Thomas, deep in the latest copy of the _Rambler_, was aroused by the
sound of wheels drawing up outside the house. He rose and stretched
himself, wondering who could choose such a day wherein to visit him.
He strolled to the window and peered out into the foggy street. He was
surprised to see, not a light town-chariot, but a large travelling
coach, top-heavy with baggage, and drawn by four steaming horses. As he
watched, the door of the vehicle was thrown open and a slight gentleman
sprang out, not waiting for the steps to be let down. He was muffled
in a many-caped overcoat of Parisian cut, and shining leather boots
were on his feet. Tom was puzzled. Then, from out the coach, issued
two other men, evidently servants, the one small and wiry, the other
lank and cadaverous. Both seemed depressed. The man in the well-cut
cloak waved his hands at them and appeared to shoot forth a number of
instructions. The little man, scarcely visible beneath the bandboxes
that he carried, nodded, shivered, and rounded on the lean man. Then
the man in the cloak turned, and ran up the steps to Tom's front door.
A long bell-peal sounded through the house.
Tom walked to the fire and stood with his back to it. Possibly this was
his friend Mainwaring come to visit him, but why did he bring so much
baggage? Tom rather hoped that the unknown guest had come to his house
in mistake for another's.
But a quick tread came across the hall and the door of the library was
swept open. Hat in hand, the visitor stood before Tom, bowing.
"Revered uncle, I kiss your hands!" And he proceeded to do so.
"God ha' mercy, it's Philip!" gasped Tom. "I never expected you for
another week, lad!"
Philip tossed his hat and gloves on to the table and wriggled out of
his cloak.
"I am _de trop_, no?"
"Never in your life!" Tom assured him. "Stand up, child, and let me
look at you!" Then, as Philip clicked his heels together and faced him,
laughing, his eyes widened, and his lips formed a soundless whistle.
"By the Lord Harry, Philip, it's marvellous! How could you do it in six
months----!"
Philip rustled over to the fire and stooped, warming his hands.
"Fog, cold, damp! Brrh! The unspeakable climate! Tom, it is permitted
that I stay with you until I find an abode?"
With difficulty his uncle withdrew his gape from Philip's
claret-coloured coat of fine cloth, laced with gold.
"Can you ask? Stay as long as you will, lad, you're a joy to behold!"
"_Merci du compliment!_" smiled Philip. "You perhaps admire the mixture
of claret and biscuit as I wear it?"
Tom's eyes travelled down to the creaseless biscuit-coloured
small-clothes.
"Ay. I admire everything. The boots most of all. The boots--Philip,
where did you obtain them?"
Philip glanced carelessly down at his shapely leg.
"They were made for me. Me, I am not satisfied with them. I shall give
them to François."
"Give them to François?" cried his uncle. "Ye wicked boy! Where is the
fellow?"
"He and Jacques are struggling with my baggage and Moggat." He
stretched out a detaining hand as Tom started forward to the door. "Ah,
do not disturb yourself. I have spoken with _ce bon_ Moggat, and all is
well. He will arrange everything."
Tom came back.
"He will be in a frenzy, Philip! All that baggage!"
"All--that baggage?" Philip spoke with uplifted brows. "It has
arrived?" He went to the window and looked out. "But no, not yet."
"B--but--is there more to come?" asked Tom.
"But of course! The bulk follows me."
Tom sat down weakly.
"And you who six months ago thought yourself rich in the possession of
three coats."
Philip came back to the fire. He made a little grimace of distaste.
"Those far-off days! That is ended--completely!"
Tom cast him a shrewd glance.
"What, all of it? Cleone?"
"Ah!" Philip smiled. "That is--another--matter. I have to thank you for
your letter, Tom."
"It brought you back?"
"_En partie._ She is here?"
"Ay, with Sally Malmerstoke. She is already noticed. Sally takes her
everywhere. She is now looked for--and courted." His eyes twinkled.
"Oho!" said Philip. He poured out a glass of burgundy from the decanter
that stood on a small table. "So she is furious with me, yes?"
