Since eleven o’clock Dalville had been expected at Monsieur Destival’s. Madame, a brunette of thirty, with a bright eye and a most expressive glance, who was an adept in the art of making the most of a shapely figure and seductive contours by an effective costume,—madame had finished her toilet. In the country it was, of course, very simple; but there are some négligé costumes which require much preparation. However, as madame was pretty and still young, she had spent only a half hour in donning a filmy white dress, confined at the waist by an orange sash; in arranging her curls becomingly and adorning them with a bow of the same color as her sash. Nor had she asked Julie more than six times if the yellow was becoming to her.
Julie replied that madame was fascinating, that yellow was always becoming to brunettes, and, in fact, that madame need not be afraid to wear any color. Madame smiled slightly at Julie, who was only twenty-four, but was extremely ugly, which is almost always considered a valuable quality in a lady’s maid.
Monsieur Destival was ten years older than his wife; he was tall and thin; his face was not handsome, but it had character; unfortunately its expression was not of the sort that denotes an amiable person, whose wit causes one to forget his ugliness; it denoted self-sufficiency, conceit, and a constant tendency to be cunning.His rustic cap, set well forward on his head, seemed to put a seal upon all the rest.
Monsieur Destival was formerly a government employé; with his wife’s dowry he had bought the office of official auctioneer, which he had afterward sold at a profit. Although he never talked of politics for fear of compromising himself, and did not himself know to what party he belonged, he had had the shrewdness to set up an office as a business agent, had obtained a numerous clientage and had succeeded in tripling his capital. To be sure, he gave receptions, balls and small punches, and madame, whose eyes were full of fire and whose manners were charming, did the honors of her salon with infinite grace.
The country house, where they passed much of the time in summer, was large enough to enable them to entertain extensively, and to provide rooms for seven or eight friends. As monsieur never allowed more than one day to pass without going to Paris to look after his business, and as he sometimes passed the night there, madame—who was very timid, although she had the look of a strong-minded woman—liked to keep one of monsieur’s male friends in the house.
A young man with twenty thousand francs a year could not fail to be hospitably received at Monsieur Destival’s; and so, although it was only three months since Auguste had made his acquaintance, he was already on the footing of an intimate friend. Monsieur constantly urged him to call, whether at Paris or in the country, and madame was very fond of singing and playing with him.
But the clock struck twelve, and Monsieur Dalville did not appear. Madame was annoyed. Julie was posted on the lookout at a window on the second floor, and monsieur wandered from one room to another, exclaiming:
“The devil! my friend Dalville is very late, and he promised to come early, to be here for breakfast.”
“Does Monsieur Auguste ever remember his promises?” asked madame snappishly.
“Oh! there you go again, always finding fault with him, attacking him, making fun of him.”
“I, monsieur? What concern of mine are Monsieur Dalville’s tastes or his failings? When did you ever see me attack him?”
“I know that it’s all in joke; but you are a little bit caustic, my dear Emilie, you like to hurl epigrams. It is true, I admit, that I myself should be very biting, if I didn’t hold myself back; in fact, I often am unconsciously. But after all, Dalville’s a charming fellow—well-born—rich—talented.”
“Talented? Oh! very slightly.”
“I thought that he was strong on the violin?”
“No, monsieur, he often plays false—Well, Julie, do you see anyone coming?”
“Mon Dieu! no, madame, it’s no use to look. And all those cheeses that I bought of Denise! How annoying!”
“For heaven’s sake, mademoiselle, don’t bother us with your cheeses. Go up to the cupola—you can see farther.”
“Very well, madame.”
Julie went upstairs and monsieur resumed the conversation.
“You won’t deny, I trust, that Dalville has a pleasant voice.”
“Pleasant! bah! a voice like everybody’s else.”
“Why, I should say that you and he sing duets together perfectly, especially the one from Feydeau’sMuletier; you know, the one with ‘What joy! what joy!’ and that ends with ‘coucou! coucou!’”
“Oh! you tire me, monsieur, with your ‘coucous!’”
“He plays quadrilles on the piano.”
“Who doesn’t play now?”
“Faith, I don’t; to be sure, I have always had so much business on hand that I have had to neglect my taste for music. At all events, Dalville is bright, pleasant, always in good spirits.”
“There are days when he can’t say three words in succession!”
“Let me tell you that I myself, when I’m very much occupied with some important matter, am not as agreeable as usual—that happens to everybody. To return to Dalville—he is rich—and young.—By George! I have an idea! such a delicious idea!”
“What is it then, monsieur?”
“I must find a wife for him.”
“A wife for Monsieur Auguste? Why on earth should you interfere? Is it any of your business?”
“Isn’t it my business to look after other people’s business? This may turn out a profitable affair.”
“Oh! don’t go to making matches, monsieur, I beg! As if you knew anything about such things!”
“I flatter myself that I do, madame.”
“A business agent make marriages—nonsense! that would be absurd!—Have you thought about your gun, monsieur?”
“Yes, madame, I told Baptiste to clean it; and Dalville promised to bring that old soldier of his, Bertrand; he will teach me how to use it; for a wolf has been seen in the neighborhood, you know, madame; and that is very unpleasant because it keeps one uneasy all the time.”
“I don’t suppose that that makes it impossible for you to beat up the wood?”
“Oh, no! on the contrary, madame, it was I who suggested that measure of safety. I propose to see the wolf, madame.”
“You will do well, monsieur.”
The conversation was interrupted by a noise in the next room.
“Ah! here’s our dear Dalville at last, no doubt,” said Monsieur Destival.
Madame said nothing, but she prepared a little pouting expression which would surely imply what she thought. Meanwhile the person whom they had heard did not enter the room, but continued to rub his feet on the doormat. Monsieur Destival threw the door of the salon open, and found, instead of Auguste, a little man of some fifty-five years, with a light wig, broad-brimmed straw hat, coat cut almost square, short breeches, and fancy stockings, who was rubbing and rerubbing his feet on the mat in the reception room.
“Ah! it’s our neighbor, Monsieur Monin!” said Monsieur Destival, at sight of the little man.
At the name of Monin, Madame Destival made an impatient gesture, muttering:
“What a bore! why need he have come!”
“Hush! be still, madame! He still has a drug store to sell, and he wants to buy a house. I propose that he shall dine with us.”
With that, Monsieur Destival turned back toward the door, where Monsieur Monin was still rubbing his feet on the mat.
“Well, aren’t you coming in, my dear Monsieur Monin? What in the deuce are you doing there all this time? It’s a fine day; you don’t need to wipe your feet.”
“Oh! but I’ll tell you: as I came across the courtyard I looked up at the sky to see if we were going tohave a shower, and I stepped into a dung-heap that I didn’t see.”
