MOTHER CITRON'S TENANTS
"Now you've forgotten the fish knives and forks! Do you expect my lover
to eat with his fingers like that old Chinaman I had for three months
last year!"
Susy d'Orsel spoke with a distinct accent of the Faubourg, which
contrasted strangely with her delicate and distinguished appearance.
Justine, her maid, stood staring in reply.
"But, Madame, we have lobsters...."
"What's that got to do with it, they're fish, ain't they?"
The young woman left the table and went into the adjoining room, a small
drawing-room, elegantly furnished in Louis XV style.
"Justine," she called.
"Madame."
"Here's another mistake. You mustn't get red orchids. Throw these
out.... I want either mauve or yellow ones.... You know those are the
official colors of His Majesty."
"Queer taste his ... His Majesty has for yellow."
"What's that to do with you. Get a move on, lay the table."
"I left the _pate de foie gras_ in the pantry with ice round it."
"All right."
The young woman returned to the dining-room and gave a final glance at
the preparations.
"He's a pretty good sort, my august lover." Justine started in surprise.
"August! Is that a new one?"
Susy d'Orsel could hardly repress a smile.
"Mind your own business. What time is it?"
"A quarter to twelve, Madame." And as the girl started to leave the room
she ventured:
"I hope M. August won't forget me, to-morrow morning."
"Why, you little idiot, his name isn't August, it's Frederick-Christian!
You have about as much sense as an oyster!"
The maid looked so crestfallen at this that Susy added, good-naturedly:
"That's all right, Justine, A Happy New Year anyway, and don't worry.
And now get out; His Majesty wants nobody about but me this evening."
Susy d'Orsel, in spite of her physical charms, had found life hard
during the earlier years of her career. She had become a mediocre
actress merely for the sake of having some profession, and had
frequented the night restaurants in quest of a wealthy lover. It was
only after a long delay that fortune had smiled upon her, and she had
arrived at the enviable position of being the mistress of a King.
Frederick-Christian II, since the death of his father three years
previously, reigned over the destinies of the Kingdom of Hesse-Weimar.
Young and thoroughly Parisian in his tastes, he felt terribly bored in
his middle-class capital and sought every opportunity of going,
incognito, to have a little fun in Paris. During each visit he never
failed to call upon Susy d'Orsel, and by degrees, coming under the sway
of her charms, he made her a sort of official mistress, an honor which
greatly redounded to her glory and popularity.
He had installed her in a dainty little apartment in the Rue de Monceau.
It was on the third floor and charmingly furnished. In fact, he was in
the habit of declaring that his Queen Hedwige, despite all her wealth,
was unable to make her apartment half so gracious and comfortable.
Thus it was that Susy d'Orsel waited patiently for the arrival of her
royal lover, who had telephoned her he would be with her on the night of
December the thirty-first.
The official residence of the King while in Paris was the Royal Palace
Hotel, and although in strict incognito, he rarely spent the whole night
out. But he intended to make the last night of the year an exception to
this rule. As became a gallant gentleman, he had himself seen to the
ordering of the supper, and a procession of waiters from the first
restaurants of Paris had been busy all the afternoon preparing for the
feast.
Suddenly a discreet ring at the bell startled Susy d'Orsel.
"That's queer, I didn't expect the King until one o'clock!" she
exclaimed.
She opened the door and saw a young girl standing on the landing.
"Oh, it's you, Mademoiselle Pascal! What are you coming at this hour
for?"
"Excuse me, Madame, for troubling you, but I've brought your lace
negligee. It took me quite a time to finish, and I thought you'd
probably like it as soon as possible."
"Oh, I thought it had already come. I'm very glad you brought it. There
would have been a fine row if it hadn't been ready for me to wear this
evening."
Susy d'Orsel took the dressmaker into her bedroom and turned on the
electric lights. The gown was then unwrapped and displayed. It was of
mousseline de soie, trimmed with English point.
Susy examined it with the eye of a connoisseur and then nodded her head.
"It's fine, my girl, you have the fingers of a fairy, but it must put
your eyes out."
"It is very hard, Madame, especially working by artificial light, and in
winter the days are so short and the work very heavy. That is why I came
to you at this late hour."
Susy smiled.
"Late hour! Why the evening is just beginning for me."
"Our lives are very different, Madame."
