _tirer la bonne aventure._[1]
Well, every time he was not _brun, riche, avenant_, Jules, or Raoul, or
Guy, I simply would not accept it, but would go on drawing until I
obtained what I wanted. As I tell you, I thought it was my destiny. And
when I would try with a flower to see if he loved me,--_Il m'aime, un
peu, beaucoup, passionément, pas du tout_,--if it were pas du tout, I

would always throw the flower away, and begin tearing off the leaves
from another one immediately. _Passionément_ was what I wanted,
and I always got it in the end.
[Footnote 1: La bonne aventure is or was generally a very much
battered foolscap copy-book, which contained a list of all possible
elements of future (school-girl) happiness. Each item answered a
question, and had a number affixed to it. To draw one's fortune
consisted in asking question after question, and guessing a number, a
companion volunteering to read the answers. To avoid cheating, the
books were revised from time to time, and the numbers changed.]
"But papa, poor papa, he never knew anything of that, of course. He
would get furious when any one would come to see me, and sometimes,
when he would take me in society, if I danced with a 'nobody,'--as he
called no matter whom I danced with,--he would come up and take me
away with such an air--such an air! It would seem that papa thought
himself better than everybody in the world. But it went worse and
worse with papa, not only in the affairs of the world, but in health.
Always thinner and thinner, always a cough; in fact, you know, I am a
little feeble-chested myself, from papa. And Clementine! Clementine
with her children--just think, Louise, eight! I thank God my mama had
only me, if papa's second wife had to have so many. And so naughty! I
assure you, they were all devils; and no correction, no punishment, no
education--but you know Clementine! I tell you, sometimes on account
of those children I used to think myself in 'ell [making the Creole's
attempt and failure to pronounce the h], and Clementine had no pride
about them. If they had shoes, well; if they had not shoes, well also.
[Illustration]
"'But Clementine!' I would expostulate, I would pray--
"'But do not be a fool, Mimi,' she would say. 'Am I God? Can I do
miracles? Or must I humiliate your papa?'
"That was true. Poor papa! It would have humiliated papa. When he
had money he gave; only it was a pity he had no money. As for what he

observed, he thought it was Clementine's negligence. For, it is true,
Clementine had no order, no industry, in the best of fortune as in the
worst. But to do her justice, it was not her fault this time, only she let
him believe it, to save his pride; and Clementine,