San-Cravate; or, The Messengers; Little Streams Part 117

"With how many packs?"

"I don't know."

"How much shall we play for?"

"Whatever you choose."

"Come, come, my dear love, don't be such a fool! Sapristi! you play with four packs, ten sous the game of two thousand; we make the five hundred and the fifteen hundred with treble bezique--that's how we always play.--Is that satisfactory to you, Calle?"

"Oh! anything suits me, monsieur."

The game began. Dubotte stood by the table at first, watching the game, and exclaiming from time to time:

"Bravo, Nonore, bravo! you play superbly; you will certainly win.--I think my wife will beat you, Calle!"

"I trust so, monsieur."

When the game was well under way, Dubotte made a sign to Bruneau, who said:

"I promised Durand to meet him at the cafe this evening; I must go."

"Ah! will Durand be at the cafe? I have a matter of business to talk over with him."

"Very well; come down there for a moment with me."

"I think I will, as it's only a step. I'll just go and say two words to him."

Seeing Dubotte take his hat, his wife cried:

"What, Philemon! are you going out?"

"For ten minutes only; I will come right back."

"And monsieur here?"

"Pardieu! I don't stand on ceremony with Monsieur Calle. He will certainly excuse me if I go out for a moment."

"Oh! as long as you choose, monsieur; don't mind me."

"Besides, you're playing cards with him. Play on! play on! make double bezique! I am coming right back."

"But, Philemon----"

"I shall be here in ten minutes."

And the fair-haired beau vanished with his confederate, Bruneau. Nonore sighed, but continued to play. She vanquished her opponent, who lost every game. Did he do it as a matter of courtesy, or was luck constantly on the young woman's side? She kept saying to him:

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, it must vex you to lose all the time!"

"No, madame; far from it."

"When you have had enough, we will stop."

"Oh! I never have enough, when I have the pleasure--when I am playing with--a person----Four aces, madame."

"Mark them, monsieur."

Midnight found Calle still at bezique with Madame Dubotte, who had won four francs, but was beginning to yawn. When the clock struck twelve, she said:

"You see, monsieur; this is what my husband means by ten minutes!"

"He must have been detained, madame, or his watch has stopped."

"No, monsieur; but it's always this way when he goes out alone, and it makes me very unhappy! It is midnight, monsieur, and I must not impose upon your good nature any longer. We have played enough. My husband is far from polite, I must say! He asks you to dinner, and then goes out----"

"Oh! madame--I a.s.sure you that--I much prefer--I did not care--especially as----"

"Good-night, Monsieur Calle!"

"Madame, I have the honor to salute you!"

And the young man took his leave without finis.h.i.+ng his compliment.

XII

EXPEL THE NATURAL INSTINCTS, AND THEY RETURN AT THE GALLOP

A month had pa.s.sed since Adhemar paid his first visit to Madame Dermont.

In the week following their conversation, he had called every other day, and since then had not let a single day pa.s.s without seeing her. What had happened between them that their intimacy had become so close? It seems to me that you should be able to guess.

Nathalie had made an instant conquest of Adhemar's heart; she was the woman whom he was seeking, whom he desired to meet, whom he ardently longed to have for his mistress, and, above all, by whom he aspired to be loved; she possessed all that he wished to find in a sweetheart; and still he had tried for some time--not for long--to struggle against the inclination of his heart; for the more strongly he felt that he really loved Nathalie, the stronger was his foreboding that he should be unhappy if he could not succeed in inspiring something more than a mere pa.s.sing sentiment in return for a sincere pa.s.sion.

Nathalie, on the other hand, had not tried to combat the sentiments which Adhemar aroused in her heart. Being a widow, and absolute mistress of her acts, why should she have spurned the love which she read in his eyes, and which he expressed so well? A coquettish woman would, perhaps, have postponed the moment of surrender; a woman who is really in love offers only a weak resistance, for she shares the happiness she gives.

Adhemar often asked Nathalie now:

"Is it really true that you love me?"

"Ah! my dear, how can you ask me that? What fresh proof do you want me to give you of my love?"

"Forgive me! that isn't what I meant. I only feared--for I am not agreeable every day--I dreaded that--that you might cease to love me."

"How ill you judge me! Do you take me for one of those women to whom love is a mere whim and never a real sentiment?"

"No, no, I don't think so; I was wrong; I am often unjust."