Part 21 (1/2)
”_Eh bien! Eh bien!_” he retorted. ”_Eh bien!_” And cleared his throat.
”Forgive them,” I insisted. ”They overslept. I don't want Suzette to marry a jail-bird.”
Again he scratched his head and frowned. Suzette was in tears.
”Um! Difficult!” he grumbled. ”Order for arrest once given--” Then he shot a glance at me. I caught a twinkle in his eye.
”_Eh bien!_” he roared. ”There--I forgive them! Ah, those _sacre_ musicians!”
Suzette stood there trembling, unable even to thank him, the colour coming and going in her peasant cheeks.
”Are they free, general?” I asked.
”Yes,” he retorted, ”both of them.”
”Bravo!” I exclaimed.
”Understand that I have done it for the little girl--and _you_. Is that plain?”
”Perfectly,” I replied. ”As plain as Su-Tum-Tum!” I added under my breath as I filled his empty gla.s.s in gratefulness to the brim.
”Halt!” shouted the general as the happiest of Suzettes turned toward her kitchen.
”Eh--um!” he mumbled awkwardly in a voice that had suddenly grown thick.
Then he sprang to his feet and raised his gla.s.s.
”A health to the bride!” he cried.
[Ill.u.s.tration: The general]
[Ill.u.s.tration: a formal garden]
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE MILLION OF MONSIEUR DE SAVIGNAC
The bay of Pont du Sable, which the incoming tide had so swiftly filled at daylight, now lay a naked waste of oozing black mud. The birds had gone with the receding sea, and I was back from shooting, loafing over my pipe and coffee in a still corner among the roses of my wild garden, hidden behind the old wall, when that Customhouse soldier-gardener of mine, Pierre, appeared with the following message:
”Monsieur de Savignac presents his salutations the most distinguished and begs that monsieur will give him the pleasure of calling on him _a propos_ of the little spaniel.”
What an unexpected and welcome surprise! For weeks I had hunted in vain for a thoroughbred. I had never hoped to be given one from the kennels of Monsieur de Savignac's chateau.
”Enchanted, Pierre!” I cried--”Present my compliments to Monsieur de Savignac. Tell him how sincerely grateful I am, and say that he may expect me to-morrow before noon.”
I could easily imagine what a beauty my spaniel would be, clean-limbed and alert like the ones in the coloured lithographs. ”No wonder,” I thought, as Pierre left me, ”that every peasant for miles around spoke of this good Monsieur de Savignac's generosity. Here he was giving me a dog. To me, his American neighbour, whom he had never met!”