“Did Monsieur Edmond Didier come with you?”

“No, madame.”

“Shall we see him this evening?”

“I think so—unless he cannot make up his mind to quit his love-making; for he is passionately in love, you know—the dear fellow!”

Thélénie with difficulty repressed a nervous gesture; but she found it more difficult to mask the threatening expression which passed over her face and which Freluchon did not fail to observe, although she affected to smile as she murmured:

“Yes, so I have been told. But Monsieur Edmond has been in love so often! it is never a serious matter with him.”

“It is true,” said Freluchon, playing with his switch, “that I have known him to have love-affairs which lasted only a short time. But this time it is a genuine passion, a sincere attachment, for he expects to marry his love very soon.”

“Oh! he says that, but he will think twice before doing it.”

“Why so? Mademoiselle Agathe is a charming girl; she is bright and talented; she has an equable, sweet disposition, and much charm.”

“Ha! ha! ha! what an eloquent portrait! Look out! One would think that you too were in love with the young lady.”

“As you very elegantly express it, madame,” Freluchon replied, “she is that girl. By the way, I haven’t as yet seen any other girl in the neighborhood.”

“But they say that those women——”

Thélénie hastily interrupted the giantess, whispering:

“Hush! not now! You can talk about her this evening—when the lover is here!”

There was quite a large gathering in front of the little canvas structure. The ladies were seated on chairs and most of the men stood behind them.

Mademoiselle Héloïse was one of the audience; when she caught sight of Croque, whom she recognized at once, she nudged Thélénie and whispered:

“Why, that man is the one——”

“He’s a German baron; don’t forget that!” was the beautiful brunette’s reply; and the words were accompanied by such a meaning glance that Héloïse instantly understood that she was not to recognize the gentleman.

The scene between Polichinelle and the devil had just begun; the theme was about the same as usual; the men who work the marionettes follow too closely in the beaten track.

“This Guignol isn’t very good, is he?” said Freluchon to his neighbor, Croque.

“No, he don’t say enough funny things, ten thousand kirschwassers! if I was inside there, I’d give you something a little better seasoned!”

“Well, baron, why don’t you go under the canvas and play a few scenes for us; I am sure that you would be much more amusing.”

“Oh, no! I wouldn’t dare; I might let out something altogether too free. I don’t know French well enough.”

“Pardieu! here’s a gentleman whom you will be glad to meet; he will talk German with you. Monsieur Courty, you speak German readily, do you not?”

“Ja! ja!” replied the young salesman, “as readily as French.”

“Very good; pray talk a little with the Baron von Schtapelmerg; he will be overjoyed to have an opportunity to converse in his native tongue.”

Far from being overjoyed at the prospect of speaking German, Croque made a wry face, twisted his moustache and tried to go away; but Monsieur Courty was already by his side and was addressing him in German.

“Gut! gut! tarteiff! certainly I agree with you,” muttered the pretended baron, shaking his head.

“What devilish jargon is this you’re talking? I don’t understand a word of it!”

“Why, it’s the purest German, monsieur—the most ordinary words.”

“I beg pardon! I’m from Bavaria and I only speak Bavarian.”

“I have stayed a long while in Bavaria, monsieur, and the people there speak exactly as I just spoke to you.”

“Then, monsieur, the language must have changed since I have been in France.”

“This fellow is no more a Bavarian than you are,” said Monsieur Courty to Freluchon; “and, more than that, he doesn’t know a single word of German.”

“I suspected as much! that’s why I asked you to speak to him in that language.”

At that moment the company began to laugh and applaud, because a young man from among the guests had taken charge of the marionettes. The idea was heartily welcomed; everyone was anxious to pass judgment on the talent of the gentlemen present, and each one in turn was requested to manipulate Guignol’s characters.

When Freluchon’s turn came, he passed under the canvas, and began by exhibiting Polichinelle.