“That’s Baptiste’s fault; it should have been taken away.”
“There, that will do.”
Monsieur Monin left the mat at last, and looking up at Monsieur Destival with a pair of big eyes level with his face, wherein one would have looked in vain for an idea, smiled a smile which cut his face in halves, although it was still dominated by a nose of enormous dimensions, always stuffed with snuff, like an unlighted pipe.
“How’s your health, neighbor?”
“Very good, my dear sir. Pray come in; my wife is here and will be delighted to see you.”
Monsieur Monin entered the salon and removed his hat, making a low bow to Madame Destival, who acknowledged the salute by a smile which might have passed for a grimace; but Monsieur Monin took it most favorably for himself, and began his inevitable question:
“How’s your health, madame?”
“Passable, monsieur; not very good at this moment; my nerves are unstrung, I have palpitations.”
“It’s the weather, madame; the heat is intense to-day: twenty-six degrees and three-tenths.”
“Twenty-seven, neighbor,” said Monsieur Destival, glancing at his thermometer.
“That’s surprising! it isn’t so high at my house, and yet mine’s in the same position. My wife says that I’ve made it too low lately.”
“Why did not Madame Monin come with you, neighbor?”
“She’s making pickles, and it will take her all day. My! but she takes a lot of pains with ‘em! She won’t go out to-day.”
“I am deeply indebted to the pickles,” whispered Madame Destival, while Monsieur Monin continued, doing his utmost to force another pinch into his nose:
“My wife said to me: ‘I don’t need you, Monin, take a walk.’ So I came to see you.”
“That was very agreeable of you, neighbor. Will you pass the whole day with us?”
“Why, yes, if it don’t put you out, I should like to, because I’ll tell you—when my wife’s making pickles, she don’t like to bother with cooking.”
“Very good, then you will stay. You will meet Monsieur Dalville, a delightful young man, full of fun. His servant, who is an old soldier, is to give me a lesson in drilling, for I am appointed general——”
“What?”
“Why, yes, in thebattuewe’re going to have.”
“Oh, yes! I was saying——”
“Won’t you take part in it, Monsieur Monin?”
“Why, I’ll tell you: when I had my rifle, it was all right—”
“Madame, madame, a lovely calèche is just driving into the courtyard,” said Julie, rushing into the salon.
“A calèche?”
“With Monsieur and Madame de la Thomassinière.”
“What! have they come? How kind of them!” cried Monsieur Destival, running to the window. Madame Destival did not share her husband’s delight; however, she rose to satisfy herself concerning the arrival of her new guests, and went out to receive them; for persons who have a calèche and a livery deserve the very greatest consideration. Thus, Monsieur Destival flew at his wife’s heels, leaving Monsieur Monin, who was just about to tell him how many times he had hunted, and who, finding himself abandoned in the salon, turned to his ordinaryresource, and succeeded, by dint of perseverance, in forcing two dainty pinches of snuff into his nostrils.
Monsieur de la Thomassinière, for whom they ran downstairs so eagerly, was a man of about forty years of age. When he arrived in Paris, at eighteen, his name was Thomas simply, and he did not blush then for his mother, who kept a little wine-shop in her village. But residence in the capital had wrought an entire change in Monsieur Thomas. First a shop clerk, then a government clerk, then a money-lender, then a man of large affairs, Monsieur Thomas had seen Fortune smile constantly upon him. He speculated with his consols and was lucky; after that he forgot his village and adopted the tone and manners of a man in the first society. That a person should start from very low and rise very high—there is no objection to that; on the contrary, the man who wins success by his work, who makes his own fortune, leads us to believe that his merit is greater than his who attains the highest honor without exertion of his own. But the thing for which a parvenu is never forgiven is an affectation of pride and insolence, and the belief that by assuming the airs of a grand seigneur, he can lead people to forget the name and the clothes that he used to wear. Monsieur Thomas was such a one. He began by changing his too vulgar name for that of La Thomassinière. Then, instead of urging his mother to leave her village and enjoy his fortune, he contented himself with sending her a sum of money which would enable her to take down the sign of theLearned Ass, and to stop selling wine. But he forbade her to come to Paris, where, he said, the air was very unhealthy for elderly women. Then Monsieur de la Thomassinière set up an establishment,—carriage, servants, livery—bought a magnificent country estate and a very prettywife of eighteen, who was turned over to him with a dowry of one hundred thousand francs, and who did not so much as ask whether her husband was handsome or ugly, because, having been perfectly educated, she knew that a husband who owns a carriage is always comely enough, and, besides that, a woman is supposed to look at nobody but her husband.
Monsieur de la Thomassinière, dressed like a dandy and aping the manners of good society, but always affording a glimpse of the days of theLearned Ass, was forever talking about “my estate, my property, my servants, my horses.” His wife was his only possession as to whom he did not use the possessive pronoun. As for madame, a lively, volatile, giddy creature, with no thought for anything save dress and amusements, she never spoke to monsieur except to ask him for money, or to talk about some festivity that she proposed to give.
“Ah! here are our dear friends!” said Monsieur Destival, hastening forward to offer his hand to Madame de la Thomassinière to help her alight, while monsieur gazed admiringly at his horses and gorgeous livery.
“Good-morning, Destival.—Lapierre, be careful of the horses.—Madame, allow me to offer my respects.—Cover my calèche, you fellows, it may rain in.—We have come without ceremony. It doesn’t put you out to have me bring a few of my people, does it?”
“Of course not! I have enough to board and lodge them,” replied Monsieur Destival, biting his lips, because his modest cabriolet was completely eclipsed by the superb calèche, and Baptiste and Julie, who composed his whole staff of domestics, would be hidden by a single one of the tall rascals whom Monsieur de la Thomassinière carried in his train. But these reflections did not prevent the exchange of the usual courtesies, they simply made himambitious to enlarge his household; and so, as he led the young woman into the house, our business agent said to himself:
“I must find a wife for Dalville, sell Monin’s drug shop, and buy a house for him; then I will have a little groom—a negro—and dress him in red, so that he can be seen a long way off.”
The two ladies embraced.
“Good-morning, my dear girl.”
“Good-morning, dear.”
“How sweet of you to come to see us!”
“We are going to stay until to-morrow.”
“How lovely your hats always are!”
“Do you think so?”
“Fascinating. I like that style of dress ever so much.”
“It’s the latest—not quite low enough in the neck.”
“Why, yes. I must have some of that material; it’s very stylish.”
“Oh! it’s very simple; the dress cost only two hundred francs. But for the country, and for calls on one’s friends—I’ll give you my dressmaker’s address.”
