Original Short Stories of Maupassant, Volume 6

G >> Guy de Maupassant >> Original Short Stories of Maupassant, Volume 6


The next morning she got up very early. When she spoke to me it was in a
constrained and hesitating voice:

"If I do not come back again, shall you come and fetch me?"

"Most certainly I shall," was my reply. "Where shall I go to find you?"

Then she explained: "You must go into the Street Victor-Emmanuel, down
the Falcone road and the side street San-Rafael and into the furniture
shop in the building at the right at the end of a court, and there you
must ask for Madame Rondoli. That is the place."

And so she went away, leaving me rather astonished.

When Paul saw that I was alone, he stammered out: "Where; is Francesca?"
And when I told him what had happened, he exclaimed:

"My dear fellow, let us make use of our opportunity, and bolt; as it is,
our time is up. Two days, more or less, make no difference. Let us go at
once; go and pack up your things. Off we go!"

But I refused. I could not, as I told him, leave the girl in that manner
after such companionship for nearly three weeks. At any rate, I ought to
say good-by to her, and make her accept a present; I certainly had no
intention of behaving badly to her.

But he would not listen; he pressed and worried me, but I would not give
way.

I remained indoors for several hours, expecting Francesca's return, but
she did not come, and at last, at dinner, Paul said with a triumphant
air:

"She has flown, my dear fellow; it is certainly very strange."

I must acknowledge that I was surprised and rather vexed. He laughed in
my face, and made fun of me.

"It is not exactly a bad way of getting rid of you, though rather
primitive. 'Just wait for me, I shall be back in a moment,' they often
say. How long are you going to wait? I should not wonder if you were
foolish enough to go and look for her at the address she gave you. 'Does
Madame Rondoli live here, please?' 'No, monsieur.' I'll bet that you are
longing to go there."

"Not in the least," I protested, "and I assure you that if she does not
come back to-morrow morning I shall leave by the express at eight
o'clock. I shall have waited twenty-four hours, and that is enough; my
conscience will be quite clear."

I spent an uneasy and unpleasant evening, for I really had at heart a
very tender feeling for her. I went to bed at twelve o'clock, and hardly
slept at all. I got up at six, called Paul, packed up my things, and two
hours later we set out for France together.



III

The next year, at just about the same period, I was seized as one is with
a periodical fever, with a new desire to go to Italy, and I immediately
made up my mind to carry it into effect. There is no doubt that every
really well-educated man ought to see Florence, Venice and Rome. This
travel has, also, the additional advantage of providing many subjects of
conversation in society, and of giving one an opportunity for bringing
forward artistic generalities which appear profound.

This time I went alone, and I arrived at Genoa at the same time as the
year before, but without any adventure on the road. I went to the same
hotel, and actually happened to have the same room.

I was hardly in bed when the recollection of Francesca which, since the
evening before, had been floating vaguely through my mind, haunted me
with strange persistency. I thought of her nearly the whole night, and by
degrees the wish to see her again seized me, a confused desire at first,
which gradually grew stronger and more intense. At last I made up my mind
to spend the next day in Genoa to try to find her, and if I should not
succeed, to take the evening train.

Early in the morning I set out on my search. I remembered the directions
she had given me when she left me, perfectly--Victor-Emmanuel
Street, house of the furniture-dealer, at the bottom of the yard on the
right.

I found it without the least difficulty, and I knocked at the door of a
somewhat dilapidated-looking dwelling. It was opened by a stout woman,
who must have been very handsome, but who actually was only very dirty.
Although she had too much embonpoint, she still bore the lines of
majestic beauty; her untidy hair fell over her forehead and shoulders,
and one fancied one could see her floating about in an enormous
dressing-gown covered with spots of dirt and grease. Round her neck she
wore a great gilt necklace, and on her wrists were splendid bracelets of
Genoa filigree work.

In rather a hostile manner she asked me what I wanted, and I replied by
requesting her to tell me whether Francesca Rondoli lived there.

"What do you want with her?" she asked.

"I had the pleasure of meeting her last year, and I should like to see
her again."

The old woman looked at me suspiciously.

"Where did you meet her?" she asked.

"Why, here in Genoa itself."

"What is your name?"

