it took fifi a whole month to recover from the shock of delight which she had experienced on the night she had acted before the emperor. meanwhile, her little head became slightly turned, and she gave herself airs of great haughtiness to julie campionet, and moret, the leading man, and even to duvernet, the manager. duvernet was one of those unfortunates who are the victims of their own charms. he was reckoned a handsome man, as beauty goes on the left bank of the seine, and was almost invincible with young ladies of the ballet, milliners’ girls and the like. when convinced that a deserving young woman had fallen in love with him, duvernet felt sorry for her, and honestly tried, by reciprocating her passion, to keep her from throwing herself in the river.
by virtue of this amiable weakness, he had married in turn, as cartouche had said, three of his leading ladies, and was only safe from julie campionet[pg 32] as long as cartouche kept watch, like a wolf, over the lady. separations always followed fast on duvernet’s marriages, and his three wives were in such various stages of divorce, that, as cartouche said, duvernet himself did not know exactly where he stood matrimonially. of one thing only was he sure: that fifi did not harbor designs upon him. and for this, and on account of her cleverness with her needle, which enabled her to convert her white cotton petticoat into a toga for the manager, in an emergency, duvernet put up with her airs and graces.
fifi tried a few of these same airs and graces on cartouche, but cartouche had the habit of command with her, and fifi had the habit of obedience with him; so these little experimental haughtinesses on fifi’s part soon collapsed. every night, when the performance was over, cartouche would bring fifi home, and after seeing that she was in her own little garret, retired to his, which was at the head of the stairs, and was the meanest and poorest of all the mean and poor rooms in the mean and poor lodging-house. but it was respectable; and to cartouche, who had charged himself with the care of such a pair of sparkling dark eyes as fifi’s, [pg 33]and such a musical voice, and such a neat foot and ankle as hers, this respectability was much.
if he had had his way fifi would have been locked up in a convent and only let out to be married to a person of the highest respectability. but fifi, in her own gay little obstinate head, by no means relished schemes of this sort, and was fully determined on having both flirtations and a husband, malgré all cartouche could say.
the curious part of it was she could not construct any plan of life leaving out cartouche. she had known him so long; he had carried her many weary miles, in spite of his bad leg, in that journey so long ago, when fifi was but a mite of a child; he had often brought her a dinner when she suspected he had none for himself; he had taught her all she knew, and was always teaching her.
the men in the company often spoke roughly to the women in it, and oftener still, were unduly familiar, but none of them ever spoke so to her, chiefly because there was nothing the matter with cartouche’s brawny arms, as he had told the emperor. and if the man fifi married did not treat her right, cartouche, she knew, would beat him all to rags; and how could she, husband or no husband, [pg 34]settle anything in the world, from a new part in a play, to the way to make onion soup, without consulting cartouche? so the question of a husband was full of complications for fifi. at last, however, a brilliant solution burst upon her mind: she would have a great many flirtations—and then she would marry cartouche!
fifi was charmed with her own cleverness in devising this plan. it occurred to her at the very moment that she was putting on her hat with the black feathers to go out and buy herself a warm cloak. it was christmas eve, late in the wintry afternoon, and she had time, before she was due at the theater, to run around the corner to a shop where she had seen a beautiful cloak for thirty francs. she had saved up exactly thirty francs in the month since that stupendous evening when she had seen both the pope and the emperor.
the bargain for the cloak was quite completed; both she and cartouche had examined it critically, had made the shopman take off a franc for a solitary button which was not quite right, and nothing remained but to pay over the thirty francs. it was a beautiful cloak, of a rich, dark red, lined with flannel—there was one like it, lined with cotton-backed[pg 35] satin, which fifi longed for—but when she mentioned the flannel lining of the first one to cartouche, he had promptly vetoed the cotton-backed satin.
fifi set forth gaily, feeling warm in spite of her thin black silk mantle.
it was near dusk and a great silver moon was smiling down at fifi from the dark blue heavens. the streets were crowded and there was as much gaiety in them as in the finer faubourgs across the river. the chestnut venders were out in force, and on nearly every corner one of them had set up his temporary kitchen, whose ruddy glow lighted up the clear-obscure of the evening.
