|A party was to be given that evening at the house in Belgrave Square;
but below stairs, not above.
Exceedingly indulgent to her servants, Lady friends; and he had invited
the Tankards, to whom he owed a return, and several others of our
acquaintance--namely, Mrs. Tripp and the charming Clotilde; Mrs.
Sicklemore and the fair Flora; Mr. and Mrs. Hartley, Harry Netterville,
Pledger Dapp, and Larkins--to a _soirée dansante._
Of course, the servants of the house were included, and they mustered
very strong--footman, coachman, page, housekeeper, lady's-maid,
housemaids, and kitchen maid. Nor must we omit to mention Rose, and Mrs.
Calverley's lady's-maid, Laura, who had some pretension to good looks.
Most important, however, of all was the French cook, Monsieur Zephyrus,
who next to Mr. Higgins himself, was the principal person in the
establishment.
A very smart young man was Zephyrus, when not compelled by the duties
of his vocation to disguise himself in a white apron, white _veste_, and
white _bonnet-de-nuit._
He now wore an evening dress, made by a fashionable tailor in the
Boulevard Italien, the peculiar cut of which proclaimed its French
origin; and, as he had a light figure, he looked very well in it.
Zephyrus was not bad-looking, and had a dark complexion, black eyes, and
large black whiskers, of which he was not a little vain. When in full
dress, as on the present occasion, he wore a _lorgnon_ stuck in his
right eye.
On the previous day he had paid a visit to his friend Sigebert Smart,
whom he had known in Paris, and invited him and Madame Smart to the
party. Both accepted the invitation with delight.
In addition to a piano, brought from upstairs, and on which Mrs. Tripp
had kindly consented to perform, a violin, violoncello, and cornet had
been provided by Mr. Higgins. Nothing, indeed, was neglected.
The large housekeeper's room, in which dancing was to take place, was
brilliantly lighted up and decorated; and supper, prepared by Monsieur
Zephyrus himself, was to be served in the _salle à manger_. Nothing was
seen of the kitchen.
Not till ten o'clock, when dinner and all other matters upstairs had
been disposed of, did the company begin to assemble.
Of course they were obliged to descend the area steps; but, the passage
once gained, and the doors thrown open, they were surprised by the
splendour of the scene.
They were received by Mr. Higgins, who was supported by Monsieur
Zephyrus.
First to arrive were the Tankards. Tom was very much struck by the
appearance of Zephyrus, and wondered who he was, never supposing him to
be a cook. His father told him he was a _cordon bleu_, but that did not
enlighten him; and the marked attentions paid by the gallant Frenchman
to Madame Sigebert Smart, when she arrived with her husband, puzzled
him still more. He could not understand how such a distinguished-looking
personage could be on intimate terms with a _coiffeur_ and his wife.
As soon as he got an opportunity, he said to Sigebert:
“Who's that very polite French gent talking to Madame?”
“Monsieur Zephyrus,” replied the _coiffeur_. “Don't you know him?”
“I don't recollect seeing him before,” remarked Tom. “The guv'nor says
he's a _cordon bleu_. What does that mean?”
Scarcely able to refrain from laughing, Sigebert replied:
“It means that he's a knight of the Saint Esprit, The order was given
him by Louis Napoleon. Chevalier Zephyrus is entitled to wear a broad
blue ribbon, with a cross attached to it, but he doesn't put it on now.”
“He seems a very condescending sort of fellow for a chevalier,” said Tom.
“No nonsensical pride about him.”
“None whatever,” replied Sigebert. “You'll find him very affable. But
don't talk to him about cookery. He dislikes that subject.”
“I'll take care to avoid it,” said Tom.
By this time, the whole party having assembled--guests and inmates of
the house--Mrs. Tripp was conducted to the piano by Higgins, and the
musicians began to strike up.
Then it was that Zephyrus, who acted as master of the ceremonies,
clapped his well-gloved hands, and exclaimed:
“_Messieurs, un quadrille--prenez vos dames!_”
“That means we're to take our partners for a quadrille. Ma'mzelle,” said
Tom, stepping up to Clotilde, “shall I have the honour?”
“Too late, Mr. Tom,” she replied, coquettishly. “Already engaged to
Monsieur Zephyrus.”
“Ah, the Chevalier knows how to take care of himself, I perceive!” cried
Tom.
“Yes. You'd better look quick, and secure Flora, or she'll be snapped
up,” said Clotilde.
Acting on the advice, Tom hurried off, but would have been too late if
the thoughtful young lady had not reserved herself for him.
All the cavaliers seemed choosing partners, but the master of the
ceremonies would only allow four couples in the first quadrille. These
were himself and Clotilde, Tom Tankard and Flora, Harry Netterville and
Rose, and Sigebert and Laura.
“Will you be our _vis-a-vis_, Monsieur Grandpot?” he said to Tom.
“With the greatest pleasure, Chevalier,” replied our young friend. “But
my name's not Grandpot; I'm Mr. Tom Tankard.”
