WE MUST NOW RETURN to the interior of the room. Beausire was much surprised to see Oliva lock the door, and still more so not to see his adversary. He began to feel triumphant, for if he was hiding from him he must, he thought, be afraid of him. He therefore begun to search for him; but Oliva talked so loud and fast that he advanced toward her to try and stop her, but was received with a box on the ears, which he returned in kind. Oliva replied by throwing a china vase at his head, and his answer was a blow with a cane. She, furious, flew at him and seized him by the throat, and he, trying to free himself, tore her dress.
Then, with a cry, she pushed him from her with such force that he fell in the middle of the room.
He began to get tired of this, so he said, without commencing another attack, “You are a wicked creature; you ruin me.”
“On the contrary, it is you who ruin me!”
“Oh, I ruin her!—she who has nothing!”
“Say that I have nothing now, say that you have eaten, and drank, and played away all that I had.”
“You reproach me with my poverty.”
“Yes, for it comes from your vices.”
“Do not talk of vices; it only remained for you to take a lover.”
“And what do you call all those wretches who sit by you in the tennis court, where you play?”
“And nicely you succeed; we should die of hunger from your industry.”
“And you, with yours, are obliged to cry if you get your dress torn, because you have nothing to buy another with.”
“I do better than you, at all events;” and, putting her hand in her pocket, she drew out some gold and threw it across the room.
When Beausire saw this, he remained stupefied.
“Louis!” cried he at last. She took out some more, and threw them in his face.
“Oh!” cried he, “Oliva has become rich!”
“This is what my industry brings in,” said she, pushing him with her foot as he knell down to pick up the gold.
“Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen,” counted he, joyfully.
“Miserable wretch!” said Oliva.
“Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two.”—“Coward!”
“Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.”
He got up. “And so, mademoiselle, you have been saving money when you kept me without necessaries. You let me go about in an old hat, darned stockings, and patched clothes, while you had all this money! Where does it come from? From the sale of my things?”
“Scoundrel!” murmured Oliva, looking at him with contempt.
“But I pardon your avarice,” continued he.
“You would have killed me just now,” said Oliva.
“Then I should have been right; now I should be wrong to do it.”
“Because now you contribute to our menage.”
“If you do not, I will pass your own sword through your body!”
“Oh, you would not take it away?”
“Ah, coward! you beg-, you solicit for the fruits of my bad conduct — that is what they call a man! I have always despised you.”
“I gave to you when I could, Nicole.”
“Pardon, then, Oliva. But is it not true?”
“Fine presents, certainly: some silver buckles, six louis-d'or, two silk dresses, and three embroidered handkerchiefs.”
“It is a great deal for a soldier.”
“Hold your tongue! The buckles you stole from some one else, the louis-d'or you borrowed and never returned, the silk dresses—”
“What shall I give you instead?”
“Well,” said the rogue, gravely, “I will go to the Rue de Bussy and play with it, and bring you back, not the double, but the quintuple;" and he made two steps to the door.
“There,” said he, “you have torn ray coat.”
“Never mind! you shall have a new one.”
“That will be six louis, Oliva. Luckily, at the Rue de Bussy they are not particular about dress.”
Oliva seized hold of the other tail, and tore it right off.
“Mort de tous les diables!” cried he, “you will make me kill you at last! You are tearing me to bits! Now I cannot go out.”
“On the contrary, you must go out immediately.”
“Then do not put it on; but you must go out.”—“I will not.”
She took out of her pocket another handful of gold, and put it into his hands.
Beausire knelt at her feet and cried, “Order, and I will obey!”
“Go quickly to the Capucin, Rue de Seine, where they sell dominoes for the bal masque, and buy me one complete, mask and all.”
“And one for yourself—black, but mine white; and I only give you twenty minutes to do it in.”
“Go, then, and show your zeal.”
“You have twenty-five louis that you picked up.”
“Oh, Oliva. I thought you meant to give me those.”
“You shall have more another time, but if I give you them now, you will stop and play.”
“She is right,” said he to himself; “that is just what I intended to do;” and he set off.
As soon as he was gone, Oliva wrote rapidly these words: “The peace is signed, and the ball decided on; at two o'clock we shall be at the Opera. I shall wear a white domino, with a blue ribbon on my left shoulder.” Then, rolling this round a bit of the broken vase, she went to the window and threw it out.
The valet picked it up, and made off immediately.
In less than half an hour M. Beausire returned, followed by two men, bringing, at the cost of eighteen louis, two beautiful dominoes, such as were only turned out at the Capucin makers to her majesty and the maids of honor.