Madame Destival allowed Madame de la Thomassinière to go upstairs first, continuing to lavish compliments upon her, and counterfeiting the most extravagant delight in order to conceal her secret annoyance; for the new arrival was genuinely pretty, her manners were charmingly vivacious, and Monsieur Dalville, whom Madame Destival was still expecting to see, had never met her. Monsieur Dalville, who was so quick to take fire, was very likely to make love to Madame de la Thomassinière, who was no less likely to listen to him. All this caused Madame Destival much secret anger; but she affected the greater amiability on that account; for in society one must know how to make believe, to speakotherwise than one thinks; that is the great secret of social success.
Madame de la Thomassinière entered the salon, where Monsieur Monin had remained; he was on the point of attempting the introduction of another pinch of snuff, but checked himself at sight of the young woman, stepped back, removed his hat, and although he had never seen her before, began his inevitable question:
“How’s your health?”
But the petite-maîtresse did not give the ex-druggist an opportunity to speak; she stifled with her handkerchief the outburst of laughter inspired by Monsieur Monin’s unique countenance, and turned to Madame Destival, saying:
“Who is this?”
“A neighbor of ours, very rich, but as stupid as he is ridiculous.”
“Ah! so much the better; we will have some sport with him. We may as well laugh a bit. Do you expect anybody else?”
“Why, yes, we expect a young man, a great friend of Monsieur Destival—Monsieur Auguste Dalville. Do you know him?”
“No, but I’ve heard a great deal about him; he is noted in society for hisbonnes fortunesand his conquests. I shall be very glad to make his acquaintance. As a general rule, these naughty fellows are very agreeable—don’t you think so, my dear?”
“Why, sometimes—not always. However, you shall judge for yourself.”
“They say he’s very good-looking?”
“Oh! so-so; a passable face, that’s all; rather fine eyes, but his mouth is a little too large and his lips are very thick. I don’t like that type of face at all.”
“For my part, I don’t like thin lips. Is he light or dark?”
“I can hardly remember; he is dark, I think.”
“I had an idea that I had heard that Monsieur Dalville came to your house very often?”
“Oh, no! he goes to my husband’s office, on business.”
“Is he musical?”
“A little.”
“I have brought a nocturne that I am crazy over; he must sing it with me.”
“Monsieur Dalville will certainly be delighted to sing with you.—Excuse me, my dear, but I have some orders to give. In the country we don’t stand on ceremony.”
“I should hope not! I will go out and see your garden.”
“Do; I am going to order luncheon, and I will come and call you.”
The petite-maîtresse tripped lightly down the stairs leading to the garden, and Madame Destival went to her bedroom, where she threw herself on a lounge, saying to Julie as she came in:
“Oh! Julie! I am so annoyed! I cannot stand any more, I am choking!”
“I should think as much, madame; I don’t see how you can help it! To wait in vain for those whom you expect, and have to receive a lot of people that you don’t expect!”
“Monsieur Destival is perfectly brutal, with his mania for inviting everybody he sees. If he had a château, he would not do any more!”
“That old Monin, who can’t do anything but eat and drink!”
“And yet, if he were the only one, I shouldn’t mind him, I promise you.”
“Is his wife coming?”
“No, thank God! she is making pickles.”
“That’s very lucky! Madame Monin has a wicked tongue in her head; and inquisitive—why, she always comes into the kitchen to see what’s going on.”
“In spite of that, I should have preferred her to those Thomassinières, who put on so much style and assume the most unendurable airs and pretensions!”
“And then, who ever heard of bringing three servants to be fed! Those big rascals will eat everything in the house.”
“What time is it, Julie?”
“After twelve, madame.”
“He won’t come. I am very glad of it now. Order luncheon. We will not dine until half past six.”
“That’s right; in that way they won’t get any supper, at all events.”
Julie went downstairs. Madame stood in front of her mirror, looked at herself a few moments, arranged a few locks of hair, then left the room, saying to herself:
“I look well enough for these people.”
She went to the garden and joined Madame de la Thomassinière, whose husband, immediately on arriving, had asked Monsieur Destival for a pen and some ink, so that he might at once write an urgent letter on a matter of great importance. Monsieur Destival ensconced the speculator in his study.
“Make yourself perfectly at home,” he said; “I will leave you.”
And Monsieur de la Thomassinière, left to himself at the desk, scratched his head, looked at the pens, and wrote nothing at all, for the reason that he had nothing to write and no letter to send. But a man involved in great speculations should always seem preoccupied, and pretendthat he needs a writing desk; that impresses fools and credulous folk, and sometimes people of good sense even; the professional schemers are the only ones who do not allow themselves to be gulled by such petty wiles, because they often use them themselves.
On leaving La Thomassinière, Monsieur Destival returned to Monsieur Monin, who did not take offence because no attention was paid to him, his wife having accustomed him to that.
“Well, neighbor, have you sold that drug shop?” queried the business agent, slapping Monsieur Monin on the shoulder.
“Not yet, neighbor. It vexes me, because, I’ll tell you, those who have taken my place temporarily aren’t used to it as I am, and——”
“I’ll sell it for you. I hope to see you in Paris next winter, Monsieur Monin, and to know you better.”
“Certainly, monsieur.”
“You must come to our house to play cards.”
“Do you play loo?”
“No, but écarté, and boston. I have a very pretty house to sell you.”
“Do you mean it?”
“Yes, it’s a great opportunity; the price is nothing at all.”
“Is it insured?”
“I don’t know; we will talk about all those things later; go out and take a turn in the garden. I am going to find out if they have any idea of giving us some luncheon.”
Monin left the room; as Monsieur Destival turned to do likewise he confronted his wife, who exclaimed:
“What, monsieur! you have asked Monsieur Monin to call on us in Paris?”
“To be sure, madame.”
“It’s well enough in the country, because he’s a neighbor. But in town! A man who can’t say anything or do anything, and who knows no game but loo!”
“He is rich, madame.”
“What if he is? that doesn’t prevent his being as stupid as an owl.”
“He won’t be the first stupid person who has been to my house, madame. When one receives a great deal of company, it can’t be otherwise. And besides, with your men of intellect, your authors and your poets, there’s not a sou to be made.”
“If you’re so fond of money, monsieur, why do you invite so many people to your country house? It is ruinously extravagant, monsieur.”
“Never fear, madame; I invite none but those who may be useful to me. Oh! I am very shrewd, I look a long way ahead. La Thomassinière is a valuable acquaintance, and I am very desirous to become intimate with him. I know that he often makes himself very ridiculous, that he tries to play the great man, and that the rôle isn’t suited to him; that he occasionally makes blunders in speaking that smell horribly of his origin; that he is tiresome beyond words with his carriage, his estates, his property and his servants, whom he is forever throwing in one’s face; but for all that, he’s a man for whom I have a peculiar esteem and regard, because, as I told you just now, madame, I look a long way ahead.—But how about luncheon?”
