8 (9)
JOYOUS END OF JOY
THE GIRLS, left alone, leaned their elbows on the window sills in couples, and chattered together, bending their heads and speaking from one window to the other.
They saw the young men go out of Bombarda‘s, arm in arm; they turned round, made signals to them laughingly, then disappeared in the dusty Sunday crowd which takes possession of the Champs-Elysées once a week.
“Do not be long!” cried Fantine.
“What are they going to bring us?” said Zéphine.
“Surely something pretty,” said Dahlia.
“I hope it will be gold,” resumed Favourite.
Some time passed in this manner. Suddenly Favourite started as if from sleep.
“Well!” said she, “and the surprise?”
“Yes,” returned Dahlia, “the famous surprise.”
“They are taking a very long time!” said Fantine.
As Fantine finished the sigh, the boy who had waited at dinner entered. He had in his hand something that looked like a letter.
“What is that?” asked Favourite.
“It is a paper that the gentlemen left for these ladies,” he replied.
“Why did you not bring it at once?”
“Because the gentlemen ordered me not to give it to the ladies before an hour,” returned the boy.
Favourite snatched the paper from his hands. It was really a letter.
“Stop!” said she. “There is no address; but see what is written on it:
She hastily unsealed the letter, opened it, and read (she knew how to read):
“Oh, our lovers!
“Know that we have parents. Parents—you scarcely know the meaning of the word, they are what are called fathers and mothers in the civil code, simple but honest. Now these parents bemoan us, these old men claim us, these good men and women call us prodigal sons, desire our return and offer to kill for us the fatted calf. We obey them, being virtuous. At the moment when you read this, five mettlesome horses will be bearing us back to our papas and mammas. We are pitching our camps, as Bossuet says. We are going, we are gone. We fly in the arms of Laffitte, and on the wings of Caillard. The Toulouse stage snatches us from the abyss, and you are this abyss, our beautiful darlings! We are returning to society, to duty and order, on a full trot, at the rate of seven miles an hour. It is necessary to the country that we become, like everybody else, prefects, fathers of families, rural guards, and councillors of state. Venerate us. We sacrifice ourselves. Mourn for us rapidly, and replace us speedily. If this letter rends you, rend it in turn. Adieu.
“For nearly two years we have made you happy. Bear us no ill will for it.”
SIGNED: BLACHEVILLE,
FAMEUIL,
LISTOLIER,
FÉLIX THOLOMYÈS.
“P.S. The dinner is paid for.”
The four girls gazed at each other.
Favourite was the first to break silence.
“Well!” said she, “it is a good farce all the same.”
“It is very droll,” said Zéphine.
“It must have been Blacheville that had the idea,” resumed Favourite. “This makes me in love with him. Soon loved, soon gone. That is the story.”
“No,” said Dahlia, “it is an idea of Tholomyès. This is clear.”
“In that case,” returned Favourite, “down with Blacheville, and long live Tholomyès!”
“Long live Tholomyès!” cried Dahlia and Zéphine.
And they burst into laughter.
Fantine laughed like the rest.
An hour afterwards, when she had returned to her bedroom, she wept. It was her first love, as we have said; she had given herself to this Tholomyès as to a husband, and the poor girl had a child.