“_Mille pardons!_” exclaimed Zephyrus. “But we call a tankard a _grand
pot d'argent_. Be pleased to take your place, Monsieur Tom.”
The quadrille then commenced.
Monsieur Zephyrus danced with wonderful spirit and lightness, cutting
cross capers, forward capers, side capers, back capers--now executing
the _boree_ step, the _courant_ step, and the _gaillard_ step--hopping,
jumping, bounding, and ending with a pirouette that astonished all the
beholders.
Tom Tankard tried to imitate him, but the performance was a mere
caricature, and though it excited laughter, must be pronounced a
failure.
Sigebert was more successful. He had figured at the Grand Chaumière at
Paris, and treated the company to some of the fantastic steps he had
seen performed there and at other _salles de danse_ in the Bois de
Boulogne.
Though very much amused by what he beheld, Harry Netterville did not
indulge in any of these absurdities.
Both Flora and Clotilde danced very well, as they had had some practice
at Cremorne, but Rose was very quiet.
A rigadoon followed, which again enabled Monsieur Zephyrus to display
his grace and skill; then a valse, in which Flora fell to the share
of the Frenchman, and Clotilde to Sigebert. Tom was obliged to content
himself with Madame Sigebert, for Rose declined to dance with him.
When the valse was over, a country dance was called for by Mr. Higgins,
who wished to dance with Mrs. Tankard, and led off with her. Almost
everybody joined in this lively dance, which was carried on with the
greatest spirit, and amid much laughter, for more than half an hour.
The elderly people seemed to enjoy it as much as the young folks, but
Mr. Higgins and Mrs. Tankard could not go down a second time.
Monsieur Zephyrus, who was evidently quite captivated by Clotilde,
induced her to dance with him, to the great disgust of Tom, who began to
feel a little jealous of the gay Frenchman. However, Flora contrived to
console him.
Harry Netterville and Rose thoroughly enjoyed the merry country dance,
and did not feel in the least fatigued by their exertions.
The company then proceeded to supper; where, we have already explained.
The men-servants of the house, who were intended to wait, went in first.
Mr. Higgins gave his arm to Mrs. Tankard, and was followed by Mr.
Tankard and Mrs. Tripp, Mr. Larkins and Mrs. Hartley, with the rest of
the party.
A very elegant supper greeted them--quite a triumph of skill on the part
of Monsieur Zephyrus, who had done his best. Iced champagne and moselle
cup were to be had in plenty.
Tom Tankard was in raptures.
“By Jove!” he cried; “I never saw a nicer supper! Lady Thicknesse must
have a capital cook!”
Monsieur Zeyhyrus, who chanced to be near him, smiled.
“Enchanted to find you are pleased with my performance, Monsieur Tom!”
he said.”_Your_ performance, Chevalier!” cried Tom. “You don't mean to
say you prepared the supper?”
“_Mais oui, mon cher_,” said Zephyrus, proudly. “I, and no one else.
Don't you know I am Lady Thicknesse's cook?”
“Give you my word I wasn't aware of it till this moment,” cried Tom. “I
was told you are a _cordon bleu_.”
“And so I am,” said Zephyrus. “But don't you understand that a _cordon
bleu_ means a first-rate cook?--that's my description.”
For a few moments Tom seemed lost in astonishment. He then exclaimed:
“The guv'nor's completely taken me in!”
The company did not seem inclined to leave the supper table, and no
wonder, considering the excellence of the repast and the abundant supply
of champagne.
But Mr. Higgins, who was very careful, thought they had sat long enough,
and moved off to the ballroom, where the music again struck up, and
dancing recommenced with even more spirit than before.
The only person who looked discontented was Tom Tankard. He had drunk a
good deal of champagne, and it had got into his head and made him rather
quarrelsome. He felt jealous and angry at the evident preference shown
by Clotilde for Monsieur Zephyrus.
They were again engaged in a polka. Ordinarily, Tom was very fond of a
polka; but on this occasion he refused to join in the dance, but stood
on one side and noticed the passionate glances bestowed by the Frenchman
on the inconstant charmer. His breast swelled; but he was obliged to
devour his rage.
When the polka ceased several couples proceeded to the supper-room for
a glass of champagne and amongst them were Zephyrus and Clotilde. In a
minute or two the others came back; but the Frenchman and the fair syren
did not appear.
Maddened by jealousy, Tom went in search of them.
As he approached the supper-room, the door of which was partly open, he
perceived at a glance that they were alone together, and that Zephyrus,
who was seated beside her, was still pouring forth tender speeches in
her ear; but they were too much engrossed by each other to notice him.
His first impulse was to rush in upon them; but hearing his own name
pronounced, he stood still.
“I hope you don't care for that _grand nigaud_, Tom Tankard,” said
Zephyrus. “Indeed, it is hardly possible you can--he is so frightfully
ugly, besides being ridiculous and stupid. But I believe he flatters
himself you are in love with him.”