To-day, what a difference! I am witty; I can’t open my mouth without being applauded; people often laugh at my jokes even before I’ve made them. All the women ogle me; they think me as handsome as Apollo; if I tear a hole in my breeches, all the girls offer to patch it, and my doctor pays me two or three visits a day, assuring me every time that there’s something wrong with my insides.

But that is not all! I am married! I have married a magnificent woman, and all my friends are overjoyed, because they already knew my wife intimately, the result being that they’re perfectly at home in our house; it’s filled with them all the time. To be sure, there are some of them who look like pickpockets, knaves, swindlers, skinflints. But if one never entertained any but honest folk, one would see so little company!——

But here is monsieur le commissaire, I think; what has he come here for?

THE MAGISTRATE.—Have I the honor of speaking to Monsieur Polichinelle?

THE MAGISTRATE.—I beg pardon, Monsieur Polichinelle——

POLICHINELLE.—De la Carrossière, I told you.

THE MAGISTRATE.—You can’t change your name as you do your trousers. First of all, you must have the right to.

POLICHINELLE—aside.—Where in the devil do they raise magistrates of this sort! Ah! I know; I must grease his paw.—Aloud.—Monsieur le commissaire, if I should offer you this gold five-franc piece to call me De la Carrossière——

THE MAGISTRATE.—What’s this! You try to corrupt an officer of the law! You are a rascal! a scoundrel! an impertinent fellow!

POLICHINELLE.—I won’t do it again, monsieur le commissaire.

THE MAGISTRATE.—Your wife and a ci and a ça!

THE MAGISTRATE.—She conceals her lovers under her hoop-skirt, monsieur.

POLICHINELLE.—Oh! mon Dieu! what do you tell me, monsieur le commissaire! and she talks of wearing a steel skirt now in addition! Does the woman propose to smuggle a whole regiment into my house?

Thélénie, not finding the scene to her taste, rose hurriedly, saying:

“It seems to me, mesdames, that we have had enough of the marionettes; there are other amusements awaiting us in the garden, and it will not be long before dinner.”

Everybody followed the hostess with alacrity. The Théâtre de Guignol was deserted, and Monsieur Courty said to Freluchon when he put his head out over the canvas:

“There’s no one here, my dear fellow; you have emptied the house—fait four.”

“On the contrary, I have fired my shot—fait feu.”

The wooden horses, the Egyptian bird, the swings, the little Russian mountains and other diversions engaged the attention of the company until dinner was announced.

The table was laid in an enormous tent which had been pitched for that purpose in the garden, and which was large enough to contain all the guests.

“I fixed it so as to sit by you at table; that was rather agreeable on my part, eh, baron?”

“It was exceedingly amiable of you!”

“I know that you’re a jolly buck; we’ll drink hard and straight.”

“I’ve promised not to drink to-day.”

“What’s that? what did you do that for? Suppose you should get a little tight! in the country one can let himself go.”

“At supper, I don’t say no, we will see; but I propose to keep my senses now.”

“Do you think there’ll be a supper?”

“I am sure of it.”

“Do you know that this is a magnificent affair—this fête of Monsieur and Madame de Belleville’s?”

“Yes, it will cost them a pile.”

“What did you say?”

“I say that this is famous madeira, ten thousand bouffardes!”

“As I am not afraid of getting a little started, I am going to fill up again.”

“Cristi! damn the odds! I’ll take another glass, too.”

“It’s no use for you to try to hold back, my buck,” thought Freluchon, as he refilled Croque’s glass; “I mean for you to be as agreeable to-night as you were last night.”

“This charming banquet,” he began, “which recalls the famous feasts of Lucullus, so often cited for their sumptuousness, this superb banquet, I say, is to be made still more memorable by the announcement of a scientific discovery—a most interesting discovery—which our host has made, and which he has promised to communicate to us.”

“Hear! hear!” cried Freluchon, “we call for the discovery; it concerns the age of trees, I understand.”

“Is it really the age of trees?” inquired Madame Droguet with an anxious glance at the doctor.

“Why, yes, my dear lady; pray be calm! there has never been a question of anything else.”