I hesitated a moment, and then I told her. I had hardly done so when the
Italian put out her arms as if to embrace me. "Oh! you are the Frenchman
how glad I am to see you! But what grief you caused the poor child! She
waited for you a month; yes, a whole month. At first she thought you
would come to fetch her. She wanted to see whether you loved her. If you
only knew how she cried when she saw that you were not coming! She cried
till she seemed to have no tears left. Then she went to the hotel, but
you had gone. She thought that most likely you were travelling in Italy,
and that you would return by Genoa to fetch her, as she would not go with
you. And she waited more than a month, monsieur; and she was so unhappy;
so unhappy. I am her mother."

I really felt a little disconcerted, but I regained my self-possession,
and asked:

"Where is she now?"

"She has gone to Paris with a painter, a delightful man, who loves her
very much, and who gives her everything that she wants. Just look at what
she sent me; they are very pretty, are they not?"

And she showed me, with quite southern animation, her heavy bracelets and
necklace. "I have also," she continued, "earrings with stones in them, a
silk dress, and some rings; but I only wear them on grand occasions. Oh!
she is very happy, monsieur, very happy. She will be so pleased when I
tell her you have been here. But pray come in and sit down. You will take
something or other, surely?"

But I refused, as I now wished to get away by the first train; but she
took me by the arm and pulled me in, saying:

"Please, come in; I must tell her that you have been in here."

I found myself in a small, rather dark room, furnished with only a table
and a few chairs.

She continued: "Oh, she is very happy now, very happy. When you met her
in the train she was very miserable; she had had an unfortunate love
affair in Marseilles, and she was coming home, poor child. But she liked
you at once, though she was still rather sad, you understand. Now she has
all she wants, and she writes and tells me everything that she does. His
name is Bellemin, and they say he is a great painter in your country. He
fell in love with her at first sight. But you will take a glass of
sirup?-it is very good. Are you quite alone, this year?"

"Yes," I said, "quite alone."

I felt an increasing inclination to laugh, as my first disappointment was
dispelled by what Mother Rondoli said. I was obliged; however, to drink a
glass of her sirup.

"So you are quite alone?" she continued. "How sorry I am that Francesca
is not here now; she would have been company for you all the time you
stayed. It is not very amusing to go about all by oneself, and she will
be very sorry also."

Then, as I was getting up to go, she exclaimed:

"But would you not like Carlotta to go with you? She knows all the walks
very well. She is my second daughter, monsieur."

No doubt she took my look of surprise for consent, for she opened the
inner door and called out up the dark stairs which I could not see:

"Carlotta! Carlotta! make haste down, my dear child."

I tried to protest, but she would not listen.

"No; she will be very glad to go with you; she is very nice, and much
more cheerful than her sister, and she is a good girl, a very good girl,
whom I love very much."

In a few moments a tall, slender, dark girl appeared, her hair hanging
down, and her youthful figure showing unmistakably beneath an old dress
of her mother's.

The latter at once told her how matters stood.

"This is Francesca's Frenchman, you know, the one whom she knew last
year. He is quite alone, and has come to look for her, poor fellow; so I
told him that you would go with him to keep him company."

The girl looked at me with her handsome dark eyes, and said, smiling:

"I have no objection, if he wishes it"

I could not possibly refuse, and merely said:

"Of course, I shall be very glad of your company."

Her mother pushed her out. "Go and get dressed directly; put on your blue
dress and your hat with the flowers, and make haste."

As soon as she had left the room the old woman explained herself: "I have
two others, but they are much younger. It costs a lot of money to bring
up four children. Luckily the eldest is off my hands at present."

Then she told all about herself, about her husband, who had been an
employee on the railway, but who was dead, and she expatiated on the good
qualities of Carlotta, her second girl, who soon returned, dressed, as
her sister had been, in a striking, peculiar manner.

Her mother examined her from head to foot, and, after finding everything
right, she said:

"Now, my children, you can go." Then turning to the girl, she said: "Be
sure you are back by ten o'clock to-night; you know the door is locked
then." The answer was:

"All right, mamma; don't alarm yourself."

She took my arm and we went wandering about the streets, just as I had
wandered the previous year with her sister.

We returned to the hotel for lunch, and then I took my new friend to
Santa Margarita, just as I had taken her sister the year previously.

During the whole fortnight which I had at my disposal, I took Carlotta to
all the places of interest in and about Genoa. She gave me no cause to
regret her sister.

She cried when I left her, and the morning of my departure I gave her
four bracelets for her mother, besides a substantial token of my
affection for herself.

One of these days I intend to return to Italy, and I cannot help
remembering with a certain amount of uneasiness, mingled with hope, that
Madame Rondoli has two more daughters.