On the present occasion Monsieur de Charny, a younger brother of our old acquaintance the Count de Charny, was attired in tight-fitting pantaloons of a light color, which set off to great advantage the shape of his finely formed and muscular limbs; his hair was negligently dressed, as for the morning; elegant tennis sandals for the moment were substituted for the red-heeled shoe or the top-boots; his waistcoat was of white marsella, fitting as closely to his waist as if he had worn stays; and to sum up all, his servant was waiting upon the slope with a green coat embroidered with gold lace, for his master to put on when the match was ended.
The animation of the game communicated to his features all the charm and freshness of youth, notwithstanding his twenty-three years, the nightly excesses he had committed, and the gambling parties he had attended, which frequently the rising sun had illumined with its rays; all this had made sad havoc with his constitution.
None of these personal advantages, which doubtless the young girl had remarked, had escaped the jealous eyes of Pitou. On observing the small hands and feet of Monsieur de Charny, he began to feel less proud of that prodigality of nature which had given him the victory over the shoemaker’s son, and he reflected that nature might have distributed in a more skilful manner over every part of his frame the elements of which it was composed.
In fact, with what there was too much in the hands, the feet, and the knees of Pitou, nature might have furnished him with a handsome, well-formed leg. Only, things were not in their right place: where a certain delicacy of proportion was required, there was an unnatural thickness; where a certain sleekness and rotundity would have been advantageous, there was an utter void.
Pitou looked at his legs with the same expression as the stag did of whom we have read in the fable.
“What is the matter with you, Monsieur Pitou?” said Catherine, who had observed his discontented looks.
Pitou did not reply: be could not explain his feelings; he therefore only sighed.
The game had terminated. The Viscount de Charny took advantage of the interval between the game just finished and the one about to commence, to come over to speak to Catherine. As he approached them, Pitou observed the color heightening in the young girl’s cheeks, and felt her arm become more and more trembling.
The Viscount gave a nod to Pitou, and then, with that familiar politeness which the nobility of that period knew how to adopt with the citizens’ daughters, and grisettes, he inquired of Catherine as to the state of her health, and asked her to be his partner in the first dance. Catherine accepted. A smile conveyed the thanks of the young nobleman. The game was about to begin, and he was called for. He bowed to Catherine, and then left her with the same elegant ease with which he had approached her.
Pitou felt all the superiority which the man possessed over him, who could speak, smile, approach, and take leave in such a manner.
A month’s study, employed in endeavoring to imitate the simple though elegant movements of Monsieur de Charny, would only have produced a ridiculous parody, and this Pitou himself acknowledged.
If Pitou had been capable of entertaining a feeling of hatred, he would from that moment have detested the Viscount de Charny.
Catherine remained looking at the tennis-players until the moment when they called their servants to bring their coats to them. She then directed her steps towards the place set apart for dancing, to Pitou’s great despair, who on that day appeared to be destined to go everywhere but where he wished.
Monsieur de Charny did not allow Catherine to wait long for him. A slight change in his dress had converted him from a tennis-player into an elegant dancer.
The violins gave the signal, and he at once presented his hand to Catherine, reminding her of the promise she had made to dance with him.
That which Pitou experienced when he felt Catherine withdrawing her arm from within his, and saw the young girl blushing deeply as she advanced with her cavalier into the circle, was one of the most disagreeable sensations of his whole life. A cold perspiration stood upon his brow; a cloud passed over his eyes; he stretched out his hand and caught hold of the balustrade for support, for he felt that his knees, strongly constituted as they were, were giving way.