nearly a week passed, with the utmost constraint, upon the little family in the rue de l’echelle, except fifi. nothing could equal the airy insouciance of that young woman. she was no more the dumb, docile creature whose soul and spirit seemed frozen, whose will was benumbed, but mademoiselle fifi of the imperial theater. fifi delighted in acting—and she was now acting in her own drama, and with the most exquisite enjoyment of the situation.
at intervals, during the week, italians with monkeys appeared; but angéline adopted with these gentry a simple, but effective, method of her own, which was secretly approved by fifi. this was to appear suddenly on the scene with a kettle of boiling water, which she threatened to distribute impartially upon the monkeys and their owners. this never failed to stampede the enemy. fifi scolded and complained bitterly of this, but angéline took [pg 162]a firm stand against monkeys and italians—much to fifi’s relief.
the subject of fifi’s marriage to louis was not touched upon by either madame bourcet or louis in that week, although louis continued to spend his evenings with his aunt and fifi, and did not intermit the nightly game of cribbage. if it was imprudent to marry fifi, it was likewise imprudent not to marry her—so reasoned the unhappy louis, who, like hamlet, prince of denmark, was of two minds at the same time, and fairly distracted between them.
but, if the bourcets let the marriage question remain discreetly in the background, not so fifi. having discovered that louis suffered acutely from her manifestations of affection, fifi proceeded to subject him to a form of torture in high repute among the most bloodthirsty savages of north america. this consists in smearing the victim’s body all over with honey, and then letting him be slowly stung to death by gnats and flies. figuratively speaking, she smeared poor louis with honey from his head to his heels, and then had a delicious joy in seeing him writhe under his agonies. and [pg 163]the innocence and simplicity with which she did it fooled the unfortunate louis completely.
one thing seemed clear to him: even if the holy father were willing to give up so desirable a husband for his young relative, fifi, herself, would have to be reckoned with; and it all came, louis thought, with a rainbow of vanity athwart the gloom, of his being so dreadfully handsome, fascinating and virtuous.
to fifi this was the comedy part of the drama—and she played it for all there was in it.
she reckoned the shopping episode as the first act of the play. that was through, and there must be a second act. fifi was too much of an artist to repeat herself. she felt she had reached the limit of horrors in shopping, and she still had nearly ninety thousand francs sewed up in her mattress. some new way must be devised for getting rid of it. she thought of endowing beds in hospitals, of giving dots to young ladies, not so fortunate as herself in having a man like cartouche, who declined a fortune—and a thousand other schemes; but all involved some vague and mysterious business transactions which frightened fifi.
[pg 164]
but, by a turn of fate, most unexpected, it was cartouche who showed her a way out of her difficulties, and it filled her with delight. it was in a letter cartouche wrote her in response to the two she had sent him, one after the other. cartouche’s letter was written in very black ink, in a large, slovenly hand, on a big sheet of paper, and fifi knew perfectly well that he was in a rage when writing it.
“fifi: what nonsense is this you write me, that as soon as you promised to marry louis bourcet you determined not to marry him? what have you been doing? don’t you know if you squander your money neither louis bourcet nor any man of his class will marry you? four thousand francs for your trousseau is outrageous; as for the blue-satin bed the empress could not buy, i can not trust myself to speak of it. if you continue acting in this way, i will not come to your wedding, nor let toto come—that is, if monsieur bourcet or any other man will marry you. you seem to be bitten with the desire to do everything the empress does, and a little more besides. you might follow the empress’ example, and going in your coach and six, with outriders, to the banking-house of lafitte, [pg 165]make a little gift of a hundred thousand francs to the fund for soldiers’ orphans. fifi, you are a goose, and there is no disguising it. i hope monsieur bourcet will use the strong hand on you, for your own good. cartouche.
“p. s. i could tell you many interesting things about toto, but i am so angry i can not write any more.”
fifi read this letter over, with a serene smile. of course cartouche was angry—but that was rather amusing.
she laid the letter down, and looked up at the patch of blue sky visible from her bedroom window. she seemed to see in that blue patch all her former life, so full of work, of makeshifts, of gaiety, of vivid interest—and compared with it the dull and spiritless existence before her—that is, which had lately been before her; because now the determination to return to the old life was as strong as the soul within her.
she took cartouche’s letter up and read it again, and a cry of joy came from her lips. give the money to the soldiers’ fund! she remembered having heard madame bourcet and louis speaking of [pg 166]this fund the night before. the empress had gone in state, as cartouche said, to make her splendid gift—and lafitte’s banking-house was not fifteen minutes from where she was in the rue de l’echelle.
in a flash, fifi saw she could do it. she had her white wig and outside of her door was the press in which angéline kept her best black bonnet, black shawl and gown, in which any woman could look a hundred years old. oh, it was the simplest thing in the world! the next day was thursday, the morning madame bourcet always went out, and angéline always stayed at home. it could be done within twenty-four hours!
fifi danced about her room in rapture. it was now late in the afternoon; she could scarcely wait until the next day. how precious was her white wig to her then!
“cartouche said i was silly to bring all these things with me,” she said to herself gleefully; “and i had to do it secretly—but see, how sensible i was! the fact is, i have a great deal of sense, and i know what is good for me, much better than cartouche does, or the bourcets, or the emperor, or even the holy father. how do they [pg 167]know what is going on inside of my head? only i know perfectly well. and to think that cartouche should have suggested such a good way for me to get rid of the hateful money! what an advertisement it will be! mademoiselle chiaramonti, granddaughter of the pope’s cousin, winner of the first prize in the grand lottery, and giving ninety thousand francs to the soldiers’ orphans! mademoiselle mars, at the théâtre française, never had half such an advertisement. she has only her art to advertise her! i shall be worth fifty francs the week to any manager in paris. no doubt the high-priced theaters will try to get me, and all the people who think they know, like the emperor and the holy father, would say i should go to a theater on the other side of the river. but i do not understand the style of acting at the high-priced theaters. i should be hissed. no. the cheap theaters for me, and the kings and queens and roman consuls and things like that. oh, fifi, what a clever, clever creature you are!”
the happier fifi was the more she loved to torment louis bourcet, and she was so very demonstrative that night, and made so many allusions to the bliss she expected to enjoy with him, that both [pg 168]louis and madame bourcet were half distracted. but fifi had such a lot of money—and was the granddaughter of the holy father’s cousin!
next morning, madame bourcet, as usual, made ready to go to the lecture, at twelve o’clock. fifi had never once proposed going out alone, and was at that moment engaged in needlework in her own room. madame bourcet, therefore, started off, without any misgivings, except the general gloom produced by the thought of either having fifi in the family, or not having her.
scarcely had madame bourcet’s respectable figure disappeared around the corner, before another figure equally respectable, and apparently a good deal older, emerged upon the street. it was fifi, dressed in angéline’s clothes, and with a green barége veil falling over her face. she knew how to limp as if she were seventy-five, instead of nineteen, and cleverly concealed her mouthful of beautiful white teeth. on her arm was a little covered basket which might have held eggs, but which really held nearly ninety thousand francs in thousand-franc notes.
fifi knew the way to the banking-house of lafitte[pg 169] perfectly well. it was then in a great gloomy building in the rue st. jacques. in less than fifteen minutes she was mounting the steps, and soon found herself in a large room, around which was an iron grating, and behind this grating were innumerable clerks at work.
fifi went to the window nearest the door, and asked of a very alert-looking young clerk, at work at the desk:
“will you be kind enough, monsieur, to tell me where i can make a contribution to the fund for the soldiers’ orphans?”
“here, madame,” replied the young clerk, eying superciliously the little basket fifi laid down on the ledge before him. people made all sorts of contributions to this fund, and the spruce young clerk had several times had his sensibilities outraged by offerings of old shoes, of assignats, even of a live cock. the basket before him looked as if it held a cat—probably one of the rare kind, which the old lady would propose that he should sell, and give the proceeds to the fund. out of the basket the white-haired old lady with the green barége veil took a parcel, and laying it down, said humbly:
[pg 170]
“monsieur, this gift comes from one who has no husband and no son to give to the empire.”
“to whom shall i make out the receipt, and for how much, madame?” asked the clerk; but the old lady was already out of the room, and going down the steps much faster than one would expect a person of her age to be able to do.
once outside fifi stepped into a dark archway, from which she emerged, a minute later, wearing her own bonnet and red cloak and her own skirt. all of angéline’s paraphernalia, together with the white wig, was squeezed into a bundle which fifi cleverly concealed under her cloak. the basket she had tossed down an open cellar under the archway.
she called a closed cab, and stuffing her bundle under the seat, ordered the cabman to drive her in a direction which she knew would take her past the bank. she had the exquisite pleasure of seeing half a dozen clerks rush distractedly out, inquiring frantically if any one had seen in the neighborhood an old lady with a limp, a green veil and a basket. fifi stopped her cab long enough to get a description of herself from one of the wildest-looking of the clerks.
