Part 45 (1/2)
”Miserable man!” I exclaimed, as soon as we were outside the doors, ”what will you do now?”
”Do! Why, fetch my admirable maternal aunt and my interesting cousin, to be sure.”
”But you have raised a dinner under false pretences!”
”I, _mon cher_? Not a bit of it.”
”Have you, then, really anything to do with the _Pet.i.t Courier Ill.u.s.tre_?”
”The Editor of the _Pet.i.t Courier Ill.u.s.tre_ is one of the best fellows in the world, and occasionally (when my pockets represent that vacuum which Nature very properly abhors) he advances me a couple of Napoleons.
I wipe out the score from time to time by furnis.h.i.+ng a design for the paper. Now to-day, you see, I'm in luck. I shall pay off two obligations at once--to say nothing of Monsieur Choucru's six-fold subscription to the P.C., on which the publishers will allow me a douceur of thirty francs. Now, confess that I'm a man of genius!”
In less than a quarter of an hour we were all four established round one of Madame Choucru's comfortable little dining-tables, in a snug recess at the farthest end of the salon. Here, being well out of reach of our hostess's black eyes, Muller a.s.sumed all the airs of a liberal entertainer. He hung up _ma cousine's_ bonnet; fetched a footstool for _ma tante_; criticised the sauces; presided over the wine; cut jokes with the waiter; and pretended to have ordered every dish beforehand.
The stewed kidneys with mushrooms were provided especially for Madame Marotte; the fricandeau was selected in honor of Mam'selle Marie (had he not an innate presentiment that she loved fricandeau?); and as for the soles _au gratin_, he swore, in defiance of probability and all the laws of nature, that they were the very fish we had just caught in the Seine.
By-and-by came Monsieur Choucru's famous cheese _souffle_; and then, with a dish of fruit, four cups of coffee, and four gla.s.ses of liqueure, the banquet came to an end.
As we sat at desert, Muller pulled out his book and pencilled a rapid but flattering sketch of the dining-room interior, developing a perspective as long as the Rue de Rivoli, and a _mobilier_ at least equal in splendor to that of the _Trois Freres_.
At sight of this _chef d'oeuvre_, Madame Choucru was moved almost to tears. Ah, Heaven! if Monsieur could only figure to himself her admiration for his _beau talent_! But alas! that was impossible--as impossible as that Monsieur Choucru should ever repay this unheard-of obligation!
Muller laid his hand upon his heart, and bowed profoundly.
”Ah! Madame,” he said, ”it is not to Monsieur Choucru that I look for repayment--it is to you.”
”To me, Monsieur? _Dieu merci! Monsieur se moque de moi_!”
And the Dame de Comptoir, intrenched behind her fruits and liqueure bottles, shot a Parthian glance from under her black eye-lashes, and made believe to blush.
”Yes, Madame, to you. I only ask permission to come again very soon, for the purpose of executing a little portrait of Madame--a little portrait which, alas! _must_ fail to render adequate justice to such a mult.i.tude of charms.”
And with this choice compliment, Muller bowed again, took his leave, bestowed a whole franc upon the astonished waiter, and departed from the _Toison d'Or_ in an atmosphere of glory.
The fair, or rather that part of the fair where the dancers and diners most did congregate, was all ablaze with lights, and noisy with bra.s.s bands as we came out. _Ma tante_, who was somewhat tired, and had been dozing for the last half hour over her coffee and liqueure, was impatient to get back to Paris. The fair Marie, who was not tired at all, confessed that she should enjoy a waltz above everything. While Muller, who professed to be an animated time-table, swore that we were just too late for the ten minutes past ten train, and that there would be no other before eleven forty-five. So Madame Marotte was carried off, _bon gre, mal gre_, to a dancing-booth, where gentlemen were admitted on payment of forty centimes per head, and ladies went in free.
Here, despite the noise, the dust, the braying of an abominable band, the overwhelming smell of lamp-oil, and the clatter, not only of heavy walking-boots, but even of several pairs of sabots upon an uneven floor of loosely-joined planks--_ma tante_, being disposed of in a safe corner, went soundly to sleep.
It was a large booth, somewhat over-full; and the company consisted mainly of Parisian blue blouses, little foot-soldiers, grisettes (for there were grisettes in those days, and plenty of them), with a sprinkling of farm-boys and dairy-maids from the villages round about.
We found this select society caracoling round the booth in a thundering galop, on first going in. After the galop, the conductor announced a _valse a deux temps_. The band struck up--one--two--three. Away went some thirty couples--away went Muller and the fair Marie--and away went the chronicler of this modest biography with a pretty little girl in green boots who waltzed remarkably well, and who deserted him in the middle of the dance for a hideous little French soldier about four feet and a half high.
After this rebuff (having learned, notwithstanding my friend's representations to the contrary, that a train ran from Courbevoie to Paris every half-hour up till midnight) I slipped away, leaving Muller and _ma cousine_ in the midst of a furious flirtation, and Madame Marotte fast asleep in her corner.
The clocks were just striking twelve as I pa.s.sed under the archway leading to the Cite Bergere.
”_Tiens_!” said the fat concierge, as she gave me my key and my candle.
”Monsieur has perhaps been to the theatre this evening? No!--to the country--to the fete at Courbevoie! Ah, then, I'll be sworn that M'sieur has had plenty of fun!”
But had I had plenty of fun? That was the question. That Muller had had plenty of flirting and plenty of fun was a fact beyond the reach of doubt. But a flirtation, after all, unless in a one-act comedy, is not entertaining to the mere looker-on; and oh! must not those bridesmaids who sometimes accompany a happy couple in their wedding-tour, have a dreary time of it?