“Speak to Baptiste, monsieur; I have given my orders to Julie.”
Madame Destival went into the garden, where the petite-maîtresse was strolling about, gathering a bouquet.
“I am picking your flowers, you see,” she said.
“You are doing just right, my dear love; pray take all that you please.”
“Your garden is lovely.”
“Oh! it isn’t very extensive; but there is plenty of shade, and that’s what I like.”
“So do I. I have had a forest planted on our estate at Fleury. It will be delicious, I assure you.”
“But before it grows——”
“Oh! we have set out nothing but large trees. I will send you an invitation for next month. I am waiting for the painting and decorating I am having done to be finished, before going there for a month. But I shall take plenty of guests; for I don’t like the country except with a lot of people about.”
“For my part, I am rather fond of solitude.”
“Mon Dieu! I should die if I were alone a single day!”
“So you don’t like reading?”
“Yes, I do, for a moment or two, in bed; but not long at a time; it tires me.”
“And music?”
“I play and sing only when someone is listening to me.”
“Drawing?”
“Oh! that was all right at boarding-school! I mean to have a little theatre on my estate, and we will have theatricals there; that’s great fun. I used to act often at boarding-school. I was particularly fond of the parts in which I changed dresses.”
“What a child you are!”
“What would you have? one must pass the time somehow. If I had nothing but my husband to amuse me, great heaven! where should we be? A man who thinks of nothing but figures and exchange and heaven knows what. These business men are very disagreeable.”
The ladies, having turned into another path, found themselves in the neighborhood of Monsieur Monin, who had stopped and seemed to be in a sort of trance before a plum tree laden with very large fruit. At sight of the ladies he took off his hat and muttered: “How’s your—” But he did not finish the sentence, because he remembered that he had already paid his respects to them in the salon; so he turned and pointed to the tree, saying: “That tree bears very fine fruit.”
“Why, my dear, you don’t mean that you have fruit trees in your garden?” cried the petite-maîtresse; “why, that’s the worst possible form; you must take them all away and set out in their place ebony-trees, acacias, and sycamores.”
“Oh! our garden makes no pretensions,” rejoined Madame Destival, biting her lips with anger; “it isn’t a park such as you have on your place, and Monsieur Destival is very fond of fruit.”
“He is quite right,” said Monin, who had walked nearer to the plum tree when Madame de la Thomassinière spoke of taking it up. “Fruit is the body’s friend when it’s good and ripe. But I was just going to say——”
“And monsieur’s plums!” continued the younger woman. “Dear, dear! they are very vulgar; they should be left for the servants.”
“Oh! when Monsieur Destival has made a fortune, then we will have a separate orchard; but meanwhile we are simple enough to be content with a small country place. What would you have? We were not born in a palace—in the lap of grandeur.”
Madame Destival uttered these last words with malicious emphasis; but Madame de la Thomassinière seemed to pay no heed to them; as hare-brained as shewas inconsequent, she said offensive things unintentionally; and if she talked constantly of her dresses, her diamonds and her estate, it was less from vanity than as a matter of habit, whereas the wish to make a show of his wealth was the motive behind every act of her husband.
“Luncheon is waiting, mesdames,” said Monsieur Destival, hastening forward gallantly to offer his arm to the petite-maîtresse; “come; it is late, and you must be hungry. Faith, if Dalville comes, he will have to eat alone, that’s all there is about it.”
The master of the house walked away with the young woman. Monsieur Monin had taken off his hat and was about to offer Madame Destival his arm; but she, divining his purpose, vanished by another path, and the little man, having lost sight of her, decided to betake himself alone to the dining-room; but first he cast a last tender glance at the plum tree.
They were seated at the table, and Monsieur de la Thomassinière was still in the study.
“Tell him that we are going to have luncheon,” said Monsieur Destival, “and that we’re only waiting for him.”
Baptiste went up to the study and called through the door:
“Luncheon is served, monsieur.”
“Very well, very well, I will come down,” replied La Thomassinière, continuing to roll little balls of paper; “I have only one more note to write.”
The valet withdrew and reported the answer that was made to him.
“What a terrible man he is with his notes!” said Madame Destival; “doesn’t he have a moment to himself, even in the country?”
“My husband?” replied the petite-maîtresse; “why, my dear love, he’s a most insufferable creature with his endless writing! He is never ready at meal-time; and even when we have twenty persons to dinner, which happens quite often, I have to send for him three or four times.”
After making balls of paper for another five minutes, Monsieur de la Thomassinière concluded at last to go down to the dining-room.
“I beg pardon, here I am! It wasn’t my fault,” he said as he took his seat; “you shouldn’t have waited for me. You see, I happened to think about a certain speculation I am interested in.—Give me the wing of a chicken and a glass of claret; that is all I take in the morning.—Well, Athalie, have you devastated madame’s flower garden?”
Athalie, who ate quite heartily for a petite-maîtresse, answered with a laugh:
“I have been doing what I chose, monsieur; you know perfectly well that it doesn’t concern you.”
“That is true, madame, that is perfectly true. I supply the money, I pay the bills. Twelve hundred francs to a milliner seems a trifle expensive. But madame must have the best there is.”
“If you lose your temper, monsieur, the next bill will be twice as large.”
“You know well enough, madame, that when it’s a question of giving you money, I never have to be asked twice. When one is rich, that’s perfectly natural; we must help the tradesmen to make money; isn’t that so, Destival?”
“To be sure,” replied his host, “I have the same feeling.—Well, what do you think of my claret? You don’t say anything about it.”
“It is very fair; but I have some better than this, oh! much better! I will give you some when you come to my house, and you’ll see.”
“And this cream—do you like it, madame?”
“Very much,” replied the petite-maîtresse. But Monsieur de la Thomassinière helped himself to three spoonfuls, saying:
“Let’s taste the cream.” Then he made a slight grimace and added: “Oh! my estate is the place for fine dairy products! This can’t be compared with it; it’s an entirely different thing! And our fowls! ah! they are delicious. To be sure, they are fed with such care! Now you people think that you are eating something good when you eat a chicken like this. Well, let me tell you that if you should see my poultry yard at Fleury, you would look on this as rubbish.”
“It is very fortunate then that we know nothing about it,” retorted Madame Destival, with a meaning glance at her husband. He, to change the subject of that pleasant conversation, turned to Monin, who had not said a word since he had been at the table, being engrossed by the second joint of a chicken, which he seasoned now and then with snuff, glancing occasionally with the eye of a connoisseur at a magnificent pie that stood in front of him, to which he seemed to be saying: “How’s your health?”
“Your appetite seems to be in good condition, neighbor?” said Destival.