Everybody united in begging Chamoureau to keep his promise by making known his discovery. Even Thélénie said to him:

“Come, speak up, monsieur; you see that everybody is waiting for you.”

Chamoureau felt it incumbent upon him to rise, so that he might be heard more distinctly; and having bowed to right and left, as if he were going to propose a toast, he began:

“Long ago I noticed——”

“I say! I know that song,” muttered Freluchon, as Chamoureau paused to cough; “is that his discovery?”

Having succeeded in clearing his throat, Chamoureau continued:

“It would be admirable!” said the doctor.

“Very interesting,” said Monsieur Remplumé.

“Very valuable for dealers in wood,” said Monsieur Jarnouillard.

“At last, messieurs, after long consideration and profound study, I have found a method to put an end to all uncertainty in that respect.”

“Ah! let us hear the method.”

“Hush, messieurs! silence! let us listen.”

“Let us not lose a word.”

“Messieurs, this is what must be done: whenever anyone plants a tree, he must have ready a small piece of wood or zinc—perhaps zinc would be preferable—and on this sheet of zinc, which is to be nailed to the tree, will be carved the year, month and day of the planting; then it seems to me, it will be very easy to tell the age of a tree at a glance.”

Applause, intermingled with much stifled laughter, arose on all sides.

“Bravo! bravo!”

“Honor to Monsieur de Belleville!”

“This discovery does him great credit!”

“Here’s to Monsieur de Belleville’s scientific discovery!”

Freluchon rose and said:

“I propose to add hereafter to the name of Monsieur de Belleville that of Silvestre, derived from Sylvestris, which means woods, trees, forests. Let us drink then to the health of Monsieur de Belleville-Silvestre! the grateful stumps!”

“What do you mean by stumps?”

“I mean, in the name of the grateful stumps.”

Chamoureau was radiant; he had no suspicion that he was being laughed at, and received in all seriousness the compliments that were paid him.

But Thélénie, who was less entertained by this comedy, soon said to him:

“I believe, monsieur, that you informed me that you had something else in store—something that would be agreeable to me. I trust that it has nothing to do with trees?”

“No, my dear love, it relates to a matter in which you alone are interested. You gave me two commissions a few days ago: first, to find out whom a dog belonged to that had had the effrontery to bark at you. I have at last discovered his owner; that savage beast, which, by the way, is unlawfully at large, as he isn’t muzzled, belongs to a man who lives on an estate called the Tower, near Gournay. This man, who is looked upon as——”

“Nevertheless, I propose to go and tell him he must muzzle his Newfoundland—they say it’s a Newfoundland—and to-morrow——”

“No, monsieur, it is quite unnecessary for you to take that step. I have already seen that gentleman, and he has apologized to me.”

“Oh! if he has apologized to you, that makes a difference.”

“What! my dear madame, have you seen the bear of the Tower?” Madame Droguet asked Thélénie.

“Yes, I met him and spoke to him.”

“It seems that the man is becoming less uncivilized; probably since he has been in love with that Dalmont woman.”

“What do you say?”

“I say that this Monsieur Paul passes every evening now with that creature; everybody knows it, it is getting to be a public scandal. Isn’t that so, Monsieur Luminot?”

Luminot, who was sitting between the two ladies and was the only person who had heard this little aside, was busily stuffing himself with truffles, and contented himself with mumbling:

“It’s perfectly scandalous.—They’re from Périgord! what a perfume!”

“Hush! hush!” said Thélénie; “we will return to this subject this evening. My husband has something else to tell me.”

“Now, my dear love, as the dog is out of the way, we will go on to the case of the small boy.—You must know, ladies and gentlemen, that there is a small boy, a little vagabond, a very bad boy, so it seems, who had the audacity to throw stones at my wife.”

“I’ll bet that it was the lost child!” said Doctor Antoine.