"That's right, I begin when you stop, and if your work is hard, mine
isn't always agreeable."
The two women laughed and then Susy took off her wrapper and put on the
new negligee.
"My royal lover is coming this evening."
"Yes, I know," answered Marie Pascal. "Your table looks very pretty."
"You might make me a lace table cloth. We'll talk about it some other
time, not this evening; besides, I can't be too extravagant."
The dressmaker took her leave a few moments later and made her way with
care in the semi-obscurity down the three flights of stairs.
Marie Pascal was a young girl in the early twenties, fair-haired,
blue-eyed and with a graceful figure. Modishly but neatly dressed, she
had a reputation in the neighborhood as a model of discretion and
virtue.
She worked ceaselessly and being clever with her fingers, she had
succeeded in building up so good a trade in the rich and elegant Monceau
quarter, that in the busy season she was obliged to hire one or two
workwomen to help her.
As she was crossing the court to go to her own room, a voice called her
from the porter's lodge.
"Marie Pascal, look here a moment."
A fat woman dressed in her best opened the door of her room which was
lit by one flaring gas jet.
Marie Pascal, in spite of her natural kindliness, could scarcely repress
a smile.
Madame Ceiron, the concierge, or, as she was popularly called, "Mother
Citron," certainly presented a fantastic appearance.
She was large, shapeless, common, and good-natured. Behind her glasses,
her eyes snapped with perpetual sharp humor. She had a mass of gray hair
that curled round her wrinkled face, which, with a last remnant of
coquetry, she made up outrageously. Her hands and feet were enormous,
disproportionate to her figure, although she was well above middle
height. She invariably wore mittens while doing the housework.
Mother Citron, however, did very little work; she left that to a
subordinate who, for a modest wage, attended to her business and left
her free to go out morning, noon and night. She now questioned Marie
Pascal with considerable curiosity, and the young girl explained her
late errand to deliver the gown to Susy d'Orsel.
"Come in and have a cup of coffee, Mam'zelle Pascal," urged the old
woman, as she set out two cups and filled them from a coffee pot on the
stove.
Marie Pascal at first refused, but Mother Citron was so insistent that
she ended by accepting the invitation. Besides, she felt very grateful
to Madame Ceiron for having recommended her to the proprietor of the
house, the Marquis de Serac, an old bachelor who lived on the first
floor.
The Marquis had used his good offices to obtain for her an order for
laces from the King of Hesse-Weimar. Mother Citron showed a kindly
interest in this enterprise.
"Well, did you see the King?"
Marie Pascal hesitated:
"I saw him and I didn't see him."
"Tell me all about it, my dear. Is the lover of our lady upstairs a
good-looking man?"
"It's hard to say. So far as I could judge, he seemed to be very
handsome. You see, it was like this. After waiting in the lobby of the
Royal Palace Hotel for about an hour, I was shown into a large
drawing-room; a sort of footman in knee breeches took my laces into the
adjoining room where the King was walking up and down. I just caught a
glimpse of him from time to time."
"What did he do then?"
"I don't know. He must have liked my laces for he gave me a large order.
He didn't seem to pay much attention to them; he picked out three of the
samples I sent in and what seemed queer, he also ordered some imitations
of them."
The concierge smiled knowingly.
"I expect the imitations were for his lawful wife, and the real ones for
his little friend. Men are all alike. Another cup of coffee?"
"Oh, no, thanks."
"Well, I won't insist; each one to his taste. The life Susy d'Orsel
leads wouldn't suit you. And the amount of champagne she gets through!"
"No, I shouldn't care much about that."
"All the same, there's something to be said for it. She has a first-rate
position since she got the King ... and I get first-rate tips! Take
to-night, for instance; I'll bet they'll be carrying on till pretty near
dawn. It upsets my habits, but I can't complain. I'll probably get a
good New Year's present in the morning."
"Well, as it's very late for me, I'll go up to bed."
"Go ahead, my dear, don't let me keep you."
Marie Pascal had reached the stairs when she turned back.
"Oh, Madame Ceiron, when can I thank the Marquis de Serac for his
kindness in introducing me to Frederick-Christian?"
"No hurry, my child, the Marquis has gone to the country to spend the
New Year's day with his relations and he won't be back before next
week."
Marie Pascal climbed the stairs to her room on the sixth floor and the
concierge returned to her quarters and settled herself in an armchair.