The door was burst open and in rushed Pierre, pale and breathless
De Meneval turned to Léontine, and knowing what was coming, said, with a sickly smile:
“Dearest, will you forgive me?”
“Indeed I will!” replied Léontine, who knew more of what was coming than did de Meneval.
“Scarcely were you gone,” continued Monsieur Bouchard, assuming his oracular manner, which sat rather awkwardly on him, as Madame Vernet persisted in nestling on his shoulder, “when in comes Léontine with the paste necklace, and for the same purpose—money or the pawnbroker.It at once occurred to me that she could not be trusted with any necklace on which she thought money could be raised—her debts were to tailors and dressmakers—so I gave her back her own necklace—she has it now—and told her it was paste, and she said it looked it. Then, just as I had got rid of her, in comesthislady—” Papa Bouchard made a desperate effort to shake off Madame Vernet, but that diffident person only held on to him the more affectionately—“picked up the necklace, clasped it round her neck, and walked off with it, and I have spent the most miserable week of my life trying to get it back. I had arranged to give her the two thousandfrancs, which Pierre, my man, has in his pocket at this moment, when, owing to this lady’s indelicate persistence in following me here, and in rashly exposing the necklace, she lost it, and I keep my two thousand francs. If I could find that rascal Pierre I could prove all I say.”
And as if in answer to his name, the door was burst open, and in rushed Pierre, pale and breathless.
“Monsieur,” he cried to Papa Bouchard; “all is discovered, and we are in the greatest danger. My wife Élise found out everything from theconciergein the Rue Bassano this evening. She went back to Mademoiselle Bouchard, and, if you please, both of them took the train for Melun to capture us—and just as I was coming to warn you I ran into them at the foot of the stairs. They had asked for Captain de Meneval’s quarters, in order to get him to help them search for us. They are on the stairs now!”
With much discretion, ranged themselves primly on a sofa
Léontine and de Meneval, meaning to let Monsieur Bouchard bear alone the brunt of Mademoiselle Bouchard’s wrath, immediately scuttled into seats against the wall, which they occupied with great dignity. Major Fallière, who had heard of Mademoiselle Bouchard, got as far away from the girls as he could, and they—Aglaia, Olga and Louise—with much discretion ranged themselves primly on a sofa at the farthest end of the room. But this leftPapa Bouchard standing in the middle, with Madame Vernet embracing him tenderly. He, too, would have liked to flee, but he was literally frozen with terror, and unable to move or speak. And then the door came open, and in walked, or rather marched, Mademoiselle Céleste Bouchard and Élise.
Paul, stop those shocking demonstrations
Never in all his fifty-four years of life had Monsieur Bouchard seen his sister in such a state as she was at that moment. Her eyes sparkled, and her small figure was erect and commanding. Her emotions had made both her and Élise altogether forget the primness and propriety of their costumes, for which mistress and maid had been noted. Mademoiselle Bouchard’s correct, elderly bonnet seemed to have caught the same infection of demoralization as Monsieur Bouchard, Pierre and Pierrot, for it sat at a most improper and dissipated angle. Her mantle was awry, she had on one whiteglove and one black one, and a fringe of white petticoat showed the agitation in which she had dressed.
Élise was in somewhat the same condition, and she clutched a flower pot and a gold-headed stick which had belonged to Bouchardpère, under the impression they were a travelling bag and an umbrella.
The sight that met their eyes was Monsieur Bouchard apparently submitting with willingness to Madame Vernet’s endearments, while the lady herself sobbed out upon his breast:
“Oh, Paul, dearest, protect your own Adèle from that dreadful old woman!”
Now, this was too much for any woman to stand. Mademoiselle Bouchard, panting and trembling with wrath and horror, sank into a chair.
“Élise,” she gasped, putting her hand before her eyes, “put up your umbrellabetween me and that disgraceful sight. I cannot look upon it.”
She clutched a flower pot and a gold-headed stick
Élise, equally agitated, made futile attempts to convert the stick into an umbrella, and then cried out:
“Oh, this is only a stick! Perhaps I put the umbrella in the travelling bag.” But failing to find an umbrella in the flower pot, she collapsed into a chairnext her mistress, crying out: “When you, Mademoiselle, have finished with Monsieur Bouchard I’ll dispose of Pierre. Oh, the rascal!”
Pierre, like his master, was dumb before the accuser. Not so Madame Vernet. She continued to appeal to Monsieur Bouchard:
“Oh, darling Paul, I amsofrightened! Why don’t you send her away?”