around these centers of light and warmth people were gathered, sniffing the pungent odor of the roasting chestnuts, and spending five-centime pieces with a splendid generosity. the street hawkers did a rushing business; one could buy broken furniture, cheeses, toy balloons, cheap bonbons and cakes tied with gay ribbons, within twenty feet of anywhere. three organ-grinders were going at the same time in front of the brightly lighted shop where fifi’s cloak was—for she already reckoned it hers. but alas for fifi! directly[pg 36] in front of the shop a crowd had collected around an italian, who was exhibiting the most entirely fascinating little black dog that fifi had ever seen. he was about as big as a good-sized rabbit, and was trimmed like a lion. around his neck was tied a card on which was written:
toto is my name, and i am a dog of the most aristocratic lineage in france, and i can be bought for twenty francs. see me dance and you will believe that i would be cheap at a hundred francs.
fifi edged her way to where this angel of a dog was being shown by his owner, the italian, and opening her arms wide, cried out in italian:
“come here, my beauty. come here, dear toto.”
the dog ran to her, and placing his paws on her gown, gazed up into her shining eyes with that look of confiding friendship which only a dog’s eyes can express. fifi bent down, and toto, putting out a sharp little red tongue, licked her delicate, cold cheek. fifi was enraptured. toto, with all his beauty, high descent and accomplishments, was not puffed up, but had a dog’s true heart.
fifi and toto became intimate at once, to the delight of the crowd, as well as of toto’s master. [pg 37]the italian saw, in this evidence of the dog’s gentle disposition, a better chance to sell him. a stout, red-faced woman, showily dressed, immediately offered eighteen francs for the dog. the italian held out stoutly for twenty, and to clinch the matter, brought out from his clothes somewhere a complete ballet dancer’s outfit; and in the wink of an eye toto was doing a beautiful ballet, his skirts of pink spangled tulle waving up and down around his slim, little black legs, a low-necked bodice showing a necklace around his throat, earrings jangling in his ears, and his head affectedly stuck on one side, while he ogled the gentlemen in true ballet-dancer’s style.
oh, it was delicious! fifi almost wept with delight as toto pirouetted, his tulle skirts waving and his earrings tinkling musically. and when at last he retired and sat down, fanning himself with his skirts, fifi’s heart, as well as her hard-earned money, was toto’s.
the stout, red-faced woman was obviously impressed with toto’s value, for she immediately said to the italian:
“nineteen francs, monsieur.”
the italian shook his head; and then, scarcely [pg 38]knowing what she was doing, fifi cried out in her musical, high-pitched voice:
“twenty francs! oh, toto, you are mine!”
and holding her arms open, toto jumped into them and was cuddled to her breast.
it was all over in a minute. the crowd had dispersed, and fifi, with toto in her arms, and his ballet dress in her pocket, where now only ten of her thirty francs reposed, was rather dumfounded at the success of her sudden venture. the cloak, of course, was out of the question—and what should she say to cartouche? but the touch of toto’s little black paws gave her courage, and it was plain that her love for him at first sight was reciprocated. so fifi started back to her garret with toto, inventing on the way her replies to the wigging cartouche was sure to give her.
she had scarcely got toto into her room, when a rap came at the door, which fifi recognized, and clapping toto into the cupboard, she prepared to face cartouche.
“well,” said cartouche, walking in. “where is the cloak?”
fifi busied herself for a minute in lighting her [pg 39]one candle, before she could summon up courage to answer, in a quavering voice:
“i did not get the cloak, cartouche. that is, not to-day.”
“why not?” demanded cartouche.
“b-b-because i spent twenty francs of the money upon—upon something i wanted more than the cloak.”
“what is it?” asked cartouche in a tone that made little shivers run down fifi’s backbone. “more feathers? or was it a fan to keep you cool, when the snow is on the ground, instead of a cloak to keep you warm?”
“n-no. it was not a fan. and it is something to keep me warm, too, it is as good as a stove, sometimes.”
“what is it?”
there was no mistaking the note in cartouche’s voice. fifi began:
“it is—don’t be angry, dear cartouche—it is a little black—it is a little black—it is something alive!”
“is it a little black ostrich? or is it a little black giraffe?”
cartouche came toward fifi then, looking exactly[pg 40] as he did the day he caught her acting with the strolling players on the street.
“oh, no, cartouche. it is a little—a little—i would much rather have him than a cloak. it is a dear little—”
but toto himself revealed his species at that moment, by pushing the cupboard door open; and bouncing out, he ran to fifi’s protecting arms.
cartouche was too much staggered to say a word, but fifi, in the terrible silence, said timidly:
“he can dance, cartouche—and—and stand on his hind legs like a little angel!”
“i see,” cried cartouche, recovering his speech and uncorking his wrath. “it is for a little black angel that can stand on his hind legs that you have sacrificed the cloak!”