“Just so, doctor; it was the lost child. But I did not know it; madame had instructed me to find out whom the little rascal belonged to—he is about eight years old—in order to warn his parents to look after him a little better. I succeeded at last in finding out whom the rascal belonged to—that is to say, whom he lives with,—for nobody knows whom he belongs to, and that is why he is called the lost child.—It’s rather an interesting story; the nurse told me everything—for I have seen the nurse. I will tell it to you; it would be a good subject for a melodrama.”

“First of all, ladies and gentlemen, you must know that this nurse does not belong to this part of the country; she used to live with her husband at Morfontaine, a charming village near Ermenonville.”

“Morfontaine!” cried Thélénie, turning pale.

“Yes, my dear love, she lived at Morfontaine; her husband was a laboring man—I forgot to ask her in what trade; but they weren’t rich, so that the woman, having become a mother, conceived the idea of going to Paris to get a nursling. Her husband approved of the idea, so Jacqueline Treillard—that is the woman’s name—arrived in Paris one fine morning.”

“The woman’s name is Jacqueline, you say?”

“Yes, my dear love, Jacqueline Treillard; but you will see how dramatic and romantic the story grows.”

Thélénie’s brow grew dark, when she acquired the certainty that it was her own story that was to be told; but she strove to conceal her emotion and swallowed a glass of champagne frappé, saying:

“It bears much resemblance to a romance.—Well, there was Jacqueline in Paris; she had no sooner left the stage than she met a woman, who said to her: ‘You are looking for a child to nurse; I have just what you want—the child of a baroness, who will pay you handsomely.’ Jacqueline was delighted and accepted the proposal; the woman took her to a house where she found a lady—a very beautiful lady, it seems,—and a cradle with a new-born child in it. They agreed on a price—thirty francs a month. This Baronne de Mortagne—I forgot to tell you that this lady called herself the Baronne de Mortagne. Does anyone here know a baroness of that name?”

Everyone answered negatively, and Freluchon said:

“That baroness probably was a joke, after the manner of certain barons, whom we frequently meet in society.—Go on, Silvestre de Belleville.”

“But two months passed and three months, and Jacqueline did not hear a word from little Emile’s mother. She said to herself, that when the five months had passed, the lady would undoubtedly come to see her son and bring her more money. But no! the five months passed, and no one came. Meanwhile the poor nurse had become a widow and had lost her own child. As she needed money, she decided to go to Paris. She got somebody to read to her the address the baroness had given her—I forgot to tell you that Jacqueline didn’t know how to read; that is an unimportant detail. What was written on the paper was: ‘La Baronne de Mortagne, at her hôtel on Rue de Grenelle, Faubourg Saint-Germain.’—On her arrival in Paris, Jacqueline inquired the way to Rue de Grenelle. I forgot to tell you that she didn’t know Paris.”

“Yes! yes! you did tell us; go on, Silvestre.”

“Well! arrived in Paris, and on Rue de Grenelle, the nurse couldn’t find the house from which she had taken her nursling. She inquired, she asked on both sides of the street for Madame la Baronne de Mortagne; no one knew that lady—it was a false address!”

“And a false baroness; we guessed that at the very beginning of your story.”

“Ah! that was very well done!”

“There was a nurse with more heart than a mother!”

“But how does it happen,” asked Thélénie in a hesitating tone, “that this nurse who lived at Morfontaine is now at Chelles?”

“Because she has a sister who lives here, the widow Tourniquoi. This sister, being in comfortable circumstances, learned that Jacqueline was almost destitute since her husband’s death, so she proposed to her to come here to live with her. Jacqueline asked nothing better; she came with the little boy, who unfortunately has grown up to be a very tough subject!”

“He probably takes after his mother,” said Freluchon.

“I learned all these details by talking with Jacqueline, when I went there to complain of the boy. The poor woman still loves him, she begged me with tears in her eyes to forgive him, and she said:

“‘Oh! if you knew how lovely his mother was, monsieur! I never saw her but once, and that was eight years ago, but if I should see her I should know her in a minute, her beauty made such an impression on me!’”