“Yes, yes, it’s the weather that does it. Do you take snuff?”
And Monin offered his box to Destival, then to La Thomassinière, who, after taking a tiny pinch, took from his pocket a gold snuff-box at which he gazed for some time with a complacent expression.
“This is Virginia,” he said, “the very best snuff there is; it’s very expensive, but I don’t care for any other kind. Try it, monsieur.”
Monin, who never declined a pinch of snuff, was about to partake of the Virginia, when they heard the wheels of a carriage entering the courtyard, and Julie hurried into the dining-room, saying:
“Here’s Monsieur Dalville; his cabriolet has just come in.”
Madame Destival smiled with satisfaction, and the petite-maîtresse hastily ordered her plate to be changed, so that the débris of her repast might not be seen in front of her. Monsieur Destival ran out to receive his dear friend, and Monsieur de la Thomassinière thought: “This Dalville must be a millionaire, to have his arrival make such a sensation.”
As for Monin, with his pinch of Virginia in one hand and his fork in the other, confused by the bustle caused by Dalville’s arrival, he put a dainty piece of ham to his nose and the superfine snuff in his mouth. He discovered his mistake, however, and put each article in its proper place.
Destival, having gone out to greet Dalville, looked about for him in vain; he saw nobody near the cabriolet save little Tony and Bertrand, the latter of whom gave him a military salute.
“Well! where is he? which way did he go in?” inquired Destival. Bertrand passed his tongue over his lips and scratched his ear, seeking a suitable reply; at last he said in a firm voice:
“Monsieur Dalville will be here as soon as I am.”
“But you seem to have got here before him; did he leave you on the way?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Does he know anyone in the neighborhood?”
“It would seem so, monsieur.”
“At all events, he is really coming; that’s the main point.”
Destival ran back to inform the ladies that his friend Dalville would soon be there; that he had stopped to see a friend, but that he could not be long.
“Why, I didn’t know that he knew anyone in this vicinity,” said Madame Destival in surprise.
“Mon Dieu! this gentleman keeps us on the anxious seat a long while,” said the vivacious Athalie, leaving the table; while La Thomassinière, annoyed that a thought should be given to anybody but himself, paced the floor a few moments, then stamped violently, and put his hand to his forehead.
“Bless my soul!” he cried, “I had almost forgotten. What time is it? Not one yet? Is there a post office[A]anywhere near?”
[A]Frenchposte; when used alone the meaning is ambiguous and depends on the context. Hence the misunderstanding.
[A]Frenchposte; when used alone the meaning is ambiguous and depends on the context. Hence the misunderstanding.
“Do you mean a donkey post?” asked Monin.
“No, for letters, of course!”
“Oh, yes! on the second street. By the way, I believe—I won’t say for sure, but I’ll tell you——”
“I’ll go there at once; I shall be in time.”
And Monsieur de la Thomassinière rushed from theroom as if he would overturn everybody, paying no heed to Destival, who shouted after him:
“Stay here; I’ll send it for you. Besides, your own servants are here.”
The speculator darted out across the fields, and having reached a dense thicket, lay down on the grass and went to sleep, saying to himself:
“A man like me must never have a moment to himself.”
The ladies returned to the salon. Monsieur Destival went down to Bertrand, and Monin, seeing that everybody had left the table, concluded to do likewise and followed his host.
As soon as Bertrand had taken some refreshment, Monsieur Destival went to him and begged him to give him a lesson in drilling and giving orders. The ex-corporal was very willing to do anything that recalled glorious memories. He repaired with Monsieur Destival to the terrace in the garden, where the latter had his rifle brought to him, and a foil which he used as a sword, and stood as straight as a ramrod as he carried out Bertrand’s orders. Monin, who had followed them, thought that it was courteous to do as his host did; he took a spade in lieu of a musket, and, standing behind his neighbor, followed him through “right shoulder,” “left shoulder,” “present arms,” etc., pausing only to use his snuff-box.
For more than an hour the gentlemen had been on the terrace with Bertrand, who would gladly have passed the day in such a pleasant occupation. Monsieur Destival, ambitious to outshine the rural constables, began to carry himself like a Prussian grenadier; and Monin, perspiring profusely in his efforts to do as well as his host, did not notice that, while taking aim, presenting arms and grounding arms with his sword, he had pushed backhis cap and wig, thereby giving himself a most swaggering appearance.
The drill was interrupted by roars of laughter from the effervescent Athalie, who appeared on the scene with Madame Destival.
Monsieur Monin paused in the act of presenting arms. It was high time; a moment more and the wig would have fallen back and have exhibited the ex-druggist as the Child-Jesus. As for Monsieur Destival, he turned toward the ladies, with a martial air, weapon in hand, and said:
“Well, what do you think of my set-up?”
“Superb! But I prefer monsieur here with his spade; he is more amusing.”
“What, neighbor, are you taking a lesson in the manual?”
“Yes,” replied Monin, wiping his brow and pulling his wig forward; “I followed you at a distance, and I’ll tell you——”
“But what can have become of Monsieur Dalville?” said Madame Destival, paying no attention to Monin; “he left you on the road, he said that he would be here as soon as you, and you have been here two hours. At whose house did you leave him, Bertrand?”
“At whose house, madame? I didn’t say that I left him at anyone’s house.”
“But you must have seen him go into a house, didn’t you? Of course you didn’t leave him on the highroad?”
“Excuse me, madame, but that’s just what I did: I left my lieutenant in the middle of the road, about half a league from here.”
“You do not tell the whole story, Bertrand: Monsieur Auguste wasn’t alone on the road, I fancy.”
“I didn’t see whether anybody was coming, madame.”
“Oh! there must have been some peasant girl there, some rustic beauty, who captivated Monsieur Dalville!”
“What do you mean, my dear? Does he consort with that kind?” inquired the petite-maîtresse disdainfully.
“He consorts with all kinds, my dear. Bless my soul, a scullery maid, if she has a little turned-up nose, a——”
“Oh dear! oh dear! this goes far to destroy the good opinion I had formed of this gentleman.”
“I tell you,” said Madame Destival in a lower tone, drawing nearer to her friend, “he’s a perfect libertine! If it weren’t for my husband, I should never receive him. He’s a man whose acquaintance is likely to endanger a woman’s reputation. But Monsieur Destival is daft over him. He absolutely insists on entertaining him, and is forever inviting him here. I don’t like quarrels, and I let my husband do what he chooses.”
“Well, I am not so obliging; I do only what I like, and I receive only those people who suit me. Ah! if Monsieur de la Thomassinière should try to thwart me, I should instantly become subject to hysterics.”
The ladies were about to return to the garden and Bertrand to continue his lesson in drilling, when they heard loud laughter in the courtyard, and in a moment Dalville made his appearance.