"So I believe. Satterthwaite wrote that you and Bancroft fought over
the fair name of some French lass. Did you?"
Philip sipped his wine.
"Not a whit. 'Twas her own fair name, _à vrai dire_."
"Oh! You'll tell her that, of course?"
"Not at all."
Tom stared.
"What then? Have you some deep game in mind, Philip?"
"Perhaps. Oh, I don't know! I thank her for reforming me, but, being
human, I am hurt and angry! _Le petit Philippe se fâche_," he said,
smiling suddenly. "He would see whether it is himself she loves, or--a
painted puppet. It's foolish, but what would you?"
"So you are now a painted puppet?" said Tom politely.
"What else?"
"Dear me!" said Tom, and relapsed into profound meditation.
"I want to have her love me for--myself, and not for my clothes, or my
airs and graces. It's incomprehensible?"
"Not entirely," answered Tom. "I understand your feelings. What's to
do?"
"Merely my baggage," said Philip, with another glance towards the
window. "It is the coach that you hear."
"No, not that." Tom listened. Voices raised in altercation sounded in
the hall.
Philip laughed.
"That is the inimitable François. I do not think that Moggat finds
favour in his eyes."
"I'll swear he does not find favour in Moggat's eyes! Who is the other
one?"
"Jacques, my groom and _homme à tout faire_!"
"Faith, ye've a retinue!"
"What would you?" shrugged Philip. He sat down opposite his uncle, and
stretched his legs to the fire. "Heigh-ho! I do not like this weather."
"Nor anyone else. What are you going to do, now that you have returned?"
"Who knows? I make my bow to London Society, I amuse myself a
little--ah yes! and I procure a house."
"Do you make your bow to Cleone?"
An impish smile danced into Philip's eyes.
"I present myself to Cleone--as she would have had me. A drawling,
conceited, and mincing fop. Which I am not, believe me!"
Tom considered him.
"No, you're not. You don't drawl."
"I shall drawl," promised Philip. "And I shall be very languid."
"It's the fashion, of course. You did not adopt it?"
"It did not entice me. I am _le petit sans repos_, and _le petit_
Philippe _au C[oe]ur Perdu_, and _petit original_. _Hé, hé_, I shall be
homesick! It is inevitable."
"Are you so much at home in Paris?" asked Tom, rather surprised. "You
liked the Frenchies?"
"Liked them! Could I have disliked them?"
"I should have thought it possible--for you. Did you make many friends?"
"_A revendre!_ They took me to their bosoms."
"Did they indeed! Who do you count amongst your intimates?"
"Saint-Dantin--you know him?"
"I've met him. Tall and dark?"
"Ay. Paul de Vangrisse, Jules de Bergeret, Henri de Chatelin--oh, I
can't tell you! They are all charming!"
"And the ladies?"
"Also charming. Did you ever meet Clothilde de Chaucheron, or Julie de
Marcherand? _Ah, voilà ce qui fait ressouvenir!_ I count that _rondeau_
one of my most successful efforts. You shall hear it some time or
other."
"That _what_?" ejaculated Tom, sitting upright in his surprise.
"A _rondeau_: 'To the Pearl that Trembles in her Ear.' I would you
could have seen it."
"Which? The _rondeau_?"
"The pearl, man! The _rondeau_ you shall most assuredly see."
"Merciful heaven!" gasped Tom. "A _rondeau_! Philip--poet! _Sacr-ré
mille petits cochons!_"
* * * * *
"Monsieur dines at home this evening?" asked François.
Philip sat at his dressing-table, busy with many pots and his face. He
nodded.
"The uncle of Monsieur receives, without doubt?"
"A card-party," said Philip, tracing his eyebrows with a careful hand.
François skipped to the wardrobe and flung it open. With a finger to
his nose he meditated aloud.
"The blue and silver ... _un peu trop soigné_. The orange ... _peu
convenable_. The purple the purple _essayons_!"
Philip opened the rouge-jar.
"The grey I wore at De Flaubert's last month."
François clapped a hand to his head.
