Fromont and Risler, vol 2 | Page 6

daily walk. It is such a
pretty sight, the little bundle of finery, with floating ribbons and long
feathers, that follows young mothers through the crowded streets.
When she wanted company she had only her parents or her husband.
She preferred to go out alone. The excellent Risler had such an absurd
way of showing his love for her, playing with her as if she were a doll,
pinching her chin and her cheek, capering about her, crying, "Hou!
hou!" or staring at her with his great, soft eyes like an affectionate and
grateful dog. That senseless love, which made of her a toy, a mantel
ornament, made her ashamed. As for her parents, they were an
embarrassment to her in presence of the people she wished to know,
and immediately after her marriage she almost got rid of them by hiring
a little house for them at Montrouge. That step had cut short the
frequent invasions of Monsieur Chebe and his long frock-coat, and the
endless visits of good Madame Chebe, in whom the return of
comfortable circumstances had revived former habits of gossip and of
indolence.
Sidonie would have been very glad to rid herself of the Delobelles in
the same way, for their proximity annoyed her. But the Marais was a

central location for the old actor, because the boulevard theatres were
so near; then, too, Desiree, like all sedentary persons, clung to the
familiar outlook, and her gloomy courtyard, dark at four o'clock in
winter, seemed to her like a friend, like a familiar face which the sun
lighted up at times as if it were smiling at her. As she was unable to get
rid of them, Sidonie had adopted the course of ceasing to visit them.
In truth, her life would have been lonely and depressing enough, had it
not been for the distractions which Claire Fromont procured for her.
Each time added fuel to her wrath. She would say to herself:
"Must everything come to me through her?"
And when, just at dinner-time, a box at the theatre or an invitation for
the evening was sent to her from the floor below, while she was
dressing, overjoyed at the opportunity to exhibit herself, she thought of
nothing but crushing her rival. But such opportunities became more
rare as Claire's time was more and more engrossed by her child. When
Grandfather Gardinois came to Paris, however, he never failed to bring
the two families together. The old peasant's gayety, for its freer
expansion, needed little Sidonie, who did not take alarm at his jests. He
would take them all four to dine at Philippe's, his favorite restaurant,
where he knew all the patrons, the waiters and the steward, would
spend a lot of money, and then take them to a reserved box at the
Opera-Comique or the Palais-Royal.
At the theatre he laughed uproariously, talked familiarly with the box-
openers, as he did with the waiters at Philippe's, loudly demanded
footstools for the ladies, and when the performance was over insisted
on having the topcoats and fur wraps of his party first of all, as if he
were the only three-million parvenu in the audience.
For these somewhat vulgar entertainments, from which her husband
usually excused himself, Claire, with her usual tact, dressed very
plainly and attracted no attention. Sidonie, on the contrary, in all her
finery, in full view of the boxes, laughed with all her heart at the
grandfather's anecdotes, happy to have descended from the second or
third gallery, her usual place in the old days, to that lovely proscenium

box, adorned with mirrors, with a velvet rail that seemed made
expressly for her light gloves, her ivory opera-glass, and her spangled
fan. The tawdry glitter of the theatre, the red and gold of the hangings,
were genuine splendor to her. She bloomed among them like a pretty
paper flower in a filigree jardiniere.
One evening, at the performance of a successful play at the
Palais-Royal, among all the noted women who were present, painted
celebrities wearing microscopic hats and armed with huge fans, their
rouge-besmeared faces standing out from the shadow of the boxes in
the gaudy setting of their gowns, Sidonie's behavior, her toilette, the
peculiarities of her laugh and her expression attracted much attention.
All the opera-glasses in the hall, guided by the magnetic current that is
so powerful under the great chandeliers, were turned one by one upon
the box in which she sat. Claire soon became embarrassed, and
modestly insisted upon changing places with her husband, who,
unluckily, had accompanied them that evening.
Georges, youthful and elegant, sitting beside Sidonie, seemed her
natural companion, while Risler Allle, always so placid and
self-effacing, seemed in his proper place beside Claire Fromont, who in
her dark clothes suggested the respectable