Volume I Part 21 (2/2)
”Ah! these strumpets won't drink to my conquest! All right! I'll drink to her myself, in madeira and champagne! To your health, seductive, enrapturing Sainte-Suzanne! You are as far above these lights-o'-love as the oak is above the weed! You could crush them by a single glance; your eyes s.h.i.+ne like real diamonds, whereas all these creatures are simply white topazes--To your health again, divine woman! I drain my gla.s.s to you.”
By dint of drinking of healths and draining his gla.s.s, Chamoureau fuddled himself completely; then his head grew heavy, his eyes closed, and he fell asleep.
Our sleeper was awakened by a succession of light taps on his shoulder.
He opened his eyes and looked about him. He was still in the small room where he had supped, surrounded by the remains of the feast; but all his table companions had disappeared, and he saw n.o.body but the waiter who had roused him.
”Hallo! what's the meaning of this?” murmured Chamoureau, rubbing his eyes. ”Where are my friends--those gentlemen--and their ladies?”
”They all went away just a minute ago, monsieur.”
”What! they went away without me, without waking me!”
”Yes, monsieur, they did it on purpose. I was going to wake you, but Monsieur Freluchon said: 'No, don't wake him till we're gone; that will teach him to go to sleep in our company!'”
”Oh! how stupid! some silly nonsense, some wretched joke all the time!
Why, bless my soul! it's broad daylight!”
”Parbleu! long ago, monsieur! it's nearly eight o'clock.”
”Sapristi! and I have to go to Freluchon's to change my clothes!
However, there are plenty of cabs, luckily. Is there anything for me to pay, waiter?”
”No, monsieur, it's all paid.”
”Good!--To think that I haven't an overcoat to hide this costume!
Freluchon is to blame for that; 'you won't be cold,' he said.--It isn't the cold I'm afraid of, but the street urchins.--Call a cab, waiter; have it come as near the door as possible.”
”Bless me! monsieur, they ain't allowed to come on the sidewalk.”
”Well, then, right in front of the door.”
Chamoureau covered himself with his cloak as well as he could; he pulled his cap over his eyes, drew his chin inside his ruff, pulled up his boot-tops, and when the waiter announced that the cab was waiting below, rushed down the stairway and across the sidewalk so recklessly that he nearly overturned a woman carrying a tray of bread.
The woman shouted after Chamoureau, who had knocked off three loaves, calling him: ”Beast, brute, dirty sc.u.m!” But he let her shout, for he was already out of sight inside the cab; he gave Freluchon's address and the cab drove away followed by the hoots of the urchins who had gathered to see a masker, and by the shrieks of the woman with the tray on her head, who was obliged to pick up her loaves.
They soon reached the house on Rue Saint-Georges in which Freluchon lived. Chamoureau leaped out of his cab under the porte cochere, and hastily paid the cabman and dismissed him; because, in his everyday clothes, he could easily walk home.
That transaction completed, the widower said to the concierge:
”I am going up to Freluchon's room.”
”What for?” demanded the concierge, eyeing the Spaniard from head to foot.
”What for? why, don't you know me? I am Chamoureau, Freluchon's best friend.”
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