"_Ah, sot!_" he apostrophised himself. "_Voilà qui est très bien._" He
dived into the wardrobe, emerging presently with the required dress. He
laid it on the bed, stroking it lovingly, and darted away to a large
chest. From it he brought forth the pink and silver waistcoat that
De Bergeret had admired, and the silver lace. Then he paused. "_Les
bas?... Les bas aux oiseaux-mouches ... où sont-ils?_" He peered into
a drawer, turning over neat piles of stockings. A convulsion of fury
seemed to seize him, and he sped to the door. "Ah, _sapristi! Coquin!
Jacques!_"
In answer to his frenzied call came the cadaverous one, shivering.
François seized him by the arm and shook him.
"Thou misbegotten son of a toad!" he raved. "Where is the small box I
bade you guard with your life? Where is it, I say. Thou--"
"I gave it into your hands," said Jacques sadly. "Into your hands, your
very hands, in this room here by the door! I swear it."
"Swear it? What is it to me, your swear? I say I have not seen the box!
At Dover, what did I do? _Nom d'un nom_, did I not say to you, lose thy
head sooner than that box?" His voice rose higher and higher. "And now,
where is it?"
"I tell you I gave it you! It is this bleak country that has warped
your brain. Never did the box leave my hands until I gave it into
yours!"
"And I say you did not! _Saperlipopette_, am I a fool that I should
forget? Now listen to what you have done! You have lost the stockings
of Monsieur! By your incalculable stupidity, the stupidity of a pig, an
ass--"
"_Sacré nom de Dieu!_ Am I to be disturbed by your shrieking?" Philip
had flung down the haresfoot. He slewed round in his chair. "Shut the
door! Is it that you wish to annoy my uncle that you shout and scream
in his house?" His voice was thunderous.
François spread out his hands.
"M'sieur, I ask pardon! It is this _âne_, this careless _gaillard_--"
"_Mais, m'sieur!_" protested Jacques. "It is unjust; it is false!"
"_Ecoutez donc, m'sieur!_" begged François, as the stern grey eyes went
from his face to that of the unhappy Jacques. "It is the band-box that
contains your stockings--the stockings _aux oiseaux-mouches_! Ah, would
that I had carried it myself! Would that--"
"Would that you would be quiet!" said Philip severely. "If either of
you have lost those stockings ..." He paused, and once more his eyes
travelled from one to the other. "I shall seek another valet."
François became tearful.
"Ah, no, no, m'sieur! It is this _imbécile_, this _crapaud_--"
"_M'sieu, je vous implore_--"
Philip pointed dramatically across the room. Both men looked fearfully
in the direction of that accusing finger.
"Ah!" François darted forward. "_La voilà!_ What did I say?" He clasped
the box to his breast. "What did I say?"
"But it is not so!" cried Jacques. "What did you say? You said you had
not seen the box! What did _I_ say? I said--"
"Enough!" commanded Philip. "I will not endure this bickering! Be
quiet, François! Little monkey that you are!"
"_M'sieur!_" François was hurt. His sharp little face fell into lines
of misery.
"Little monkey," continued Philip inexorably, "with more thought for
your chattering than for my welfare."
"Ah, no, no, m'sieur! I swear it is not so! By the--"
"I do not want your oaths," said Philip cruelly. "Am I to wait all
night for my cravat, while you revile the good Jacques?"
François cast the box from him.
"Ah, _misérable_! The cravat! _Malheureux_, get thee gone!" He waved
agitated hands at Jacques. "You hinder me! You retard me! You upset
Monsieur! _Va-t-en!_"
Jacques obeyed meekly, and Philip turned back to the mirror. To him
came François, wreathed once more in smiles.
"He means well, _ce bon Jacques_," he said, busy with the cravat. "But
he is _sot_, you understand, _très sot_!" He pushed Philip's chin up
with a gentle hand. "He annoys m'sieur, _ah oui_! But he is a good
_garçon_, when all is said."
"It is you who annoy me," answered Philip. "Not so tight, not so tight!