Thélénie could not control a nervous tremor; but she struggled to overcome it, saying:

“It seems to me that we have had quite enough of this nurse.”

“Yes! yes! a collection for the nurse!”

“An excellent idea!”

“Do you agree with me, Baron Schtapelmerg?”

“Count me in; count me generous! Here’s the nurse’s health!”

“It isn’t a question of drinking only; everybody’s feeling in his pocket, you see.”

“Ah! that’s so. Pardieu! I’ll give ten sous.”

“That isn’t much for a baron! but perhaps it’s enough for you. I will collect the offerings in this preserve dish.”

“Faith! the money can go to its address at once,” said Chamoureau; “for, as I wanted little Emile to make a public apology to my wife, I told Jacqueline to bring him to us while we were at dinner.”

Thélénie glared at her husband with a savage gleam in her eyes.

“What, monsieur? what did you say? this nurse——”

“Is coming here, my dear love, with the little vagabond, to apologize to you. It’s a little surprise I arranged for you. Then we will give the good woman the money we have collected for her. I can see her joy now; it will make a charming picture!”

“Why, monsieur, you have no common sense! What need have we of that peasant woman’s presence, to bore us with her chatter?”

At that moment a servant came forward and said:

“There’s a country woman outside with a little boy; she wishes to pay her respects to madame.”

“This is very strange!” she said; “I am terribly dizzy; I do not feel at all well. Receive this woman, monsieur, and send her away. Come with me, Héloïse. Pray don’t be alarmed, my friends, it will not be anything serious.”

And Thélénie took her friend’s arm and left the tent with a rapidity most surprising in a person who feels indisposed.

But the guests did not notice this circumstance; they were awaiting with interest the nurse and the little boy, who soon presented themselves, the former with repeated curtsies, the latter staring at the whole company with an impertinent expression.

“That little fellow has very fine eyes!” said Freluchon; “they are almost as large as Madame de Belleville’s. Don’t you think so, Baron von Schtapelmerg?”

The baron, who was beginning to be a little tipsy, replied:

“My sister has the finest eyes in Paris!”

“Your sister! who’s your sister?”

Croque saw that he had made a false step.

“Yes, I’ve got a sister,” he rejoined, “who has a pair of eyes like portes cochères.”

And he poured out a glass of water and swallowed it at a draught, muttering:

“I’ve had enough wine for to-day; I must look out for myself.”

“My good woman, it is with renewed pleasure—no; I noticed long ago—wait; no, never mind that.—You will not see Madame de Belleville, for, notwithstanding her earnest desire to know you, a sudden indisposition, which I attribute to—what on earth can have made my wife ill? perhaps it was the melon; and yet it was delicious; but there is much difference in digestions—What were we saying?—Ah! there’s the little rascal who dared to throw stones at my wife. He looks promising. I say, my buck—my lost child!—he’s the lost child, isn’t he?”

“Alas! yes, monsieur.”

“Well, little gallows-bird [petit pendu]—lost child [petit perdu], I mean,—though, after all, if he keeps on, I shouldn’t be surprised if he got hanged some day!”

“Oh, monsieur! on my word——”

“Do not be alarmed, Widow Jacqueline Treillard, that is simply a supposition.—Well, you little rascal, will you ever throw stones at my wife again?”

“You’re the one I’ll throw ‘em at, to teach you to say I’m going to be hung!” retorted the boy, glaring angrily at Chamoureau, who was completely disconcerted, for he did not expect that retort.

Freluchon, observing the widow’s distress, rose hastily, took the preserve dish from Chamoureau’s hands, and poured the contents into Jacqueline’s apron.

The peasant opened her eyes at sight of the money in her apron; she tried to express her thanks, but Chamoureau motioned to the servants to take her away, and in a moment Jacqueline and the boy disappeared.

As Madame de Belleville did not return, they soon left the table, to take coffee in the salons.