“But I am not your ‘darling Paul’ and never was!”
Poor Monsieur Bouchard was simply a pitiable sight, and the de Menevals, the Major and three girls were heartless enough to go into convulsions of silent mirth at his predicament. They, too, had nothing to say in Mademoiselle Bouchard’s indignant presence. But that lady was determined to be answered.
“Paul,” she said, in the tone of an inquisitor, “stop those shocking demonstrations toward that person and explain your conduct to me.”
“My dear Céleste,” replied Papa Bouchard, in a faint voice and almost weeping, “if you could induce this lady to stopherdemonstrations I should be the happiest man on earth. And there’s no explanation to give. I’m the helpless victim of a designing woman.”
At which Madame Vernet screamed and said, trying to kiss him:
“But I will forgive you, my own Paul. I know you don’t mean what you say.”
And Élise added to Monsieur Bouchard’s anguish, and to Mademoiselle Bouchard’s horror by crying out, “Mademoiselle, he isn’t trying to get rid of her. He is tickling her and pinching her—I see him myself!”
Monsieur Bouchard thought he should have died of horror at this awful and baseless charge.
Apparently Madame Vernet was master of the situation, but Major Fallière, the cool, the resolute Fallière, came to the rescue. Going up quietlyto Madame Vernet, he deliberately raised her face so he could look her squarely in the eye.
“Madame Vernet,” he said, “you seem to have lost sight of that little incident of representing my friend, Captain de Meneval, as your brother and a dangerous lunatic, and the trick you played on Dr. Delcasse. Now, I happen to know that Dr. Delcasse is determined to punish you, if he can find you, and unless you immediately leave these quarters and leave Melun I shall inform Dr. Delcasse of your whereabouts, and you will have a visit from the police.”
Madame Vernet, seeing she had met her match, disengaged herself from Monsieur Bouchard, to that gentleman’s great joy. Assuming an attitude and air of great innocence, she said:
“I don’t really understand what you mean, or even who you are. But being naturally a very diffident and retiring person, I cannot stand the least unfavorable criticism, and I shall certainly leavethis censorious and unsympathetic company.”
Major Fallière ceremoniously offered her his arm, escorted her to the door, and opened it. Madame Vernet paused on the threshold.
Major Fallière ceremoniously offered her his arm
“I go,” she said, “to seek refuge and protection with my aunt and uncle in Mézières.”
And the Major shut the door after her.
Mademoiselle Bouchard then rose majestically and advanced to Monsieur Bouchard.
“Andyou, Paul,” she said, “will seek refuge and protection in the house of your sister in the Rue Clarisse, where you spent thirty happy and peaceful years. You will there resume the orderlyand quiet life interrupted by your unfortunate excursion into the Rue Bassano. You will return to early hours and wholesome meals. You will have boiled mutton and rice, with a small glass of claret, for your dinner, and ten o’clock will be your hour for retiring. An occasional visit to a picture gallery or a museum will supply you with amusements far more intellectual than the orgies you have been indulging in at the Pigeon House.”
Monsieur Bouchard, the image of despair, looked round him. Captain de Meneval and Léontine were in fits of laughter. The three girls, huddled together on the sofa, were tittering; the grim Major was smiling broadly. Even a worm will turn, and so did Monsieur Bouchard.
“I am sorry, my dear Céleste,” he said, in a voice he vainly endeavored to make cool and debonair, “but what you suggest is impossible. I have taken my apartment for a year. And I find thatboiled mutton and rice for dinner do not suit my constitution. I—I—I—shall remain in the Rue Bassano.”
A round of applause from Major Fallière, Léontine and Victor, in which the three young ladies joined, much to Monsieur Bouchard’s annoyance, greeted this. Nevertheless, it stiffened his backbone.
“Do you mean to say that you do not intend to return to the Rue Clarisse?” asked Mademoiselle Bouchard, in much agitation.
“Y—yes,” replied Monsieur Bouchard, trying to assume a swashbuckler air. “You see, I don’t think the air of the Rue Clarisse agrees with me very well. I often had twinges of rheumatism there. Now, since I have been in the Rue Bassano, my joints feel about twenty-five years younger. In fact, I myself feel considerably younger—an increased vitality, so to speak. I am sorry to disoblige you, my dear Céleste, butfor the sake of my health and other reasons I shall remain in my present quarters.”
