Parisian Points of View Part 18

How right they were to give themselves up thus, without a struggle, without resistance, to the inclination which carried them, quite naturally, towards each other. There had been between them, from the first word, so perfect, so complete a community of tastes, ideas, and sentiments. They were so well made, this little puppet and this little doll, to roll off, both together, gloriously in the "Chamblard coupe,"

so well matched to walk in the world, accomplis.h.i.+ng mechanically, automatically, at the right hour, in the prescribed costume, everywhere where it was correct to take pleasure, all the functions of fas.h.i.+onable life, and all the rituals of worldly wors.h.i.+p.

They arrive in the parlor-car. The shades are drawn over the lamps; travellers are stiff, drowsy, and asleep in the big red arm-chairs.

"Change places," Raoul whispers to Maurice; "sit beside her. I am going to sit by the mother; I must speak to her."

Maurice lent himself to this manoeuvre with perfect docility, Martha did not understand it. Why did he abandon her? Why was he talking to her mother, and so low, so low that she couldn't hear? What was he saying?

What was he saying?

This is what he said between Montelimar, 8.35, and Pierrelatte, 8.55:

"Listen to me, madam, listen to me. I am an honest man; I wish, I ought, to let you know the situation, the entire situation. Let us first settle an important point. My father knows M. Derame."

"Yes, yes, I know."

"Another more important point. Let us mention the essential things first. My father is very rich."

"I know, I know that too."

"Good, then, very good. I continue. I left Paris this morning, and I have here in my pocket a ticket for cabin No. 27 on the _Traonaddy_, which leaves to-morrow at four o'clock from the Bay of Joliette for Suez, Aden, Colombo, and Singapore, and I shall go on board to-morrow at four o'clock if you don't let me hope to become your son-in-law."

"Sir!"

"Don't move, madam, don't move. Mlle. Martha is pretending to sleep, but she isn't sleeping; she is watching us, and I haven't said all yet. I am but just beginning. You are going to answer me--oh, I know it--that you don't know me, that Mlle. Martha doesn't know me. Allow me to tell you that Mlle. Martha and myself know each other better than three-fourths of engaged couples on the day of their marriage. You know how it is usually done. A rapid glance from afar in a theatre--one brings good lorgnettes, one examines. 'How do you like him?' 'Fairly, fairly.'

Then, several days later, at a ball, in the midst of the figures of the quadrille, several gasping, breathless phrases are exchanged. Then a meeting in a picture-gallery. There, there is more intimacy, because it takes place in a small room. It happened to me with a young provincial.

I had pegged away that morning at the Joanne guide, so as to be able to find something to say about the Raphaels and the Murillos. And at the end of several interviews of that sort it is over, one has made acquaintance, one suits the other, and the marriage is decided. Mlle.

Martha and I are already old comrades. In the first place, to begin with, this morning at half-past eleven she fell into my arms."

"My daughter in your arms!"

"Don't jump, madam; Mlle. Martha will see you jump."

Martha had, in fact, closely followed the scene with half-shut eyes, and said to herself, "Good gracious! what is he telling mamma? She is obliged to hold on to the arms of her seat to keep herself from jumping up."

"Yes, madam, in my arms; by the greatest, by the most fortunate of accidents, we stumbled over each other on one of the platforms of the train. And since I have seen her, not in the false light of a theatre or a gallery, but in the full glare of sunlight. I have seen her at lunch, munching nuts with the prettiest teeth there are in the world; I have seen her, just now, in the moonlight; and I know that she skates, and I know that she swims, and I know she would like to have a pearl-gray coupe, and she ought to have it. And now I admire her in the semi-obscurity. Ravis.h.i.+ng! isn't she ravis.h.i.+ng?"

"Sir, never has a mother found herself--"

"In such a situation? I acknowledge it, madam, and for that very reason you must get out of the situation quickly; it's evident that it can't be prolonged."

"That's true--"

"Here is what I propose to you. You go to the Hotel de Noailles; I, too, naturally. You have all the morning to-morrow to talk to Mlle. Martha, and the telephone to talk through to M. Derame. You know who I am. You have seen me, too, in the daylight. I have talked--talked a great deal.

You could, you and Mlle. Martha, find out what I am, what I think. Well, to-morrow--what time do you expect to breakfast to-morrow?"

"But I don't know. I a.s.sure you that I am choking, upset, overcome."

"Let us settle on an hour all the same; eleven o'clock--will you, at eleven?"

"If you wish."

"Well, to-morrow at eleven o'clock I shall be in the dining-room of the hotel. If you say 'Go' I shall go; if you say 'Stay' I shall stay. Don't answer me; take time to reflect; it's worth while. Till to-morrow, madam, till to-morrow at eleven."

In the morning very interesting communications pa.s.sed between Paris and Ma.r.s.eilles.

When Mme. Derame entered the dining-room of the hotel at eleven o'clock, Raoul went straight to her, and the cavalryman, always adroit in his manoeuvres, had taken possession of Mlle. Martha. A short dialogue ensued between Raoul and Mme. Derame, who was much agitated.

"They tell me there are boats every fortnight between Indo-China and Ma.r.s.eilles--you could put off your departure--merely taking another boat--"

"Ah, thanks, madam, thanks!"

At two o'clock the Derames and young Chamblard accompanied Maurice to the boat for Africa. On the deck of the steamer Raoul said to his friend:

"It's understood that you are to be best man. On arriving, ask your colonel for leave at once. It will take place, I think, in six weeks."

Raoul was mistaken. It was decidedly an express marriage; five weeks were sufficient.

When they were mounting the steps of the Madeleine, Raoul said to Martha:

"Twelve o'clock."

"What are you thinking of?"

"Ah, you too."

"Twelve, the hour of the platform, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's it."

They began to laugh, but quickly became serious, and made an irreproachable entry into church.

They were looked at eagerly, and on all sides the following remarks were exchanged:

"You know it's a love-match." "Yes, it appears it was a meeting on the train." "A lightning-stroke!" "What a charming affair!" "And so rare!"

"Oh yes, so rare! A love-match! A true love-match!"

THE END