[pg 171]
“but why, monsieur, do you wish to find this old lady?” fifi asked.
“because, mademoiselle, she has stolen ninety thousand francs from this bank a moment ago or given ninety thousand francs to something or other,” cried the clerk, who had entirely confounded the story of fifi’s adventure, which had been imparted to him in haste and confusion.
fifi, nearly dying with laughter, rolled away in her cab. the last glimpse she had of her late friend, the bank clerk, he had found the basket in the archway, and was declaiming with disheveled hair and wild gesticulations concerning the robbery, or the gift, he did not know which.
fifi was not away from home more than half an hour, and when angéline, about one o’clock, passed through the snuff-colored drawing-room, she saw fifi, through the open door, sitting at the writing-table in her bedroom, and scribbling away for dear life. this is what she wrote:
“cartouche: i have got your letter and i have followed your advice—i will not say exactly how—but you will shortly see me, i think, in the dear old street of the black cat. fifi.”
[pg 172]
madame bourcet returned punctually at two o’clock, and as the weather had become bad, she and fifi spent the afternoon together in the snuff-colored drawing-room.
when eight o’clock in the evening arrived, louis bourcet, as usual, appeared. he had news to communicate, and gave a fearful and wonderful account of the proceedings at the banking-house, in which it was represented that a mysterious old lady, with a basket and a limp, had appeared, and had either stolen ninety thousand francs, or given ninety thousand francs to the fund for the soldiers’ orphans, nobody outside of the bank knew exactly which. the excitement in the neighborhood of the bank had been tremendous, and such a crowd had collected that the gens d’armes had been compelled to charge in order to clear the street. the basket had been found, but the limp, along with the old lady, had vanished.
all sorts of stories were flying about concerning the affair, some people declaring that the troops from the nearest barracks had been ordered out, a cordon placed around the banking-house, and the mysterious old lady was nothing less than a determined ruffian, who had disguised himself as an old [pg 173]woman, and was the leader of a gang of desperate robbers, determined on looting the bank. louis bourcet held firmly to this opinion.
“it is my belief,” he said solemnly, “that it was a scheme which involved not only robbery, but possibly assassination. the old woman was no old woman, but a reckless criminal, who, by a clever disguise, got into the bank, and was only prevented from carrying out some dreadful design by the coolness and decision of the bank employees. the basket, which is marked with the initials a. d., is held at the bureau of the arrondissement, and at the investigation to-morrow morning—mark my words, that basket will be the means of disclosing a terrible plot against the banking-house of lafitte.”
madame bourcet listened to these words of wisdom with the profoundest respect—but fifi uttered a convulsive sound which she smothered in her handkerchief and which, she explained, was caused by her agitation at the sensational story she had just heard.
louis was so flattered by the tribute of attention to his powers of seeing farther into a millstone than any one else, that he harangued [pg 174]the whole evening upon this violent attempt on lafitte’s banking-house in particular and the dangers of robbery in general. he even forgot the game of cribbage. when he rose to go, at ten o’clock, both madame bourcet and fifi protested that they expected to be murdered in their beds by a gang of robbers before daylight. louis promised to come to the déjeuner at eleven the next morning, to give them the latest particulars of this nefarious attempt to rob the bank.
fifi alone in her own room went into spasms of delight. her freedom was close at hand—and soon, soon, she could return to that happy life of hard work and deep affection she had once known. when she slipped into bed, the hard lump was not in her mattress.