Do you wish to choke me?"
"_Pardon_, m'sieur! No, it is not François who annoys you! _Ah, mille
fois non!_ François--perhaps he is a little monkey, if m'sieur says
so, but he is a very good valet, _n'est-ce pas_? A monkey, if m'sieur
pleases, but very clever with a cravat. M'sieur has said it himself."
"You are a child," said Philip. "Yes, that is very fair." He studied
his reflection. "I am pleased with it."
"Aha!" François clasped his hands delightedly. "M'sieur is no longer
enraged! _Voyons_, I go to fetch the vest of m'sieur!"
Presently, kneeling before his master and adjusting his stockings, he
volunteered another piece of information.
"Me, I have been in this country before. I understand well the ways of
it. I understand the English, oh, _de part en part_! I know them for
a foolish race, _en somme_--saving always m'sieur, who is more French
than English--but never, never have I had the misfortune to meet so
terrible an Englishman as this servant of m'sieur's uncle, this Moggat.
_Si entêté, si impoli!_ He looks on me with a suspicion! I cannot tell
m'sieur of his so churlish demeanour! He thinks, perhaps, that I go to
take his fine coat. Bah! I spit upon it! I speak to him as m'sieur has
bid me--_très doucement_. He pretends he cannot understand what it is I
say! Me, who speak English _aussi bien que le Français_! Deign to enter
into these shoes, m'sieur! I tell him I hold him in contempt! He makes
a _reniflement_ in his nose, and he mutters 'damned leetle frog-eater!'
_Grand Dieu_, I could have boxed his ears, the impudent!"
"I hope you did not?" said Philip anxiously.
"Ah, bah! Would I so demean myself, m'sieur? It is I who am of a
peaceable nature, _n'est-ce pas_? But Jacques--_voyons, c'est autre
chose_! He is possessed of the hot temper, _ce pauvre_ Jacques. I fear
for that Moggat if he enrages our Jacques." He shook his head solemnly,
and picked up the grey satin coat. "If m'sieur would find it convenient
to rise? Ah, _bien_!" He coaxed Philip into the coat, bit by bit. "I
say to you, m'sieur, I am consumed of an anxiety. Jacques, he is a
veritable fire-eater when he is roused, not like me, who am always
_doux comme un enfant_. I think, perhaps, he will refuse to remain in
the house with this pig of a Moggat."
Philip shook out his ruffles.
"I have never noticed that Jacques showed signs of a so violent
temper," he remarked.
"But no! Of a surety, he would not exhibit his terrible passion to
m'sieur! Is it that I should permit him?"
"Well," Philip slipped a ring on to his finger, "I am sorry for
Jacques, but he must be patient. Soon I shall go to a house of my own."
François' face cleared as if by magic.
"M'sieur is kind! A house of his own. _Je me rangerai bien!_ M'sieur
contemplates a _mariage_, perhaps?"
Philip dropped his snuff-box.
"_Que diable--?_" he began, and checked himself. "Mind your own
business, François!"
"_Ah, pardon, m'sieur!_" replied the irrepressible François. "I but
thought that m'sieur had the desire to wed, that he should return to
England so hurriedly!"
"Hold your tongue!" said Philip sharply. "Understand me, François,
I'll have no meddling _bavardage_ about me either to my face or below
stairs! _C'est entendu?_"
"But yes, m'sieur," said François, abashed. "It is that my tongue runs
away with me."
"You'd best keep a guard over it," answered Philip curtly.
"Yes, m'sieur!" Meekly he handed Philip his cane and handkerchief.
Then, as his master still frowned, "M'sieur is still enraged?" he
ventured.
Philip glanced down at him. At the sight of François' anxious, naïve
expression, the frown faded, and he laughed.
"You are quite ridiculous," he said.
François broke into responsive smiles at once.
* * * * *
But when Philip had rustled away to join his uncle, the little valet
nodded shrewdly to himself and clicked his tongue against the roof of
his mouth.
"_En vérité, c'est une femme_," he remarked. "_C'est ce que j'ai cru._"