“He certainly pays me a great deal of attention,” replied Clotilde; “but
if he fancies I am in love with him, he is very much mistaken. In fact,
to confess the truth, I am becoming rather tired of him.”
“That gives me hopes,” said Zephyrus. “I shall try and please you
better.”
“You please me very much,” said Clotilde. “You dance charmingly--much
better than Tom.”
“He cannot dance at all,” said Zephyrus, contemptuously. “But dancing is
the least of my accomplishments. I am a skilful musician; I ride well,
drive well, shoot well----”
“And cook well,” added Clotilde. “The supper you have given us was
perfect.”
“Ah, you shall taste a wedding breakfast; but not prepared for that
odious Tom Tankard!”
“For whom, then?” inquired Clotilde.
Before an answer could be returned, Tom rushed into the room, and quite
frightened Clotilde by his looks.
“So you are getting tired of me, are you?” he cried to the fickle girl.
“How long have you been tired? Only this very morning you said you liked
me better than any one else; but this French cook has made you change
your mind. He may have you, and welcome. I've done with you for ever.”
“You don't mean it, dear Tom?” she cried, penitentially.
“Yes, I do,” he rejoined, “and I'm glad I've found you out in time. But
I can't say much for your choice!” he added, casting a glance of scorn
at his rival.
“What have you to say against me, saar?” cried
Zephyrus, with a fierce gesticulation, and shaking his clenched hand at
Tom.
“You won't frighten me, monsieur,” observed Tom, quietly. “Consider
yourself thrashed.”
“But I won't!” cried Zephyrus. “I never was thrashed, and never will
be!”
“Yes you will!” cried Tom.
And being somewhat of a bruiser, he dealt him a smart tap on the nose,
or somewhere near it, that knocked him backwards against the table,
upsetting a number of glasses with a tremendous crash.
Clotilde ran screaming out of the room.
“_Diable, vous avez poché mon oeil au beurre noir, monsieur!_” cried
Zephyrus, as he picked himself up. “But you shall pay for the affront
with your life's blood!”
“Don't be afraid, monsieur,” said Tom, stoutly. “I'll give you
satisfaction in any way you like; sword, pistol, or this!” he added,
holding up his clenched fist.
“But the duel is no longer allowed in your country,” said Zephyrus.
“Then we'll settle our quarrel in yours,” rejoined Tom. “I'll go over
with you to Boulogne, or Dieppe, whenever you please.”
While these menaces were exchanged, Mr. Higgins, Mr. Tankard, and
several others had entered the room, alarmed by the crash of glass and
Clotilde's cries.
They instantly perceived that a conflict had taken place.
“What's the meaning of this disturbance, gentlemen?” cried Mr. Higgins.
“Can't you spend the evening quietly?”
“I'm ashamed of you, Tom!” cried Mr. Tankard.
“The quarrel wasn't of my seeking, guv'nor,” said the young man.
“But it won't end here,” cried Zephyrus, holding a handkerchief to his
face.
“I hope it will,” rejoined Higgins.
“Tom,” said his father, sternly, “I insist on your making an apology to
Monsieur Zephyrus.”
“I make an apology?” rejoined the youth. “Don't expect it, guv'nor.”
“Nor will I accept an apology,” said Zephyrus. “I will have his life!
Sigebert,” he added to the _coiffeur_, who had entered the room with the
others, “you shall be my _parrain_--my second.”
“With great pleasure,” replied the other.
“If you talk of fighting a duel, I'll have you both bound over to keep
the peace,” said Higgins. “But come, we've had quite enough of this
nonsense; shake hands like good fellows.”
“I'm quite ready,” said Tom. “I'll either fight or make friends, as
suits Monsieur Zephyrus best.”
This was said in such a good-natured way that it pleased the Frenchman,
and he seemed disposed to make up the quarrel.
“I'm sorry I hurt you, for I don't believe you're half a bad fellow,”
said Tom. “There, will that suffice?”
“_Parfaitement_,” replied Zephyrus, taking the hand offered him.
“Bravo!” cried Higgins. “Now let us all have a glass of champagne, and
then we'll go back to the ball-room. We must have a reel.”
“No more dancing for me,” said Tom.
“Nonsense!” cried his father. “I insist that you dance with Clotilde.”
“Do you consent, Monsieur?” said Tom, with a droll look at Zephyrus.
“She now belongs to you.”
“You shall have her back altogether, if you like,” replied the
Frenchman.
“Nay, I won't tax your generosity so far,” said Tom, with a laugh.
Champagne was here handed round, and, after the brimming glasses had
been emptied, they all repaired to the ball-room.
Clotilde flew to Tom on his appearance, and he was foolish enough to
forgive her.
A reel was called, in which all the company took part, except poor
Monsieur Zephyrus, who was obliged to apply a piece of brown paper,
steeped in brandy, to his injured orb.