late as possible in the evening. But scarcely had he stepped out of his
carriage when the porter met him with a parcel in his hand. "Sir," said
he, "that man has been here."
"What man?" said Andrea carelessly, apparently forgetting him whom he
but too well recollected.
"Him to whom your excellency pays that little annuity."
"Oh," said Andrea, "my father's old servant. Well, you gave him the two
hundred francs I had left for him?"
"Yes, your excellency." Andrea had expressed a wish to be thus
addressed. "But," continued the porter, "he would not take them." Andrea
turned pale, but as it was dark his pallor was not perceptible. "What?
he would not take them?" said he with slight emotion.
"No, he wished to speak to your excellency; I told him you were gone
out, and after some dispute he believed me and gave me this letter,
which he had brought with him already sealed."
"Give it me," said Andrea, and he read by the light of his
carriage-lamp,--"You know where I live; I expect you tomorrow morning at
nine o'clock."
Andrea examined it carefully, to ascertain if the letter had been
opened, or if any indiscreet eyes had seen its contents; but it was
so carefully folded, that no one could have read it, and the seal was
perfect. "Very well," said he. "Poor man, he is a worthy creature."
He left the porter to ponder on these words, not knowing which most to
admire, the master or the servant. "Take out the horses quickly, and
come up to me," said Andrea to his groom. In two seconds the young man
had reached his room and burnt Caderousse's letter. The servant entered
just as he had finished. "You are about my height, Pierre," said he.
"I have that honor, your excellency."
"You had a new livery yesterday?"
"Yes, sir."
"I have an engagement with a pretty little girl for this evening, and do
not wish to be known; lend me your livery till to-morrow. I may sleep,
perhaps, at an inn." Pierre obeyed. Five minutes after, Andrea left the
hotel, completely disguised, took a cabriolet, and ordered the driver to
take him to the Cheval Rouge, at Picpus. The next morning he left that
inn as he had left the Hotel des Princes, without being noticed, walked
down the Faubourg St. Antoine, along the boulevard to Rue Menilmontant,
and stopping at the door of the third house on the left looked for some
one of whom to make inquiry in the porter's absence. "For whom are you
looking, my fine fellow?" asked the fruiteress on the opposite side.
"Monsieur Pailletin, if you please, my good woman," replied Andrea.
"A retired baker?" asked the fruiteress.
"Exactly."
"He lives at the end of the yard, on the left, on the third story."
Andrea went as she directed him, and on the third floor he found a
hare's paw, which, by the hasty ringing of the bell, it was evident he
pulled with considerable ill-temper. A moment after Caderousse's face
appeared at the grating in the door. "Ah, you are punctual," said he, as
he drew back the door.
"Confound you and your punctuality!" said Andrea, throwing himself into
a chair in a manner which implied that he would rather have flung it at
the head of his host.
"Come, come, my little fellow, don't be angry. See, I have thought about
you--look at the good breakfast we are going to have; nothing but what
you are fond of." Andrea, indeed, inhaled the scent of something cooking
which was not unwelcome to him, hungry as he was; it was that mixture
of fat and garlic peculiar to provincial kitchens of an inferior order,
added to that of dried fish, and above all, the pungent smell of musk
and cloves. These odors escaped from two deep dishes which were covered
and placed on a stove, and from a copper pan placed in an old iron pot.
In an adjoining room Andrea saw also a tolerably clean table prepared
for two, two bottles of wine sealed, the one with green, the other with
yellow, a supply of brandy in a decanter, and a measure of fruit in a
cabbage-leaf, cleverly arranged on an earthenware plate.
"What do you think of it, my little fellow?" said Caderousse. "Ay, that
smells good! You know I used to be a famous cook; do you recollect how
you used to lick your fingers? You were among the first who tasted any
of my dishes, and I think you relished them tolerably." While speaking,
Caderousse went on peeling a fresh supply of onions.