“think,” she said to herself, lying awake in the dark, “of the good that hateful money will do now—of the poor children warmed and fed and clothed. giving it away like this is not half so difficult as spending it on hats and gowns and monkeys, and i think i may reckon on getting back to the dear street of the black cat soon—very soon.”
and so, she fell into a deep, sweet sleep, to dream of cartouche, and toto and all the people [pg 175]at the imperial theater, including julie campionet.
next morning, fifi awaited the déjeuner with feelings of entrancing pleasure. she loved to see louis bourcet make a fool of himself, and longed to make a fool of him—this naughty fifi.
she was gratified, for at eleven o’clock, louis appeared, looking, for once, a little sheepish. the desperate robbery had been no robbery at all, but a gift of ninety thousand francs to the fund for the soldiers’ orphans. louis had bought several newspapers, and each contained the official announcement of the banking-house of lafitte, with a request that the generous donor come forward and discover her identity.
louis bourcet, like a good many other people, could always construct a new hypothesis to meet any new development in a case. he at once declared that the donor must be a conscience-stricken woman, who had at some time committed a crime and wished to atone for it. he harped on this theme while fifi was soberly drinking her chocolate and inwardly quivering with delight. she waited until one of louis’s long-winded periods came to an end, when, the spirit of the actress [pg 176]within her, and the piercing joy of making louis bourcet look like a guy, were too much for her. putting down her cup, therefore, and looking about her in a way to command attention, fifi said, in a soft, low voice:
“madame bourcet—and dear louis—” here louis shuddered—“i have something to say to you, concerning that mysterious old woman with the limp and the basket. first, let me say, that until yesterday, i kept my fortune of nearly ninety thousand francs in my mattress, and my old shoes i kept in the bank. for people are always losing their money in banks, but i never heard of any one losing a franc that was sewed up in a mattress.”
there was a pause. louis bourcet sat as if turned to stone, with his chocolate raised to his lips, and his mouth wide open to receive it, but he seemed to lose the power of moving his hand or shutting his mouth. madame bourcet appeared to be paralyzed where she sat.
“yes,” said fifi, who felt as if she were once more on the beloved boards of the imperial theater. “i kept my money where i knew it would be safe. and then, seeing i had totally failed to captivate the affections of my fiancé, i determined to [pg 177]perform an act of splendid generosity, that would compel his admiration, and possibly, his tenderness. so, yesterday, when you, madame, were out, i dressed myself up in angéline’s sunday clothes, took her small fruit basket, and putting all my fortune in the basket, went to the bank, and handed it all over, in notes of the bank of france, to the fund for soldiers’ orphans.”
there was not a sound, except madame bourcet’s gasping for breath. louis bourcet had turned of a sickly pallor, his mouth remaining wide open, and his cup still suspended. this lasted for a full minute, when the door suddenly opened, and angéline appeared from the kitchen.
“madame,” she cried excitedly, “there have been thieves here as well as at the bank. my fruit basket is gone—i can swear i saw it yesterday morning. it is marked with my initials, a. d., and i trust, by the blessing of god, the thief will be found and sent to the galleys for life.”
at this apparently trivial catastrophe, madame bourcet uttered a loud shriek; louis bourcet dropped his cup, which crashed upon the table, smashing the water carafe; angéline, amazed at the result of her simple remark, ran wildly about [pg 178]the room shrieking, “thieves! thieves! send for the police!” madame bourcet continued to emit screams at short intervals, while louis bourcet, his head in his hands, groaned in anguish.
fifi, alone, sat serene and smiling, and as soon as she could make herself heard, cried to louis:
“dear louis, tell me, i beg of you, if you approve of my course?”
“no!” bawled louis, for once forgetting to be correct in manner and deportment. then, rising to his feet, and staggering to the door, he said in a sepulchral voice: “everything is over between us. if the holy father takes measures to make me fulfil my compact to marry you, i shall leave france—i shall flee my country. mademoiselle, permit me to say you are an impossible person. adieu forever, i hope!” with this he was gone.
madame bourcet at this recovered enough to scream to angéline, in a rapid crescendo:
“get a van—get a van—get a van!”
fifi knew perfectly well what that meant, and was in ecstasies. she flew to her room, huddled her belongings together, saying to herself:
“cartouche, i shall see you! and, cartouche, i [pg 179]love you! and, cartouche, i shall make you marry me—me, your own fifi!”
in a little while the van was at the door and fifi’s boxes were piled in. she threw to angéline the odious brown gown, with the green spots, and a ten-franc piece besides—which somewhat mollified angéline, without changing her opinion that fifi was a dangerous and explosive person to have about. she promised to send for the blue satin bed. then fifi, reverting to her old natural self, climbed into the van along with her boxes, and jolted off, in the direction of the street of the black cat, and was happier than she had yet been since she had left it.
