Part 67 (1/2)
Gustavus stopped. The bell rang again.
”Gustavus,” said the Prophet, ”if that is a visitor I am not at home.
Mrs. Merillia is not at home either.”
It was by this time between one and two in the morning.
”Not at home, sir. Yes, sir.”
The Prophet concealed himself near the hat-rack, and Gustavus went softly to the door and opened it.
”Not at home, ma'am,” the Prophet heard him say, formally.
”What d'you mean, young man?” replied the powerful voice of Madame.
”Where is my husband?”
”Ma'am?”
”Where, I say, is my husband?”
”I couldn't say, I'm sure, ma'am. But Mrs. Merillia and Mr. Vivian are not at home.”
”Then all I can say is they ought to be in at this time of night. Permit me to pa.s.s. Are you aware that Mr. Vivian has invited me to spend the night here? _Noctes ambrosianes_.”
”But, ma'am, Mr. Viv--”
”That'll do. If I have any more of your impertinence I'll make you repent of it. You are evidently not aware who I am.”
The Prophet, by the hat-rack, did not fail to hear a new note in the deep contralto of Madame, a note of triumph, a trumpet note of profound conceit. His heart sank before this determined music, and it sank even lower towards his pumps when, a moment later, he found himself confronted by the lady, wrapped closely in the rabbit-skins, and absolutely bulging with vanity and self-appreciation.
”What! Mr. Vivian!” began the lady.
”Hus.h.!.+” said the Prophet, ”for mercy's sake--hus.h.!.+”
And, acting upon the impulse of the moment, he suddenly seized Madame by the hand, and hurried her through the swinging door into the servants'
hall.
”Here's a go,” murmured Gustavus in the greatest trepidation. ”If they don't find the thin party I'm a josser.”
Meanwhile the Prophet and Madame were standing face to face before the what-not of Gustavus.
”My grandmother is awake--that is asleep,” said the Prophet. ”We must not wake her on any account.”
”Oh,” returned Madame, with a toss of her head, ”your grandmother seems to be a very fidgety old lady, I'm sure--although you do tell a parcel of lies about her.”
”Lies!” said the Prophet, with some dignity.
”Yes--lies. She don't wear long clothes--”
”I beg your pardon!”