“I am greatly distressed,” said Chamoureau, “that my wife should have been taken ill, for she has lost the pleasure of seeing the nurse, and hearing the little boy.”

“Especially,” said Freluchon, “as she seemed very anxious to see them, and as the little boy said things that were very pleasant to hear.”

At last Thélénie reappeared in the salons. She had changed her dress, which fact satisfactorily accounted for her long absence. Admiring exclamations greeted her striking beauty and her new costume.

“Evidently,” cried Monsieur Luminot, “Madame de Belleville intends to turn all our heads!”

This compliment was warmly applauded; there was a concert of praise which became almost frenzied; it was easy to see that they had all dined sumptuously.

“You must not go away to-night until I have spoken to you; don’t forget; it is very important!”

Ere long a rocket gave the signal for the fireworks, which were displayed in front of the house. Chamoureau had insisted on having his own monogram and his wife’s on a transparency. But the pyrotechnist, having misunderstood his instructions, had supplied an E instead of a C; so that the transparency presented the combination E B T.

It was applauded none the less heartily. Thélénie alone shrugged her shoulders, as she said to her husband:

“Let’s hope, monsieur, this will be your last surprise!”

Many people came for the ball only; among them was Edmond, who entered the gorgeous salons of the villa about eleven o’clock.

Chamoureau ran to meet him and grasped his hand.

“My dear Monsieur Edmond Didier,” he said, “how delighted I am to have you as my guest.”

“My congratulations, Chamoureau—I beg pardon! Monsieur de Belleville; your house is magnificent!”

“Isn’t it? It is truly regal. My wife will be very glad to see you; shall I present you to her?”

“Oh! it’s not worth while. I have the honor of her acquaintance, you know.”

“Yes, to be sure! I had quite forgotten that you used to—know her! But excuse me; they are going to dance, and my wife has given me a list of seventeen people that I must dance with.”

Thélénie caught sight of Edmond, and a gleam of satisfaction lighted up her face, which had been very dark ever since she had learned that Jacqueline Treillard was at Chelles. She went forward at once to meet the young man, thanked him for coming to her party and gave him a most cordial welcome. Then she pointed to the card tables, saying:

“If you don’t wish to dance, there is a way of passing the time; do whatever you choose.”

Edmond sought out Freluchon and asked in a low tone:

“How has the affair gone off?”

“My dear fellow, first of all I must do justice to the dinner; it was magnificent, nothing was lacking. Chamoureau was adorably idiotic and told us about a scientific discovery that was enough to make one burst with laughter. But after that there was a very peculiar story of a nurse. I have strange suspicions; I’ll tell you about it later. Look you, if you take my advice, you won’t stay here. Let’s go right away, I’ll go with you.”

“Why so, pray?”

“I have an idea that Thélénie is concocting some villainy against you; I have surprised a number of hints and treacherous smiles. That woman has never forgiven you for leaving her first!”

“Then you won’t go away?”

“No, certainly not.”

“In that case, do at least be on your guard.”

“Really, Freluchon, I have never seen you as you are to-night.”

“Distrust especially that villainous looking fellow who is watching the dancing, there at the left; he’s a German baron, who is no more a German than he is a baron, and whom I suspect of being——”

“Well, what?”

“Thélénie’s brother!”

“What an idea! I never heard of her having a brother.”

“An additional reason that! it was probably because he was not a subject that she deemed good enough to put on exhibition.”

“What kind of wine have you been drinking, to have such gloomy ideas?”

“Oh! I haven’t drunk too much; I have been very careful. It isn’t possible that that woman invited us for our good looks; let’s go away.”

“Freluchon, if I am really in any danger here, go away if you choose; I am going to stay.”

“Enough! let’s say no more about it. I am going to dance a polka.”

Thanks to this species of refreshment, the hilarity soon became uproarious, the dances assumed a decidedly Spanish character, and the ladies plunged into them with an abandon that was at times decidedly eccentric.

Monsieur Droguet, who insisted on taking part in all the dances, even those that he did not know, had already been thrown to the floor three times; which did not deter him from beginning again as soon as he was on his feet.

