Part 54 (2/2)

I said.

”The ill.u.s.trious Vestris, Monsieur,” said the little old gentleman, ”was, next to Louis the Fourteenth, the greatest of Frenchmen. I am proud to own myself his disciple, as well as his contemporary.”

”Why next to Louis the Fourteenth, Monsieur Dorinet?” I asked, keeping my countenance with difficulty. ”Why not next to Napoleon the First, who was a still greater conqueror?”

”But no dancer, Monsieur!” replied the ex-G.o.d Scamander, with a kind of half pirouette; ”whereas the Grand Monarque was the finest dancer of his epoch.”

Madame Marotte had by this time supplied all her guests with tea and coffee, while Monsieur Philomene went round with the cakes and bread and b.u.t.ter. Madame Desjardins spread her pocket-handkerchief on her lap--a pocket-handkerchief the size of a small table-cloth. Madame de Montparna.s.se, more mindful of her gentility, removed to a corner of the tea-table, and ate her bread and b.u.t.ter in her black cotton gloves.

”We hope we have another bachelor by-and-by,” said Madame Marotte, addressing herself to the young ladies, who looked down and giggled. ”A charming man, mesdemoiselles, and quite the gentleman--our _locataire_, M'sieur Lenoir. You know him, M'sieur Dorinet--pray tell these demoiselles what a charming man M'sieur Lenoir is!”

The little dancing-master bowed, coughed, smiled, and looked somewhat embarra.s.sed.

”Monsieur Lenoir is no doubt a man of much information,” he said, hesitatingly; ”a traveller--a reader--a gentleman--oh! yes, certainly a gentleman. But to say that he is a--a charming man ... well, perhaps the ladies are the best judges of such nice questions. What says Mam'selle Marie?”

Thus applied to, the fair Marie became suddenly crimson, and had not a word to reply with. Monsieur Dorinet stared. The young ladies t.i.ttered.

Madame Marotte, deaf as a post and serenely unconscious, smiled, nodded, and said ”Ah, yes, yes--didn't I tell you so?”

”Monsieur Dorinet has, I fear, asked an indiscreet question,” said Muller, boiling over with jealousy.

”I--I have not observed Monsieur Lenoir sufficiently to--to form an opinion,” faltered Marie, ready to cry with vexation.

Muller glared at her reproachfully, turned on his heel, and came over to where I was standing.

”You saw how she blushed?” he said in a fierce whisper. ”_Sacredie_!

I'll bet my head she's an arrant flirt. Who, in the name of all the fiends, is this lodger she's been carrying on with? A lodger, too--oh!

the artful puss!”

At this awkward moment, Monsieur Dorinet, with considerable tact, asked Monsieur Philomene for a song; and Monsieur Philomene (who as I afterwards learned was a favorite tenor at fifth-rate concerts) was graciously pleased to comply.

Not, however, without a little preliminary coquetry, after the manner of tenors. First he feared he was hoa.r.s.e; then struck a note or two on the piano, and tried his falsetto; then asked for a gla.s.s of water; and finally begged that one of the young ladies would be so amiable as to accompany him.

Mademoiselle Honoria, inheriting rigidity from the maternal Cyclops, drew herself up and declined stiffly; but the other, whom the dancing-master had called Rosalie, got up directly and said she would do her best.

”Only,” she added, blus.h.i.+ng, ”I play so badly!”

Monsieur Philomene was provided with two copies of his song--one for the accompanyist and one for himself; then, standing well away from the piano with his face to the audience, he balanced his music in his hand, made his little professional bow, coughed, ran his fingers through his hair, and a.s.sumed an expression of tender melancholy.

”One--two--three,” began Mdlle. Rosalie, her little fat fingers staggering helplessly among the first cadenzas of the symphony.

”One--two--three. One” ...

Monsieur Philomene interrupted with a wave of the hand, as if conducting an orchestra.

”Pardon, Mademoiselle,” he said, ”not quite so fast, if you please!

Andantino--andantino--one--two--three ... Just so! A thousand thanks!”

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