“yes,” cried fifi, likewise recovering her speech, now that the murder was out. “toto is worth a dozen cloaks to me, and he only cost twenty francs. it is almost like buying a dear little child for twenty francs. i shall love toto so much and he will love me back—we shall love each other better than anything in the world!”
cartouche drew back a little as if he had received[pg 41] a blow. he remained silent—so silent that fifi was a little scared.
“you should see him dance,” she said; and slipping toto’s ballet costume on him, she began to sing in a very lively manner:
le petit mousse noir.
toto, evidently thinking that he was meant by the black cabin-boy of whom the song treats, made his stage bow, and began his ballet dancing. and as it went on, cartouche, in spite of himself, began to laugh. that was fifi’s triumph—and springing up, she, too, began to dance as well as sing.
she was only a half-starved little actress on twenty-five francs the week. she had no friend in the world but cartouche, who was as poor as she was, but her heart was light, and her fresh young voice caroled merrily in the cold, bare little room. cartouche sat, looking at her, and trying to frown; but it was in vain. he knew nothing of that newly-formed resolve in fifi’s mind, to have a great many flirtations and then to marry him; and then, a vast, a stupendous sacrifice came into his mind by which he could still get fifi a cloak.
[pg 42]
he had ten francs of his own, and there was the tortoise-shell snuff-box the emperor had given him. cartouche himself would have starved and frozen rather than take it to the pawnshop—but fifi’s cold and hunger was something else. there was no struggle in making the resolve, sacrifice for fifi was no sacrifice to cartouche, but there was a moment of sharp regret—a feeling that the only treasure among his poor possessions was about to be torn from him. presently he said gently:
“fifi, i have two bundles of fagots in my room and a sausage, and i will get a bottle of wine, and after the performance to-night, we will have a little supper here. and i will forgive you for buying toto.”
“that will be best of all,” cried fifi, remembering that in the end she meant to marry cartouche.
cartouche went out, leaving fifi alone, for half an hour of rapture with toto, before it was time to go to the theater. he climbed up to his garret under the roof, and taking his cherished snuff-box from his breast where he always carried it, looked at it as a mother looks her last on her dead child; and then, going quickly downstairs again into the [pg 43]street, he made for a pawnshop close by, with which he was well acquainted.
just as he turned the corner of the street of the black cat, he almost ran into duvernet’s arms.
“hey, cartouche, you are the very man i want to see,” cried the manager, buttonholing him. and then, noting that several persons on the street stopped and looked at him, duvernet swelled out his chest and assumed an attitude in which he very much admired himself in his favorite part of the roman senator.
duvernet continued in a very impressive manner: “i contemplate both raising your salary, cartouche, and also making you a little gift. you have worked hard for me; you got the emperor to the theater, and business has been remarkably good ever since, and you have kept julie campionet from marrying me—so far, that is—and i feel the obligation, i assure you. so your salary after this will be twenty-five francs the week, and here are three ten-franc pieces which i beg you will accept.”
with the air of a roman emperor bestowing a province upon a faithful proconsul, duvernet thrust the thirty francs into cartouche’s hand. [pg 44]cartouche, thoroughly dazed, mumbled something meant for thanks as he accepted the three ten-franc pieces. duvernet, suddenly dropping his majestic manner, said, in cartouche’s ear:
“and remember, you have got to keep julie campionet from marrying me. i don’t like the look in her eye—she shows she is bent on it—and stop fifi from reminding me of that infernal white petticoat she gave me.”
cartouche nodded, and duvernet, resuming his air of benignant magnificence, stalked off, happy. at least six persons had seen him make this princely present. his heart was good, although his head was indifferent, and he was sincerely glad to be able to reward cartouche for his faithfulness.
in a minute or two cartouche came to himself, and tore along the street, as fast as his stiff leg would allow, to the cloak shop, where, in two seconds, he had paid the money for the beautiful cloak, and had it wrapped in a bundle under his arm. how happy was cartouche then!
he still had his ten francs, and he determined to make a little christmas feast for fifi. so he bought a jar of cabbage-soup, and a little bag of [pg 45]onions, and some chocolate. then he went into a wine shop for a bottle of wine.
the wine shop was a cheerful, dirty, agreeable place that he knew well. when he entered he found the shop full of men, standing around a table on which was a blindfolded boy with a hat full of slips of paper in his hand.
a shout greeted cartouche’s arrival.