“Ah! good-day, my dear friend,” said Monsieur Destival, going to meet Auguste, rifle in hand; “we had about given you up. Shoulder arms, eh? Isn’t this about right?”
“I see that Bertrand will make something of you.”
“Here is my wife, who has been in a temper because you didn’t come.”
“Mon Dieu! how my husband does irritate me!” said Madame Destival to her neighbor, assuming a frigid air to welcome Auguste, who said to her:
“What, madame! have you been so kind as to be uneasy because of my non-appearance?”
“I have not said a word of that sort, monsieur. I cannot conceive why Monsieur Destival delights in crediting me with statements the thought of which I do not even entertain. I simply considered that when a person promised to arrive in time for luncheon, it was ridiculous to put in an appearance at the end of the day. However, I am not at all surprised, and—But, bless my soul! what on earth has happened to you, monsieur? What a plight you are in! A wound in the face—clothes all disarranged—It would seem that you have had some thrilling adventure.”
“In truth, madame,” said Auguste, bowing to Athalie, who returned his salutation with a simpering air, “I did have an encounter——”
“Perhaps he met the wolf,” suggested Monin, walking up to Destival; “it seems that there is one in the woods. The peasant woman who sold my wife her cucumbers told her that the other day——”
“Can it be that you have been fighting with a wolf, my gallant Dalville?” cried Destival, presenting his bayonet to the company as if he proposed to charge a hollow square.
“Oh, no!” said madame, with a sly smile, “it was no wolf that made that mark on monsieur’s face; it looks like something entirely different; don’t you think so, my dear love?”
“That looks to me exactly like the scratch of a finger-nail,” said Athalie the vivacious, looking very closely at Auguste; “isn’t it that, monsieur?”
“You are not mistaken, madame.”
“So you have been fighting, have you, monsieur?” said Madame Destival.
“No, madame, I simply met a very pretty little boy, who had broken the bowl in which he was carrying soup to his father. I gave him a piece of money to console him; at that, in his joy he embraced me; he patted my cheeks with his little hands, and he—he accidentally scratched me a little. That is a faithful account of my adventure, mesdames.”
Madame Destival bit her lip and glanced at her companion, who smiled. It was evident that they both doubted the truth of Dalville’s story; but he cared very little what they might think. Taking advantage of this brief pause in the conversation, Monin went to Auguste, whom he had met twice at his neighbor’s and said to him in the most amiable manner:
“How’s your health?”
“Very good, Monsieur Monin, except for this scratch, which is not dangerous.”
“You are joking, monsieur! I tell you finger-nail scratches are not to be trifled with.—Do you use snuff?”
“Thanks.”
“I know all about it, and I’ll tell you why: my wife has a——”
Having no curiosity to hear Monin’s story, Dalville followed the ladies, who had returned to the garden. Athalie’s presence aroused in the young man a desire to be agreeable. He had not expected to find any other lady than the mistress of the house, who was well enough, but with whom he no longer took pains to be agreeable. Why? Was it because he was no longer in love with her, or because he was sure of pleasing her, or—On my word, you ask me too much.
Madame de la Thomassinière’s vivacity and unconventionality harmonized perfectly with Auguste’s lively humor and free-and-easy manners; and as greater libertyis authorized in the country, after a very short time he and the petite-maîtresse were laughing and joking together as if they had known each other for years.
Madame Destival did not share their gayety; she was sulky, said little, and contented herself with darting eloquent glances at the young man from time to time; the more intimate her two companions became, the more her ill-humor seemed to increase. Meanwhile they were strolling about the garden; they sat down; then Madame de la Thomassinière went to look at a pretty view, or pluck a flower, or chase a butterfly, and as she sauntered back showed Auguste a double row of lovely teeth, and seemed to say:
“Why don’t you come with me?”
But Madame Destival did not leave her, and although visibly annoyed, she too ran after the butterflies.
“What on earth is the matter with you, my dear love?” said Athalie, good-humoredly; “you don’t seem very hilarious.”
“I beg pardon, I am satisfied; but a severe headache has just come on.”
“Go in the house and lie down for a moment.”
“No, my child, oh, no! I prefer to stay with you.”
“You shouldn’t stand on ceremony in the country. Besides, monsieur will bear me company. We will catch butterflies together.”
“I will catch whatever you please, madame,” said Auguste, with a smile which was instantly succeeded by a wry face, because Madame Destival pinched his arm as she replied:
“No, the air will do me good. But I thought that you intended to have some music?”
“Oh! we shall have time enough this evening, as I am to pass the night here. Is monsieur to remain?”
“If madame will kindly allow me to do so?” said Auguste, glancing at his hostess, who replied angrily:
“As you please, monsieur.”
After walking for some time longer, they stopped beside a swing, and the sprightly Athalie sprang to a seat on the narrow plank, held in place by two cords only, saying to Auguste:
“Oh! do give me a push, please. I am wild over swinging; I have nearly killed myself a dozen times, but it makes no difference, I always come back to it. Not too high, monsieur, do you understand?”
“As high or as low as you choose, madame.”
Auguste stood near the swing and pushed gently, while Madame Destival seated herself at a little distance, with her handkerchief at her eyes. The young man was distraught; he looked at Athalie and Madame Destival in turn; the former’s petulant ways attracted him, the other’s grief seemed to cause him pain.
“Oh! what fun! how lovely it is!” cried the petite-maîtresse. “Keep on, monsieur, harder! Look out, you are jerking me.—Ah! my dear, you can’t imagine how I like this!”
Madame de la Thomassinière gave no sign of being tired of swinging; but Madame Destival, who was not at all amused, resorted to the device of fainting, and fell back in her chair with a hollow groan. Thereupon Auguste left the swing and ran to Emilie, exclaiming:
“What is the matter, madame?”
“Leave me; you are a monster!” replied Madame Destival, her eyes still closed.
“What have I done, pray?”
“Do you think that I have not noticed your conduct?”
“My conduct has been perfectly natural, I should say——”
“Not content with coming here from—from I don’t know where, monsieur presumes, in my presence, to make love to that flirt, who behaves in the most indecent way! I should have hoped that you would at least respect my house, monsieur!”
“Really, madame, I cannot in the least understand your anger. I am courteous, polite—nothing more.”
“Do you think that I have no eyes? It is far too evident. The least that you can do is to show some little self-restraint!”
“But——”
“Hush!”
“Well!” said Athalie, noticing that the swing moved more slowly, “what are you doing, monsieur? You are not pushing, you are letting me stop; and I don’t want that. Are you tired already? Fie! a young man too!”
