The Flower Girl of The Chateau d'Eau Volume I Part 27

And Chambourdin walked toward them, saying:

"Oh! what a pretty game! I am sorry that I didn't see the beginning. How many times have they caught it in succession, Monsieur Kingerie?"

"Once!" the young man replied, as he stooped again to pick up the shuttlec.o.c.k.

Many more guests arrived, and as the salon was crowded, Mademoiselle Polymnie and her adversary were obliged to abandon their game, evidently to the intense dissatisfaction of the young lady.

"It's a pity," she said; "we were beginning to play so well!"

"How does she succeed, I wonder, when she plays badly!" said Madame Dufournelle laughingly.

But the master of the house, having no pain in his stomach, insisted that they must dance. The bouillotte players were removed to an adjoining room, and an amateur took his place at the piano and played a polka, then a redowa, then a mazurka; for the quadrille is sadly neglected now; it is abandoned for new-fangled dances, which the dancers do not know in most cases, and which, consequently, they dance very poorly. The old-fas.h.i.+oned quadrille ventures to show its head only at long intervals nowadays, and it is treated with a discourtesy which will end by banis.h.i.+ng it altogether.

Monsieur Glumeau took possession of a young lady of fourteen, with whom he danced the polka, redowa and mazurka without removing his eyes for a moment from his feet, which, however, was not likely to distress his partner. And Madame Glumeau, proud of the agility displayed by her husband, exclaimed in an outburst of enthusiasm:

"Ah! what a good thing it was that he took it!"

"What? a dancing-master?" queried Monsieur Camuzard. But Madame Glumeau turned away without replying and requested Monsieur Kingerie to leave the piano, as he had already broken several strings.

About eleven o'clock Madame de Grangeville vanished from the salon, after looking about in vain for Monsieur de Merval. But he had departed some time before, and the elegant baroness, who had counted upon a gentleman to escort her home, entered her cab all alone, frowning and muttering:

"Ah! men aren't so agreeable as they used to be!"

XIII

THE GOUTY GENTLEMAN

The gouty gentleman had followed the boulevards, walking toward the small theatres; when I say small theatres, I do it in accordance with an old habit, which it would be well to lay aside. Indeed, there are on Boulevard du Temple theatres which are very far from being small; and then too, even at the small ones sometimes they give works which are much superior to those which are played at the large ones.

The gentleman turned into Rue Charlot, in the heart of the Marais, walking very slowly, because of his lame foot, and also because he never failed to stop and turn around whenever a pretty face pa.s.sed; which caused Chicotin to say:

"This old boy seems to be a connoisseur! I ought to have let myself out by the hour, and I should have made a handsome thing of it!"

The gentleman finally stopped in front of a small furnished lodging house, of very modest appearance, on Rue de Bretagne. He turned to the messenger and said with a smile:

"Here we are, this is my hotel. It doesn't come up to Hotel Meurice, or even to Hotel des Amba.s.sadeurs! Other times, other hotels.--Follow me."

Chicotin followed the gentleman, who went up to the third floor and entered a room comfortably furnished, but without taste or style or harmony; the bed was mahogany, the bureau oak, and the chairs walnut; the bed curtains were modern in style; but there were curtains at the windows which were suitable for a peasant's cottage at best; in short, all the articles of furniture seemed to swear at finding themselves together, and the occupant of the room also made a wry face at finding himself surrounded by such things.

He threw himself down on a sort of couch, on which castors had been put to give it some resemblance to an easy-chair _a la Voltaire_, and said to the young messenger who had remained in the middle of the room:

"Well, what do you say to this? It is magnificent, isn't it?"

Chicotin shook his head as he replied:

"Well! it isn't bad, but I've seen better."

"Good! I am very glad to see that you know a thing or two! The fact is that this house is furnished in the most wretched fas.h.i.+on! I have no idea where they could have picked up all this stuff; a second-hand dealer would never recognize himself here; and when one has lived a long while at the Hotel Meurice, one finds a terrible difference! But still one resigns oneself to it, when one cannot do otherwise. Wait while I write a line; then you will carry my letter and this bouquet. Just pull that bell over there."

Chicotin pulled the bell; a maid-servant, covered with a layer of dust from top to toe, answered the summons and said:

"What does monsieur want?"

"Light to seal a letter, for there is nothing here! not a candle on the mantelpiece, no sealing wax on this desk--if that's what you call it."

"But there's wafers in the box where the night light is. Look, monsieur."

"Will you be kind enough to take all that away! Do you suppose that I would touch that filthy box? Do you suppose that I use wafers? I tell you that I want wax, a seal and a candle. Come, make haste."

The girl left the room grumbling. The gentleman moved his chair to the desk and began to write, swearing at the paper, the pens and the sand.

The maid returned, bringing a copper candlestick, with a tallow candle lighted, and a stick of wax, which she placed on the desk.

"As for a seal," she said, "madame says that she ain't got any, but that a big sou will do just as well."

"What's this you have brought me?" cried the gentleman, pus.h.i.+ng the candle away in disgust. "Ah! what an outrage!"

"What's that? an outrage! I've brought what you ordered."

"You dare to bring me a tallow candle--for this certainly is tallow, isn't it?"

"Of course it's a tallow candle, as you want to use sealing wax."

"But a wax candle is what you ought to bring; as if one could use anything else! Since when has it been permissible to offer tenants a tallow candle? What do you take me for, my dear?"

"Your dear! Why, monsieur, I take you--I mean I don't take you at all; I bring you the best that I could find; there ain't no wax candle that's been used, and madame said that this was good enough to light your wax."

"And this place dares to call itself a hotel! There are furnished lodgings for masons here, and nothing else!"

"On my word, monsieur!"

"Take that candle away, I say. Pouah! how it smells! Let's make haste."

He sealed his letter, using a topaz set in a ring, which he wore as a charm on his watch chain; then he dismissed the maid, who muttered as she left the room:

"What airs he puts on! If he was a pacha, he couldn't put on any more.

Why don't he have a hotel of his own?"

"Here, my boy," said the gentleman, when he had written the address on his letter, "take this note and this bouquet, which I stole from those gentlemen for the pleasure of playing a trick on them, for I hadn't the slightest idea of buying a bouquet. But since I have it, I must make some use of it, and I am not sorry to show myself a gallant once more.

So you will carry this bouquet and this letter to this address. Can you read?"

"Yes, monsieur, a little--print; but as for hand-writing----"

"Why don't you say at once that you don't know how to read?--Well, you are to go to Madame la Baronne de Grangeville; she lives, or at all events she did live, twelve years ago, at 27 Rue de Provence. If by any chance she has moved, ask the concierge for her new address and take the things there. If you are not an idiot, you will succeed in finding the lady. If she is visible, you will wait for a reply; if not, you will leave both with her maid, and come back here, where I will pay you; I forbid you to take anything elsewhere. Do you understand?"