“you are just in time, monsieur cartouche,” cried the proprietor, a jolly red-faced man. “you make the last and twenty-fifth man necessary to join our lottery. i have bought a ticket in the grand imperial lottery, which is to be drawn in a fortnight, and for every bottle of wine i sell, and a franc extra, i give my customers a chance in the lottery ticket, limiting it to twenty-five chances. come now—i see good luck written all over you—hand me your franc.”
cartouche handed out his franc, bought his bottle of wine, and joined the circle at the table. the little boy handed the hat around, and every man took a slip out and read thereon a number. cartouche took his slip and read out:
“number 1313!”
[pg 46]
a roar of laughter greeted this, but when it subsided, the proprietor advanced, and handing cartouche a blue lottery ticket, said gravely:
“you have won, monsieur cartouche, in our lottery, and i hope you will win in the imperial lottery. the number of the ticket i offer you is 1313.”
there was another shout of derision, and several of the disappointed ones commiserated with cartouche on the load of ill luck he was carrying off with him in number 1313, but cartouche stoutly maintained that there was nothing to be afraid of, and hurried back to the street of the black cat.
there was just time for him to get to the theater and dress. the people came pouring into the house, and the box office took in the enormous sum of two hundred and ninety-eight francs. it was again duvernet’s roman tragedy, and it went finely. fifi again acted as if inspired, and received any number of recalls, besides a wreath of holly, with an imitation silver buckle in it, handed over the footlights from an unknown admirer.
during the waits between the acts she told her fellow actors of toto’s charms and accomplishments, so that the other women, some of whom possessed[pg 47] nothing more interesting than babies, were furiously jealous.
but at last the play was over, and fifi and cartouche were in fifi’s garret, with a good fire in the stove, made with cartouche’s fagots, the cabbage-soup, the onions, the wine, and the sausage, and the chocolate on the table, and toto to make the trio complete. cartouche had sneaked the cloak in, without fifi’s seeing it, and just as they were sitting down to the table he said carelessly, as if thirty-franc cloaks were the most ordinary incidents in life:
“fifi, if you will open that bundle on the chair, you will find a little gift from me.”
fifi ran and tore the parcel open, and there was the beautiful, warm, crimson cloak. she flew to cartouche, and with dewy eyes, although her lips were smiling, gave him one of those hearty kisses she had given him when she was a little, black-eyed damsel ten years old. cartouche did not return the kiss, but sat, first pale and then red, and with such a strange look on his face that fifi was puzzled.
“never mind,” she said to herself. “the next [pg 48]time it will be he who kisses me—not i who kiss him.”
but nothing could spoil the joy over the new cloak.
“to think that i should have the red cloak and toto, too! oh, it is too much!” cried fifi.
“quite too much—too much by way of a dog,” remarked cartouche; but as toto at that moment jumped from his chair at the table on to cartouche’s knee, it became impossible not to be friendly with the little rogue, and perfect harmony reigned among the three friends.
cartouche and fifi were among the poorest people in paris; they worked hard for a very little money; the room was small and bare, and although fifi had now a cloak for the winter, she would have been better off for some warm stockings, and cartouche for some flannel shirts.
nevertheless, they were as happy as the birds in spring. they ate, they drank, they laughed, they sang. fifi dressed toto up in his ballet costume, and together they did a beautiful ballet divertissement for cartouche, which he liberally applauded. he told fifi of his twenty-five francs a week, as well as duvernet’s present, and fifi concluded that [pg 49]he would be a desirable parti for his money as well as for his solid virtues, and determined to propose to him before another year should pass.
cartouche had forgotten about the lottery ticket, but just as he was leaving, he remembered it and handed it to fifi. at the sight of the numbers on it, fifi shrieked:
“take it away! take it away! it will bring bad luck! take it away!”
“i won’t,” replied cartouche, “and do you, fifi, take care of it. you may draw the hundred-thousand-franc prize in the lottery yet. just as likely as not the prizes are put on the numbers that nobody would choose.”
this somewhat reconciled fifi to the danger of keeping number 1313; so she reluctantly put it away in the box where she kept her treasure of a paste brooch, remarking meanwhile:
“if it draws the hundred-thousand-franc prize, i will marry you, cartouche.”
again cartouche turned red and pale. these jokes which seemed to amuse fifi so much, cut him to the quick. he only growled:
“about as much chance of one as of the other.”
and then a great melodious deep-toned bell in [pg 50]a neighboring church began its chiming, solemn and glorious, proclaiming that christmas day was at hand, and fifi, falling on her knees, as her mother had taught her long years ago, in italy, thanked god for giving her cartouche, and toto, and the red cloak lined with flannel.
she forgot all about the lottery ticket.