At that moment appeared Monsieur Monin, who, seeing that his host was determined to practise the manual until dinner, and feeling that he had not the strength to continue, had dropped his spade and bent his steps toward the garden, where, as he wiped his forehead, he sought to freshen up his ideas by resorting to his snuff-box.
“You have come in the nick of time, Monsieur Monin,” said Madame Destival; “madame is sorely in need of somebody to swing her. Do her that service, she will be overjoyed.”
As she said this, Emilie rose, took Auguste’s arm and led him to another part of the garden, leaving Monin agape with amazement at the task assigned him, and Athalie still in the swing. Having her back to the others, she had not noticed their departure and was still ignorant of the fact that she had changed swingers.
“Well! push me, monsieur!” she said, wriggling about in the swing to make herself go.
Monin fortified himself with a pinch of snuff and walked toward the swing; but, having miscalculated the space that it covered in swinging back, the seat came down upon him as he was turning up his sleeves in order to push harder, and the young woman’s plump figure struck him in the face.
Dazed by the blow, Monin fell on the turf a step or two away; while Madame de la Thomassinière gave a little shriek because his nose had almost unseated her.
“How awkward you are!” she cried; “if I hadn’t held on tight, I should have fallen. Come and stop me, and help me to get down.—Well, monsieur, do you propose to leave me here?”
Monin was not quick to rise, and he was looking for his cap, which the swing had knocked off, muttering:
“I am at your service in a minute, madame. You see, if I should go home without my cap, my wife would make a row.”
Really vexed, Athalie turned her head and saw Monin trying to climb a tree to reach his cap, which the swing had sent flying to a high branch. The young woman laughed heartily, then jumped down from the swing and walked away, seeking Auguste and Madame Destival in every thicket.
After scouring the garden to no purpose, she returned to the place where she had left Monin; he was still at the foot of the tree, which he had tried vainly to climb, gazing despairingly at his cap, lodged on a branch, which he could not reach, and seeking in his snuff-box some inspiration as to the means of recovering it.
“Which way did they go, monsieur?” asked Athalie, stopping beside him. He looked stupidly about and said:
“Who, madame?”
“Monsieur Dalville and Madame Destival.”
“I can’t tell you—unless they’ve gone to drill too.”
Athalie went toward the house. Destival was still with Bertrand on the terrace. The young woman entered the salon; it was empty.
“This is very polite,” said Athalie; “a perfect gentleman that! It seems that there is no standing on ceremony here. I would like right well to know if Monsieur Dalville is with Madame Destival. She had a sick-headache; I am curious to know how she gets rid of it.”
The young woman left the salon and passed through several rooms without meeting anybody, for Julie and Baptiste were busy in the kitchen, and Monsieur de la Thomassinière’s three servants had gone to the village to play goose. She went up to the first floor, where Madame Destival’s bedroom was; but the door was closed and locked.
“She is in her room,” thought the petite-maîtresse; and she knocked gently. There was no reply; she knocked louder. At last Madame Destival asked who was there.
“I, my dear,” Athalie replied. “I came up to have a chat with you.”
“Excuse me, I had dropped asleep; my headache is so much worse——”
“I have one too, and I will lie down in your room a moment; it will do me good.”
“Hasn’t Julie shown you your room?”
“No, my love; let me in, pray.”
Madame de la Thomassinière was determined not to go away, and after some little time she was admitted. Madame Destival appeared with her clothes no more disarranged than was natural in a person who had been lying down. As she went in, Athalie glanced about the room, and her eyes longed to pierce the walls of a small closetat the foot of the bed, the mirrored door of which was tightly closed.
“Oh dear! how my head jumps!” said Madame Destival, putting her hand to her forehead.
“Isn’t it any better?” asked Athalie, seating herself on a couch.
“No; quite the contrary.”
“Lie down again, my dear; I will stretch myself out on this couch; I shall not be sorry for a little rest myself. This hot sun affects my nerves.”
Madame Destival seemed disinclined to return to her bed; she walked about the room impatiently, and said:
“Oh, no! I don’t want to go to sleep again, it’s almost dinner-time.”
“How on earth did you ever succeed in sleeping here? Your husband makes such a noise with his ‘present arms,’ and his ‘ready, aim!’”
“It didn’t disturb me at all.”
“What did you do with Monsieur Dalville?”
“What did I do with him? Why, nothing.”
“I thought he was with you.”
“With me?”
“When you left me in the swing, didn’t you take him away with you, and leave in his place the charming Monsieur Monin, whose society is so entertaining?”
“Monsieur Auguste left me immediately; he must have gone for a walk to the village.”
“Do you know, my dear, that I should not have recognized Monsieur Dalville from the picture that you drew of him. In the first place, you said that he wasn’t good-looking, that he had a common look.”
“I did not say common, I swear.”
“That he hadn’t good style, that he was a rake, a ne’er-do-well, a man whose visits might compromise a woman.”
“Oh! you exaggerate, my dear!”
“I beg your pardon, but you said all that, you drew a shocking portrait of him! For my part, I think him very good-looking, and I like his manners very much.”
“That is very fortunate for him, madame.”
“Well! what on earth are you doing? You are putting on your belt inside out.”
“Why, so I am! I have fits of absent-mindedness.”
“Shall I fasten your dress for you, my dear?”
“Thanks; I can dress myself.”
At that moment the sound of something being placed against the window made Emilie jump.
“What is that?” she said.
“It was in that closet, I think; something fell.”
“No, madame, the noise didn’t come from the closet; it was at the window.”
The ladies went to the window and saw Monsieur Destival, who had just placed a ladder against the outer sill.
“What in the world are you doing, monsieur?” exclaimed Madame Destival in alarm; “what is the meaning of this ladder and all this confusion?”
“My dear love, I know now all the evolutions there are; the only thing left for me to learn is to storm a fort; that’s the bouquet, so Bertrand says, and he’s going to show me how. You, mesdames, are inside the fortress, you represent the enemy; you must try to keep us out, but we will enter the citadel in spite of you.”
“What is the meaning of this absurd nonsense, monsieur?”
“It’s the bouquet, madame, I tell you.—Come, Bertrand; one! two! At the double-quick, isn’t it?”
“I am not willing that you should storm my room, monsieur.—Take away that ladder, Bertrand, I beg you.—You are mad, monsieur! Do you have to storm a fort to catch a wolf?”
“Nobody knows what may happen, madame.”
“I know that you won’t happen to reach my room, monsieur.”
As she said this, Madame Destival closed her window with a bang, and led Madame de la Thomassinière from her room, saying:
“Let’s go down, my dear, let’s go down, I beg you, for they’ll turn everything topsy-turvy with their drilling.”
They went out on the terrace, where Monsieur Destival still held his ladder, which Bertrand tried in vain to take away from him. The business agent was determined to raise it somewhere.
