Part 32 (2/2)

”What an exquisite creature! Look, Josephine, did you ever see anything so beautiful?”

”Beautiful!” repeated the grisette, with a sidelong glance at one of the mirrors. ”Beautiful, with such a coiffure and such a bodice! _Ciel!_ how tastes differ!”

”But her face, Josephine!”

”What of her face? I'm sure it's plain enough.”

”Plain! Good heavens! what...”

But it was not worth while to argue upon it. I pulled out one of the old chairs, and so climbed near enough to dust the surface of the painting with my handkerchief.

”I wish I could buy it!” I exclaimed.

Josephine burst into a loud laugh.

”_Grand Dieu_!” said she, half pettishly, ”if you are so much in love with it as all that, I dare say it would not be difficult!”

The _concierge_ shook her head.

”Everything on this estate is locked up,” said she. ”Nothing can be sold, nothing given away, nothing even repaired, till the _proces_ is ended.”

I sighed, and came down reluctantly from my perch. Josephine was visibly impatient. She had seen the wedding-party going down one of the walks at the back of the house; and the _concierge_ was waiting to let us out. I drew her aside, and slipped a liberal gratuity into her hand.

”If I were to come down here some day with a friend of mine who is a painter,” I whispered, ”would you have any objection, Madame, to allow him to make a little sketch of that portrait?”

The _concierge_ looked into her palm, and seeing the value of the coin, smiled, hesitated, put her finger to her lip, and said:--

”_Ma foi_, M'sieur, I believe I have no business to allow it; but--to oblige a gentleman like you--if there was n.o.body about--”

I nodded. We understood each other sufficiently, and no more was needed.

Once out of the house, Medemoiselle Josephine pouted, and took upon herself to be sulky--a disposition which was by no means lessened when, after traversing the park in various directions in search of the bridal company, we found that they had gone out long ago by a gate at the other side of the estate, and were by this time piping, most probably, in the adjoining parish.

It was now five o'clock; so we hastened back through the village, cast a last glance at the grim old tower on its steep solitude, consigned ourselves to the yellow omnibus, and in due time were once more flying along the iron road towards Paris. The rapid motion, the dignity of occupying a first-cla.s.s seat, and, above all, the prospects of an excellent dinner, soon brought my fair companion round again, and by the time we reached the Moulin Rouge, she was all vivacity and good temper.

The less I say about that dinner the better. I am humiliated when I recall all that I suffered, and all that she did. I blush even now when I remember how she blew upon her soup, put her knife in her mouth, and picked her teeth with her shawl-pin. What possessed her that she would persist in calling the waiter ”Monsieur?” And why, in Heaven's name, need she have clapped her hands when I ordered the champagne? To say that I had no appet.i.te--that I wished myself at the antipodes--that I longed to sink into my boots, to smother the waiter, or to do anything equally desperate and unreasonable, is to express but a t.i.the of the anguish I endured. I bore it, however, in silence, little dreaming what a much heavier trial was yet in store for me.

CHAPTER XXI.

I FALL A SACRIFICE TO MRS. GRUNDY.

”A word with you, if you please, Basil Arbuthnot,” said Dr. Cheron, ”when you have finished copying those prescriptions.”

Dr. Cheron was standing with his feet firmly planted in the tiger-skin rug and his back to the fireplace. I was busy writing at the study table, and glancing anxiously from time to time at the skeleton clock upon the chimney-piece; for it was getting on fast towards five, and at half-past six I was to take Josephine to the Opera Comique. As perverse fortune would have it, the Doctor had this afternoon given me more desk-work than usual, and I began to doubt whether I should be able to dine, dress, and reach the theatre in time if he detained me much longer.

”But you need be in no haste,” he added, looking at his watch. ”That is to say, upon my account.”

I bowed nervously--I was always nervous in his presence--and tried to write faster than ever; but, feeling his cold blue eye upon me, made a blot, smeared it with my sleeve, left one word out, wrote another twice over, and was continually tripped up by my pen, which sputtered hideously and covered the page with florid pa.s.sages in little round spots, which only needed tails to become crotchets and quavers. At length, just as the clock struck the hour, I finished my task and laid aside my pen.

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