"But," said Andrea, ill-temperedly, "by my faith, if it was only to
breakfast with you, that you disturbed me, I wish the devil had taken
you!"
"My boy," said Caderousse sententiously, "one can talk while eating. And
then, you ungrateful being, you are not pleased to see an old friend?
I am weeping with joy." He was truly crying, but it would have been
difficult to say whether joy or the onions produced the greatest effect
on the lachrymal glands of the old inn-keeper of the Pont-du-Gard. "Hold
your tongue, hypocrite," said Andrea; "you love me!"
"Yes, I do, or may the devil take me. I know it is a weakness," said
Caderousse, "but it overpowers me."
"And yet it has not prevented your sending for me to play me some
trick."
"Come," said Caderousse, wiping his large knife on his apron, "if I did
not like you, do you think I should endure the wretched life you
lead me? Think for a moment. You have your servant's clothes on--you
therefore keep a servant; I have none, and am obliged to prepare my own
meals. You abuse my cookery because you dine at the table d'hote of
the Hotel des Princes, or the Cafe de Paris. Well, I too could keep a
servant; I too could have a tilbury; I too could dine where I like; but
why do I not? Because I would not annoy my little Benedetto. Come, just
acknowledge that I could, eh?" This address was accompanied by a look
which was by no means difficult to understand. "Well," said Andrea,
"admitting your love, why do you want me to breakfast with you?"
"That I may have the pleasure of seeing you, my little fellow."
"What is the use of seeing me after we have made all our arrangements?"
"Eh, dear friend," said Caderousse, "are wills ever made without
codicils? But you first came to breakfast, did you not? Well, sit down,
and let us begin with these pilchards, and this fresh butter; which I
have put on some vine-leaves to please you, wicked one. Ah, yes; you
look at my room, my four straw chairs, my images, three francs each. But
what do you expect? This is not the Hotel des Princes."
"Come, you are growing discontented, you are no longer happy; you, who
only wish to live like a retired baker." Caderousse sighed. "Well, what
have you to say? you have seen your dream realized."
"I can still say it is a dream; a retired baker, my poor Benedetto, is
rich--he has an annuity."
"Well, you have an annuity."
"I have?"
"Yes, since I bring you your two hundred francs." Caderousse shrugged
his shoulders. "It is humiliating," said he, "thus to receive money
given grudgingly,--an uncertain supply which may soon fail. You see I
am obliged to economize, in case your prosperity should cease. Well, my
friend, fortune is inconstant, as the chaplain of the regiment said. I
know your prosperity is great, you rascal; you are to marry the daughter
of Danglars."
"What? of Danglars?"
"Yes, to be sure; must I say Baron Danglars? I might as well say Count
Benedetto. He was an old friend of mine and if he had not so bad a
memory he ought to invite me to your wedding, seeing he came to mine.
Yes, yes, to mine; gad, he was not so proud then,--he was an under-clerk
to the good M. Morrel. I have dined many times with him and the Count of
Morcerf, so you see I have some high connections and were I to cultivate
them a little, we might meet in the same drawing-rooms."
"Come, your jealousy represents everything to you in the wrong light."
"That is all very fine, Benedetto mio, but I know what I am saying.
Perhaps I may one day put on my best coat, and presenting myself at
the great gate, introduce myself. Meanwhile let us sit down and
eat." Caderousse set the example and attacked the breakfast with good
appetite, praising each dish he set before his visitor. The latter
seemed to have resigned himself; he drew the corks, and partook largely
of the fish with the garlic and fat. "Ah, mate," said Caderousse, "you
are getting on better terms with your old landlord!"
"Faith, yes," replied Andrea, whose hunger prevailed over every other
feeling.
"So you like it, you rogue?"
"So much that I wonder how a man who can cook thus can complain of hard
living."
"Do you see," said Caderousse, "all my happiness is marred by one
thought?"
"What is that?"
"That I am dependent on another, I who have always gained my own
livelihood honestly."