Madame Droguet waltzed with the aplomb of a tower; she did not fall, but woe to those who collided with her! She and Monsieur Luminot, her partner, bumped into and overthrew everyone who came in their path. The ex-dealer in wines had not allowed a salver of punch or champagne to pass him by without saying a word to it. The result was that he was purple; his eyes were starting from his head, and he seemed inclined to defy the whole world.

Edmond, after playing a few rubbers of whist, had taken his place at a lansquenet table, where he was not lucky. Croque did not lose sight of him, and when he left the lansquenet table, he accosted him, saying:

“I don’t care for that game; you lose your money at it without a chance to defend yourself, without having even the pleasure of playing. I prefer écarté, that’s a game full of fine points. Does monsieur play it?”

“Would you like to play a few games? here’s an unoccupied table.”

“I should be glad to; let us see if I shall be more fortunate at this game than the others.”

“You probably will, monsieur, for I lose at it all the time, which does not prevent my being very fond of it; but we always become attached to ingrates!”

Edmond seated himself at a card-table opposite Croque, who continued:

“I like to play rather high.”

“So do I.”

“Then we have the same tastes. Twenty francs—does that frighten you? these little gold pieces are so convenient!”

“Twenty francs it is.”

The game began, and although the soi-disant baron declared that he always lost at it, he won the first game and the next and all the rest, and the yellow boys flowed in his direction.

Edmond had lost more than a hundred francs; but he tried to recoup by increasing his stake, which suited his opponent perfectly.

“Monsieur,” he replied to every such suggestion, “I am a bold player! I never refuse a man his revenge, and I cover whatever stake is proposed.”

“I am not sorry to rest a little,” said the corpulent Droguet, sinking on a couch; “we danced that whole waltz without stopping, didn’t we, Beau Luminot?”

Beau Luminot, puffing noisily, had taken his stand behind the ladies. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead as he replied:

“I’m as wet as a dish-rag; but we waltzed like Flora and Zephyr.”

“Your husband is on edge, Madame de Belleville; he hasn’t missed a dance yet.”

“He is simply doing his duty; a host should set the example; he has got to exhaust his list.”

“He may well be exhausted himself first. Are you ladies going to play cards?”

“Perhaps, neighbor, perhaps; we want to vary our pleasures.”

“I’ll bet two sous, if anybody will cover them.”

“Oh! Monsieur Luminot! do you dare to mention two sous? Don’t you see that these gentlemen are playing for gold?”

“Gold! real gold?”

“As real as can be!” replied Croque; “and if you want to bet a few napoleons on my opponent, I’ll take all bets.”

“I! I think not! I’ll bet two sous and no more!”

“Oh! your party is simply enchanting, Madame de Belleville; it is magnificent!”

“Admirable!”

“What a charming company you have brought together!”

“I tried to have the best people in the neighborhood.”

“And you have succeeded.”

“I did think for a moment of inviting those two ladies who bought Monsieur Courtivaux’s house, but——”

“Fie! fie! my dear love! What were you thinking of? why those women are not received anywhere!”

“But I thought——”

“La Dalmont and Demoiselle Agathe; does anybody know who they are?”

The names of Madame Dalmont and Agathe reached Edmond’s ears, and he listened, continuing his game.

“On the contrary,” cried Madame Remplumé, “we know much too well who they are!”

“Yes, you are right; we know some fine things about those flaunting hussies.”

“Of whom are you speaking, madame?” said Edmond, turning abruptly toward Madame Droguet.

“Of whom am I speaking, monsieur!” rejoined the giantess, slightly taken aback by this sudden question. “Why, in the first place, it seems to me that I am not accountable to you.”

“And madame, in speaking of those ladies, presumed to make use of expressions which I cannot and will not endure.”

“I have the vole and the king,” said Croque, marking three points.

