Ten Years Later by Alexandre Dumas (suggested reading TXT) 📗
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
Book online «Ten Years Later by Alexandre Dumas (suggested reading TXT) 📗». Author Alexandre Dumas
“In what way?”
“Because—do you not see this brevet?”
“To be sure I do.”
“Well, I would have got you a similar one.”
“By whose means?”
“Malicorne’s.”
“Aure, are you telling the truth? Is that possible?”
“Malicorne is there; and what he has done for me, he surely can do for you.”
Malicorne had heard his name pronounced twice; he was delighted at having an opportunity of coming to a conclusion with Madame de Saint-Remy, and he turned round:—
“What is the question, mademoiselle?”
“Come hither, Malicorne,” said Montalais, with an imperious gesture. Malicorne obeyed.
“A brevet like this,” said Montalais.
“How so?”
“A brevet like this; that is plain enough.”
“But—”
“I want one—I must have one!”
“Oh! oh! you must have one!”
“Yes.”
“It is impossible, is it not, M. Malicorne?” said Louise, with her sweet, soft voice.
“If it is for you, mademoiselle—”
“For me. Yes, Monsieur Malicorne, it would be for me.”
“And if Mademoiselle de Montalais asks it at the same time—”
“Mademoiselle de Montalais does not ask it, she requires it.”
“Well! we will endeavor to obey you, mademoiselle.”
“And you will have her named?”
“We will try.”
“No evasive answers, Louise de la Valliere shall be maid of honor to Madame Henrietta within a week.”
“How you talk!”
“Within a week, or else—”
“Well! or else?”
“You may take back your brevet, Monsieur Malicorne; I will not leave my friend.”
“Dear Montalais!”
“That is right. Keep your brevet; Mademoiselle de la Valliere shall be a maid of honor.”
“Is that true?”
“Quite true.”
“I may then hope to go to Paris?”
“Depend on it.”
“Oh! Monsieur Malicorne, what joy!” cried Louise, clapping her hands, and bounding with pleasure.
“Little dissembler!” said Montalais, “try again to make me believe you are not in love with Raoul.”
Louise blushed like a rose in June, but instead of replying, she ran and embraced her mother. “Madame,” said she, “do you know that M. Malicorne is going to have me appointed maid of honor?”
“M. Malicorne is a prince in disguise,” replied the old lady, “he is all-powerful, seemingly.”
“Should you also like to be a maid of honor?” asked Malicorne of Madame de Saint-Remy. “Whilst I am about it, I might as well get everybody appointed.”
And upon that he went away, leaving the poor lady quite disconcerted.
“Humph!” murmured Malicorne as he descended the stairs,—“Humph! there goes another note of a thousand livres! but I must get through as well as I can; my friend Manicamp does nothing for nothing.”
Chapter IV. Malicorne and Manicamp.
The introduction of these two new personages into this history and that mysterious affinity of names and sentiments, merit some attention on the part of both historian and reader. We will then enter into some details concerning Messieurs Malicorne and Manicamp. Malicorne, we know, had made the journey to Orleans in search of the brevet destined for Mademoiselle de Montalais, the arrival of which had produced such a strong feeling at the castle of Blois. At that moment, M. de Manicamp was at Orleans. A singular person was this M. de Manicamp; a very intelligent young fellow, always poor, always needy, although he dipped his hand freely into the purse of M. le Comte de Guiche, one of the best furnished purses of the period. M. le Comte de Guiche had had, as the companion of his boyhood, this De Manicamp, a poor gentleman, vassal-born, of the house of Gramont. M. de Manicamp, with his tact and talent had created himself a revenue in the opulent family of the celebrated marechal. From his infancy he had, with calculation beyond his age, lent his mane and complaisance to the follies of the Comte de Guiche. If his noble companion had stolen some fruit destined for Madame la Marechale, if he had broken a mirror, or put out a dog’s eye, Manicamp declared himself guilty of the crime committed, and received the punishment, which was not made the milder for falling on the innocent. But this was the way this system of abnegation was paid for: instead of wearing such mean habiliments as his paternal fortunes entitled him to, he was able to appear brilliant, superb, like a young noble of fifty thousand livres a year. It was not that he was mean in character or humble in spirit; no, he was a philosopher, or rather he had the indifference, the apathy, the obstinacy which banish from man every sentiment of the supernatural. His sole ambition was to spend money. But, in this respect, the worthy M. de Manicamp was a gulf. Three or four times every year he drained the Comte de Guiche, and when the Comte de Guiche was thoroughly drained, when he had turned out his pockets and his purse before him, when he declared that it would be at least a fortnight before paternal munificence would refill those pockets and that purse, Manicamp lost all his energy, he went to bed, remained there, ate nothing and sold his handsome clothes, under the pretense that, remaining in bed, he did not want them. During this prostration of mind and strength, the purse of the Comte de Guiche was getting full again, and when once filled, overflowed into that of De Manicamp, who bought new clothes, dressed himself again, and recommenced the same life he had followed before. The mania of selling his new clothes for a quarter of what they were worth, had rendered our hero sufficiently celebrated in Orleans, a city where, in general, we should be puzzled to say why he came to pass his days of penitence. Provincial debauches, petits-maitres of six hundred livres a year, shared the fragments of his opulence.
Among the admirers of these splendid toilettes, our friend Malicorne was conspicuous; he was the son of a syndic of the city, of whom M. de Conde, always needy as a De Conde, often borrowed money at enormous interest. M. Malicorne kept
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