"Do not let that disturb you, I have enough for two."
"No, truly; you may believe me if you will; at the end of every month I
am tormented by remorse."
"Good Caderousse!"
"So much so, that yesterday I would not take the two hundred francs."
"Yes, you wished to speak to me; but was it indeed remorse, tell me?"
"True remorse; and, besides, an idea had struck me." Andrea shuddered;
he always did so at Caderousse's ideas. "It is miserable--do you
see?--always to wait till the end of the month."--"Oh," said Andrea
philosophically, determined to watch his companion narrowly, "does not
life pass in waiting? Do I, for instance, fare better? Well, I wait
patiently, do I not?"
"Yes; because instead of expecting two hundred wretched francs, you
expect five or six thousand, perhaps ten, perhaps even twelve, for you
take care not to let any one know the utmost. Down there, you always had
little presents and Christmas-boxes which you tried to hide from your
poor friend Caderousse. Fortunately he is a cunning fellow, that friend
Caderousse."
"There you are beginning again to ramble, to talk again and again of the
past! But what is the use of teasing me with going all over that again?"
"Ah, you are only one and twenty, and can forget the past; I am fifty,
and am obliged to recollect it. But let us return to business."
"Yes."
"I was going to say, if I were in your place"--
"Well."
"I would realize"--
"How would you realize?"
"I would ask for six months' in advance, under pretence of being able to
purchase a farm, then with my six months I would decamp."
"Well, well," said Andrea, "that isn't a bad idea."
"My dear friend," said Caderousse, "eat of my bread, and take my advice;
you will be none the worse off, physically or morally."
"But," said Andrea, "why do you not act on the advice you gave me? Why
do you not realize a six months', a year's advance even, and retire
to Brussels? Instead of living the retired baker, you might live as a
bankrupt, using his privileges; that would be very good."
"But how the devil would you have me retire on twelve hundred francs?"
"Ah, Caderousse," said Andrea, "how covetous you are! Two months ago you
were dying with hunger."
"The appetite grows by what it feeds on," said Caderousse, grinning and
showing his teeth, like a monkey laughing or a tiger growling. "And,"
added he, biting off with his large white teeth an enormous mouthful of
bread, "I have formed a plan." Caderousse's plans alarmed Andrea still
more than his ideas; ideas were but the germ, the plan was reality. "Let
me see your plan; I dare say it is a pretty one."
"Why not? Who formed the plan by which we left the establishment of
M----! eh? was it not I? and it was no bad one I believe, since here we
are!"
"I do not say," replied Andrea, "that you never make a good one; but let
us see your plan."
"Well," pursued Caderousse, "can you without expending one sou, put me
in the way of getting fifteen thousand francs? No, fifteen thousand are
not enough,--I cannot again become an honest man with less than thirty
thousand francs."
"No," replied Andrea, dryly, "no, I cannot."
"I do not think you understand me," replied Caderousse, calmly; "I said
without your laying out a sou."
"Do you want me to commit a robbery, to spoil all my good fortune--and
yours with mine--and both of us to be dragged down there again?"
"It would make very little difference to me," said Caderousse, "if I
were retaken, I am a poor creature to live alone, and sometimes pine
for my old comrades; not like you, heartless creature, who would be glad
never to see them again." Andrea did more than tremble this time, he
turned pale.
"Come, Caderousse, no nonsense!" said he.
"Don't alarm yourself, my little Benedetto, but just point out to
me some means of gaining those thirty thousand francs without your
assistance, and I will contrive it."
"Well, I'll see--I'll try to contrive some way," said Andrea.
"Meanwhile you will raise my monthly allowance to five hundred francs,
my little fellow? I have a fancy, and mean to get a housekeeper."
"Well, you shall have your five hundred francs," said Andrea; "but it is
very hard for me, my poor Caderousse--you take advantage"--
"Bah," said Caderousse, "when you have access to countless stores." One