“What does that mean, monsieur?” demanded the ex-vivandière, rolling her eyes furiously. “You don’t wish me to say what everyone in this neighborhood thinks about those ladies; why should I hesitate, I pray to know?”

“What do people in the neighborhood say of those ladies?”

“I mark the king.”

“They say, monsieur, that they are—not of much account; and no one will receive them!”

“Those who say that, madame, do so either from evil-mindedness or from stupidity; and none but the most despicable people can possibly make such remarks!”

“Despicable! Monsieur, it seems to me that you insult me!”

“It is you, madame, who insult two persons who deserve all your respect.”

“I have won!”

“My respect! Ha! ha! that is too much! Luminot, do you hear what monsieur says?”

“What is it? what’s the matter? what are you talking about?”

“The two women who live in the Courtivaux house.”

Edmond sprang to his feet and grasped Luminot’s arm, crying:

“Monsieur, admit that you have lied, that your words are false; take them back at once, or I won’t answer for my wrath!”

The Droguets, Remplumés and Jarnouillards shrieked in unison:

“He has told the truth; he won’t say anything different; he has simply expressed our opinion.”

“Take it back, monsieur, take it back instantly!”

“No, I won’t take it back,” said the former wine merchant, whose brain was excited by all he had drunk, and who was inflamed by the harpies who surrounded him. “On the contrary, I repeat it: those two women are——”

A violent blow on the cheek prevented him from finishing his sentence.

Bewildered a moment by the blow he had received, Luminot stared vacantly about; but when he saw Edmond still glaring at him with a threatening expression, the stout man prepared to rush at him.

Thereupon lamentable cries arose.

“Oh! mon Dieu! they have crushed my husband!” shrieked Madame Droguet.

“This is the scene which I expected,” said Freluchon, “and which Madame Chamoureau had carefully arranged! Now, Edmond, I trust that you will consent to go away with me.—Chamoureau, my boy, your little fête was delightful; and your wife, Madame Chamoureau, whose name is no more De Belleville than mine is Abd-el-Kader, arranged some very charming surprises for us.”

“Monsieur,” said Edmond, walking up to Luminot, who had struggled to his feet, but was very sore about the loins, “men of breeding do not settle their quarrels like street porters. I am ready to give you satisfaction. I live in this village, as you are well aware; to-morrow I shall expect your seconds.—Let us be off, Freluchon.”

“Off we go, my dear fellow.—I present my respects to Monsieur and Madame Chamoureau.—Ah! and the German baron who doesn’t know German; I was forgetting him. Good-night, my dear Schtapelmerg! a thousand sauerkrauts in my name to your acquaintances.”

“Don’t you mean to chastise such insolence?” murmured Thélénie, touching Croque’s arm. But he replied simply:

The scene that had taken place in the card-room brought Thélénie’s fête to an end. Monsieur Droguet’s nose was crushed and three of his teeth were broken; and his wife persistently exclaimed:

“They were the last he had!”

Chamoureau, who had seen only the end of the episode, and who was excessively annoyed to be called by his true name before his guests, ran from one to another, saying:

“Why, what has happened here? How did all this come about? Has there been a quarrel?”

“Better than that! The stout gentleman yonder was struck.”

“Struck! by whom? Freluchon?”

“No, by his friend—the young man who was playing écarté with the baron.”

Chamoureau thereupon bustled up to the former wine merchant, who was feeling his ribs.

“What’s this I hear? Edmond Didier struck you?”

“Yes, monsieur! but he shall pay me dear for it; that blow will cost him his life!”

“Is it possible to doubt it?” cried Thélénie; “show me the man who would not fight after receiving a blow—unless he chose to be disgraced forever.”

“Oh! I will fight, madame; you may be perfectly sure that I will fight.”

“And I trust that you will kill that scoundrel who broke my husband’s teeth!—Come, Droguet, let us go. What in the world are you looking for, on the floor and under the tables?”

“I am looking for my teeth.”

“Mon Dieu! what’s the use? you don’t imagine you can glue them in again, do you?—Oh! what a scene!”