“Mon Dieu! monsieur, if you absolutely must lay siege to something,” said Madame Destival, “let it be a tree in the garden, and not my bedroom.”
Bertrand grasped at this idea, and Athalie suggested to them that they should attack the tree in which Monsieur Monin’s cap had lodged. They went toward the swing and found the ex-druggist there, with his short, fat arms around the tree, trying to climb it, but unable to raise himself more than three inches from the ground.
At sight of the ladder, Monin uttered a cry of delight, and outdid himself in thanks when Monsieur Destival ascended it at the double-quick, having no suspicion that the manœuvre had any other purpose than the recovery of his cap. But alas! Monsieur Destival thought it best to capture the trophy with his bayonet, and the point of his weapon pierced the top, which was of thin straw. Bertrand shouted “Bravo!” Monin made a wry face, the ladies laughed, and Auguste arrived in time to witness the tableau.
Auguste bestowed a sweet smile on Madame de la Thomassinière and a rather cold bow on Madame Destival. I do not know whether you can guess the cause, but the ladies had no difficulty.
“Are you just from the village, monsieur?” said the petite-maîtresse, showing her pretty teeth.
“Yes, madame, I have had a most instructive walk; I have acquired some new knowledge, and I hope to make good use of it.”
“Dinner is on the table,” said a thin, yellow little man, with a napkin on his arm. It was Baptiste, the one male servant, who acted as scrubber, cook, footman, errand-boy and butler all at once, pending the time when Monsieur Destival should establish his household on a more extensive scale. So that poor Baptiste was worked to death, and told Julie every day that he did not propose to remain in a place where they made him do the work of a horse.
“Say that dinner is served, Baptiste. That fellow will never be trained!—Come, mesdames, to the table! Ouf! I have well earned it. I have drilled terribly hard to-day.—Here, Monin, here’s your cap. Did you see how I picked it up?”
“You made a hole in it,” said Monin, gazing at the crown with a piteous expression.
“Bah! in the heat of the action; charge, bayonets! one, two! eh, Bertrand?—But the ladies have gone already. Let’s go now and attack the dinner; I expect to make a tremendous breach in it. Go to Julie, Bertrand; she’ll look after you.”
Bertrand betook himself to the servants’ quarters, and Monin, after trying to bring the straws nearer together and conceal the hole in his cap, followed his host to the dining-room.
They were all seated at the table, when Monsieur Destival cried:
“Well! how about Monsieur de la Thomassinière? He’s missing again.”
“That’s so, I had forgotten all about my husband,” said Athalie, smiling at her right-hand neighbor; and that neighbor was Auguste, who was seated between the two ladies. “Oh! you mustn’t wait for him.”
“It’s very annoying! Where can he have gone? Do you suppose he has lost his way in the Forest of Bondy?”
“It’s a very dangerous place,” said Monin, fastening his napkin to his buttonhole; “they say there’s a band of robbers there just now, who——”
“Suppose I tell your three servants to beat up the neighborhood? What do you think, madame?”
“Oh! no, monsieur; don’t worry about my husband, I beg. I assure you that he will turn up. I am not in the least anxious.”
“So long as madame is not disturbed,” said Madame Destival, pursing her lips, “it seems to me that we should do wrong to be. After what she says, we may venture to dine.”
“Very good, let us dine. One, two, at the soup, and by the left flank at the beef.”
“For heaven’s sake, monsieur, are we going to hear nothing now but ‘one, two’?”
“Faith, madame, this day has given me a great liking for the military profession. What a fine thing is a man who holds himself perfectly straight, with his body thrown back!—Pass me the beans.—Your man Bertrand is a terrible fellow; he knows his business root and branch. Deuce take it! what a fellow he is! How he handles a musket! He told me that he was satisfied with me. Three or four lessons more, and I hope——”
“I hoped that you knew quite enough, monsieur.”
“Madame, a man cannot know too much about managing weapons. I wish now that we might be attacked by robbers!”
“Would you set them to drilling, monsieur?”
“No, madame, but I would make the most of my advantages; I can fire four shots in five minutes now.”
“I didn’t know that, monsieur.”
“Oh! there are still more surprising things. Just look at Monin; he did nothing but listen to us a moment, but see how much better he carries himself than he did this morning.”
“It is certain,” said Monin, raising a turnip on his fork and putting it in his mouth as if the latter were a gun barrel, “it is certain that drilling is good for a man; and I’ll tell you what——”
Monin was interrupted by the arrival of La Thomassinière, quite out of breath, for he had taken a long nap under his tree, and, on waking, had reflected that they might dine without him.
“Ah! here you are at last, you terrible man!” said Destival.
“I beg pardon; I am late, I know, but I have written at least ten letters since I left you.”
“Why didn’t you write them here?”
“Faith, I was in such a hurry that I went into the first place I saw.”
“Well, sit down beside Madame Destival.”
“I’ll soon overtake you, for, you see, I don’t eat beef; it’s poor stuff, is beef! it isn’t worth eating.”
Monsieur de la Thomassinière took his seat, gazing at Auguste with some surprise, because he had given him only a slight nod, and continued to eat without apparently paying any attention to the parvenu, which was asore trial to that gentleman, who always wanted to make a sensation.
But Dalville had seen on the instant what manner of man Monsieur de la Thomassinière was. Fools enjoy the advantage of being accurately judged in a very short time, whereas it often requires a long time to form a just appreciation of men of sense.
The dinner was lively enough, thanks to Auguste and his neighbor on his left, who talked all manner of nonsense and seemed very much inclined to suit their actions to their words. The mistress of the house ate little, and Monin ate a great deal. Monsieur Destival attacked each dish in measured time, and stuck his fork into a radish as if it were a bayonet. As for Monsieur de la Thomassinière, when he found that Dalville was determined not to take any notice of him, he decided to make himself prominent by holding forth concerning the various dishes. He declared the chicken cooked too much, the peas too large, the salad too sour, and the beaune too new. An exceedingly agreeable guest was Monsieur de la Thomassinière; but a very rich man must never seem content with what is put before him. The idea! that would make people think that he had never eaten anything good.
It was dark when they reached the dessert, because it was late when they sat down. The sky was heavily overcast; the heat became more intense, and the flashes that rent the clouds from time to time indicated an impending storm.
Monsieur Monin made haste to eat his cheese, because his wife was afraid of the thunder, and his orders were to go home to her whenever a storm was brewing. La Thomassinière asked if the house was provided with lightning rods. Monsieur Destival ordered all the windowsclosed at the first clap of thunder, and the sight of the lightning made him forget to present arms with his glass. As for the petite-maîtresse, she declared that she was terribly afraid of a thunder storm, and she hid her face upon Auguste’s shoulder at every flash.