THE STRANGER.
The following scene took place on the morrow of the day in which Father d'Aigrigny had been so rudely degraded by Rodin to the subaltern position formerly occupied by the socius.
It is well known that the Rue Clovis is one of the most solitary streets in the Montagne St.Genevieve district.At the epoch of this narrative, the house No.4, in this street, was composed of one principal building, through which ran a dark passage, leading to a little, gloomy court, at the end of which was a second building, in a singularly miserable and dilapidated condition.On the ground-floor, in front of the house, was a half-subterraneous shop, in which was sold charcoal, fagots, vegetables, and milk.Nine o'clock in the morning had just struck.The mistress of the shop, one Mother Arsene, an old woman of a mild, sickly countenance, clad in a brown stuff dress, with a red bandanna round her head, was mounted on the top step of the stairs which led down to her door, and was employed in setting out her goods--that is, on one side of her door she placed a tin milk-can, and on the other some bunches of stale vegetables, flanked with yellowed cabbages.At the bottom of the steps, in the shadowy depths of the cellar, one could see the light of the burning charcoal in a little stove.This shop situated at the side of the passage, served as a porter's lodge, and the old woman acted as portress.
On a sudden, a pretty little creature, coming from the house, entered lightly and merrily the shop.This young girl was Rose-Pompon, the intimate friend of the Bacchanal Queen.--Rose-Pompon, a widow for the moment, whose bacchanalian cicisbeo was Ninny Moulin, the orthodox scapegrace, who, on occasion, after drinking his fill, could transform himself into Jacques Dumoulin, the religious writer, and pass gayly from dishevelled dances to ultramontane polemics, from Storm-blown Tulips to Catholic pamphlets.
Rose-Pompon had just quitted her bed, as appeared by the negligence of her strange morning costume; no doubt, for want of any other head-dress, on her beautiful light hair, smooth and well-combed, was stuck jauntily a foraging-cap, borrowed from her masquerading costume.Nothing could be more sprightly than that face, seventeen years old, rosy, fresh, dimpled, and brilliantly lighted up by a pair of gay, sparkling blue eyes.Rose-
Pompon was so closely enveloped from the neck to the feet in a red and green plaid cloak, rather faded, that one could guess the cause of her modest embarrassment.Her naked feet, so white that one could not tell if she wore stockings or not, were slipped into little morocco shoes, with plated buckles.It was easy to perceive that her cloak concealed some article which she held in her hand.
"Good-day, Rose-Pompon," said Mother Arsene with a kindly air; "you are early this morning.Had you no dance last night?"
"Don't talk of it, Mother Arsene; I had no heart to dance.Poor Cephyse-
-the Bacchanal Queen--has done nothing but cry all night.She cannot console herself, that her lover should be in prison."
"Now, look here, my girl," said the old woman, "I must speak to you about your friend Cephyse.You won't be angry?"
"Am I ever angry?" said Rose-Pompon, shrugging her shoulders.
"Don't you think that M.Philemon will scold me on his return?"
"Scold you! what for?"
"Because of his rooms, that you occupy."
"Why, Mother Arsene, did not Philemon tell you, that, in his absence, I was to be as much mistress of his two rooms as I am of himself?"
"I do not speak of you, but of your friend Cephyse, whom you have also brought to occupy M.Philemon's lodgings."
"And where would she have gone without me, my good Mother Arsene? Since her lover was arrested, she has not dared to return home, because she owes ever so many quarters.Seeing her troubles.I said to her: `Come, lodge at Philemon's.When he returns, we must find another place for you.'"
"Well, little lovey--if you only assure me that M.Philemon will not be angry--"
"Angry! for what? That we spoil his things? A fine set of things he has to spoil! I broke his last cup yesterday--and am forced to fetch the milk in this comic concern."
So saying, laughing with all her might, Rose-Pompon drew her pretty little white arm from under her cloak, and presented to Mother Arsene one of those champagne glasses of colossal capacity, which hold about a bottle.
"Oh, dear!" said the greengrocer in amazement; "it is like a glass trumpet."
"It is Philemon's grand gala-glass, which they gave him when he took his degrees in boating," said Rose-Pompon, gravely.
"And to think you must put your milk in it--I am really ashamed," said Mother Arsene.
"So am I! If I were to meet any one on the stairs, holding this glass in my hand like a Roman candlestick, I should burst out laughing, and break the last remnant of Philemon's bazaar, and he would give me his malediction."
"There is no danger that you will meet any one.The first-floor is gone out, and the second gets up very late."
"Talking of lodgers," said Rose-Pompon, "is there not a room to let on the second-floor in the rear house? It might do for Cephyse, when Philemon comes back."
"Yes, there is a little closet in the roof--just over the two rooms of the mysterious old fellow," said Mother Arsene.
"Oh, yes! Father Charlemagne.Have you found out anything more about him?"
Dear me, no, my girl! only that he came this morning at break of day, and knocked at my shutters.`Have you received a letter for me, my good lady?' said he--for he is always so polite, the dear man!--'No, sir,'
said I.--`Well, then, pray don't disturb yourself, my good lady!' said he; `I will call again.' And so he went away."
"Does he never sleep in the house?"
"Never.No doubt, he lodges somewhere else--but he passes some hours here, once every four or five days."
"And always comes alone?"
"Always."
"Are you quite sure? Does he never manage to slip in some little puss of a woman? Take care, or Philemon will give you notice to quit," said Rose-Pompon, with an air of mock-modesty.