Mademoiselle Bouchard, defeated, was speechless. Not so Élise. Walking up to Pierre, she seized him and bawled:
“No excuses about your health shall keepyoufrom the Rue Clarisse. I promise you that you shall have a very different time there from your life in the Rue Bassano, turning night into day, running out here to the Pigeon House all the time and making a show and a scandal of yourself.”
Folding his arms and turning up the whites of his eyes
“No, Élise,” firmly replied Pierre, who had much more real courage than his master, “I promised Mademoiselle Bouchard that I never would desert Monsieur Bouchard. If he remains in the midst of the dangers of the Rue Bassano he needs my protecting services more than ever. Although but a servant, I have a sense of honor. I cannot break my word.”
“Oh, you old hypocrite—” began Élise.
“Hypocrite, you may call me,” answered Pierre, folding his arms and turning up the whites of his eyes, “but liar and falsifier you cannot. Mademoiselle—” to Mademoiselle Bouchard—“I shall keep my word to you. As long as Monsieur Bouchard remains in the Rue Bassano I stay with him. He shall not face alone the dangers of that gay locale—those music halls, those theatres, those merry cafés, where all sorts of delicious, indigestible things are sold. His faithful Pierre shall be with him.”
Mademoiselle Bouchard realized she was beaten. So did Élise. Theyrose slowly. De Meneval ran into the next room, and bringing out a cage that held the redoubtable Pierrot, put it into Mademoiselle Bouchard’s hand.
“There, dear Aunt Céleste,” he cried, “is your consoler. I offered to buy him from the proprietor of the Pigeon House, but the man said he would give me the bird for nothing—in fact, he would pay to get rid of him. He was driving the customers of the Pigeon House away by his language.”
“At least,” said Mademoiselle Bouchard, solemnly, “if men are renegades, there is something of the same sex that is faithful and grateful. No doubt this poor bird is happy at escaping from the dissipated atmosphere of the Pigeon House to the sweet seclusion of the Rue Clarisse.”
Forcing the cage door open with almost human intelligence, flew out
But, horror of horrors! The instant the wicked Pierrot found himself going in the direction of the door, on his way to the Rue Clarisse, he broke out into the most outrageous denunciations of the two ladies. Shrieks, demoniac laughter, yells, oaths and slang of the worst description poured from him; he screamed with rage, bit furiously at both Mademoiselle Bouchard and Élise, and forcing the cage door open, with almost human intelligence flew out andperched on Monsieur Bouchard’s shoulder, from which he continued his volley of abuse, winding up with a shout of:
“Go to the devil, you bowlegged old rapscallions!”
But the two respectable elderly persons so infamously described, were already fleeing. Of course, no such bird as Pierrot had become could be tolerated in the Rue Clarisse, and Élise cried, while she and Mademoiselle Bouchard ran down the stairs:
“The only safe thing to do, Mademoiselle, is to keep everything masculine out of our apartment. They are all alike—men and parrots—everything that is masculine is abominable and not to be trusted. They live to deceive us poor women, and are never so happy as when they are lying to us. So let them go—Monsieur, Pierre and Pierrot—the wretches, and trust to retributive justice to overtake them!”
But neither Monsieur Bouchard norPierre seemed to fear the blindfolded lady with the sword. They were at that moment capering with glee, and Pierre was shouting:
“I wouldn’t go back to the Rue Clarisse for a million of monkeys!”
And Papa Bouchard was saying:
“I have a confession to make. It is this—that I like a gay life, and as that worthy fellow says, I would not go back to the Rue Clarisse for a million of monkeys, and all the money in the Bank of France beside. I intend to lead averygay life, hereafter. I am a changed, a reformed man. Léontine, I shall allow you three-fourths of your income to spend—and if you get into straits, come to Papa Bouchard and perhaps I’ll do something handsome. Victor, when next you have a little party of Pouters on hand, don’t forgot your Papa Bouchard.”
“Indeed I won’t,” cried de Meneval, “and Fallière and I will promiseto get twenty of the best fellows in the regiment and take you on the biggest lark, bat, jag, and jamboree you ever heard of in all your life!”
Free! Free! gay dogs are we!
“Pray don’t forget,” answered Papa Bouchard, while his mouth came open as if it were on hinges. “Remember—it is to have all the combined features of a lark, a bat, a jag and a jamboree. And Pierre, my man, we won’t go back to the Rue Clarisse!”
“No!” shrieked Pierre, capering in an ecstasy of delight, “we won’t go back to the Rue Clarisse!”
And Pierrot yelled as if inspired, “We won’t go back to the Rue Clarisse! We’re free! we’re free! Gay dogs are we!”