“Come up here,” she called out to him,
and from habit she added: “I will be very
nice, you handsome dark fellow.”
At first they were dumbfounded at her audacity, and
then all their cheeks flushed with jealousy, and the
flame of mad desire shot from their eyes, from every
window there came a perfect torrent of:
“Yes, come up, come up.” “Don’t
go to her! Come to me.”
And, meanwhile, there was a shower of half-pence,
of francs, of gold coins, as well as of cigars and
oranges, while lace pocket handkerchiefs, silk neckties,
and scarfs fluttered in the air and fell round the
singer, like a flight of many colored butterflies.
He picked up the spoil calmly, almost carelessly,
stuffed the money into his pocket, made a bundle of
the furbelows, which he tied up as if they had been
soiled linen, and then raising himself up, and putting
his felt hat on his head, he said:
“Thank you, ladies, but indeed I cannot.”
They thought that he did not know how to satisfy so
many demands at once, and one of them said: “Let
him choose.”
“Yes, yes, that is it!” they all exclaimed
unanimously.
But he repeated: “I tell you, I cannot.”
They thought he was excusing himself out of gallantry,
and several of them exclaimed, almost with tears of
emotion: “Women are all heart!” And
the same voice that had spoken before, (it was one
of the girls who wished to settle the matter amicably),
said: “We must draw lots.”
“Yes, yes, that is it,” they all cried.
And again there was a religious silence, more religious
than before, for it wras caused by anxiety, and the
beatings of their hearts may have been heard.
The singer profited by it, to say slowly: “I
cannot have that either; nor all of you at once, nor
one after the other; nothing! I tell you that
I cannot.”
“Why? Why?” And now they were almost
screaming, for they were angry and sorry at the same
time. Their cheeks had gone from scarlet to livid,
their eyes flashed fire, and some shook their fists
menacingly.
“Silence!” the girl cried, who had spoken
first. “Be quiet, you pack of huzzys!
Let him explain himself, and tell us why!”
“Yes, yes, let us be quiet! Make him explain
himself in God’s name!”
Then, in the fierce silence that ensued, the singer
said, opening his arms wide, with a gesture of despairing
inability to do what they wanted:
“What do you want? It is very amusing,
but I cannot do more. I have two girls of my
own already, at home.”
He certainly did not think himself a saint, nor had
he any hypocritical pretensions to virtue, but, nevertheless,
he thought as highly of himself as much as he did
of anybody else, and perhaps, even a trifle more highly.
And that, quite impartially, without any more self
love than was necessary, and without his having to
accuse himself of being self conceited. He did
himself justice, that was all, for he had good moral
principles, and he applied them, especially, if the
truth must be told, not only to judging the conduct
of others, but also, it must be allowed, in a measure
for regulating his own conduct, as he would have been
very vexed if he had been able to think of himself:
