people laughed at me.”
“What will you do with Monsieur Dufournelle?”
“He will prompt, that’s his forte! he puffs[B] all the time like an
ox!--We also expect little Kingerie; he’s a very good fellow; he does
whatever anyone wants him to; he takes whatever parts you give him.”
[B] The same word--_souffler_--means to prompt, and to blow or puff.
“Mamma, have you noticed that Monsieur Kingerie has an entirely
different voice when he sings, from the one he has when he talks?”
“That’s true, but it’s very lucky for him; when he talks, he always
sounds as if he were hoarse; whereas, when he sings, he has a little
clear, flutelike voice, so shrill that it is hard to believe that it is
he who is singing.--Then we shall have Monsieur Camuzard and his
daughter, Mademoiselle Polymnie, who also wants to act.”
“You must give her a part; she’s a very handsome woman, tall and
well-built and stylish!”
“She did her little s--s--soubrette part very badly the l--l--last time,
although she had only a few words to say: ‘M--m--madame, the company is
below in the salon’; and she said: ‘Madame, the s--s--salon is below in
the c--c--company!’”
“That was because her tongue slipped! But it doesn’t make it any the
less true that Mademoiselle Polymnie looks very well on the stage.”
“Her nose is too big!”
“Big noses do very well on the stage. Besides, I tell you again,
daughter, that I desire to be polite to Monsieur Camuzard, and I know
that it gives him great pleasure when his daughter acts.” And Monsieur
Glumeau added, with a glance at his wife: “We must try to make Astianax
act a lover’s part, and let Mademoiselle Polymnie be the sweetheart. You
understand my ideas and my plans, don’t you, Lolotte?”
“Yes, monsieur, they are not hard to understand. Mademoiselle Camuzard
would be an excellent match, I know; but Astianax is still so young!”
“I married very young myself, madame, and I have never repented it.”
“Ah! that’s the nicest thing you have said to-day!”
“It seems to me that I say nice things very often; but you don’t notice
them because you are used to them.--This tea has done me good; I feel as
light as a bird; I would like to dance a mazurka.--Speaking of dancing,
Eolinde, have you practised on your piano the new quadrilles that I
brought you?”
“Oh! they are too hard.”
“No, mademoiselle, it’s because you don’t choose to take the pains to
study; and you are all the more wrong in that, because everybody plays
the piano now; young men and young girls, everybody knows how to play
for dancing; the young woman who did not know how to play a quadrille in
company would be looked upon as a savage, as a Hottentot!”
“I know very well that everybody pl--plays the piano now. The
c--c--concierge’s daughter plays it; and the other day the
l--l--locksmith who c--c--came to fix a lock which wouldn’t l--l--lock,
said when he heard me pl--playing: ‘I play the piano myself Sundays,
when I have time.’--Isn’t that so, mamma?”
“It’s the truth; indeed I was tempted to say to the locksmith that he
ought to put over his shop door: ‘Bells hung with piano accompaniment!’”
“In fact, papa, the p--p--piano has become such a common
inst--st--strument, that I would rather play something else.”
“What, I should like to know?”
“Why, the little flute, for example.”
“You are mad, Eolinde; it would be very pretty to see a young lady
playing on the flute! Wind instruments are exclusively for men.”
“Why is that, papa?”
“Why, because, as Apollo played the flute when he kept flocks, and as
that god was the god of melody, the pipes and the flute--By the way,
Lolotte, I hope you told Chambourdin to come; he’s a very pleasant
fellow, a leader in all sorts of fun, always merry and a true sport. He
will act, and I’ll wager that he’ll be most amusing!”
“Don’t you know, monsieur, that we can’t rely on your Chambourdin? You
know very well that he never keeps his word; when he promises to come,
that’s the end of it. If we relied on him to take a part, he would
spoil the whole performance. But we shall have Monsieur Mangeot and his
sister; they are obliging and agreeable. Monsieur Mangeot takes the part
of clowns and mimics very well; he plays carefully and always knows his
part, and so does his sister.”
“True, but as his sister is extremely hard of hearing, she always has to
stand within two steps of the prompter, which is a great nuisance for
the action of the play; and sometimes too she talks at the same time
that her opposite is talking.--_Bigre!_ here comes that pain in the
stomach again. What can it be? Did we have mushrooms yesterday,
Lolotte?”
“Mushrooms? there were some in the vol-au-vent we had; but everybody ate
some of it, and it didn’t make anybody sick.”
“That doesn’t prove anything; sometimes it doesn’t show itself until
late; Eolinde, you haven’t a pain in your stomach, have you?”
“On the contrary, papa.”
“What do you mean by on the contrary; you either have a pain, or----”
“No, s--s--since I--I say on the c--c--contrary!”
“My child, your answers are very foolish.--If this doesn’t go away, I
will tell the maid to prepare me an enema of marshmallow.”
“Please remember that the maid is getting her dinner ready; she is
looking after her kitchen fire, and how do you suppose that she can
leave that to make you an enema?”
“I don’t care for that; if I am ill, it seems to me that it is more
important to take care of me than to get the dinner.”
“But, monsieur, we have ten people to dinner, and it’s after four
o’clock.”
“Then, madame, go and prepare it for me yourself.”
“Mon Dieu! just for a paltry pain in the stomach! Often it doesn’t
amount to anything; go--somewhere, monsieur, and it will pass away.”
“I shall not go anywhere, madame, because I have no desire to.”
“Papa, suppose we should play _Pourceaugnac_?”
“Hold your tongue, my child; you tire me!”
“Dear me, Eolinde!” said Madame Glumeau with a sigh, “why should we play
_Pourceaugnac_ on our little stage; we play it often enough in our
family, as well as _Le Malade Imaginaire_!”
Monsieur Glumeau was about to reply to his wife when the bell rang.
“Company! company already!” cried stout Lolotte, “and I haven’t finished
dressing!”
“And my enema, madame! I must have it!” said her husband in an altered
voice.
“No doubt it’s my brother,” replied tall Eolinde in her turn; “it isn’t
worth while to put ourselves in such a flurry for him!”
XI
THE ELUSIVE REMEDY
But the salon door opened, and Monsieur Dufournelle and his wife
appeared.
Monsieur Dufournelle was a stout party of forty-five, with a jovial face
which denoted a frank and hearty disposition. His wife, who was hardly
thirty, was pretty, had a good figure, and laughed all the time; it is
needless to say that she had fine teeth; if they had been ugly she would
not have laughed on all occasions.
“Good afternoon, my friends!” said Monsieur Dufournelle, with an “ouf!”
which sent the sheets of music scattered over the piano flying about the
room. “We have come early; it’s bad form, but we don’t care for
that!--You are all well, my dear friends?”
“Very well--extremely well! It is so nice of you to come early!” said
Madame Glumeau, dissembling a slight grimace.
“I remarked to my husband,” rejoined the lady with the fine teeth, “that
perhaps it would be discourteous for us to come before five o’clock; but
he replied that we didn’t stand on ceremony with you.”
“And he was right, he was quite right!” said Monsieur Glumeau, pressing
one of his hands to his stomach; then he turned to his daughter and
muttered: “The devil take them! I want my enema!”
“Besides, we have lots of things to talk about,” said Madame
Dufournelle; “aren’t we to distribute the parts to-day for our
performance?--Ha! ha! what fun it will be! I have never acted, but I am
looking forward to it. Ha! ha!”
“Would you believe that my wife hasn’t talked about anything else for a
fortnight, and I have to take her to the theatre every night, because
she claims that that is like giving her lessons! One day she tries to
imitate Scriwaneck, another time Mademoiselle Fargueil; then it’s Aline
Duval whom she tries to mimic, or else pretty Alphonsine, or Grassot.”
“Oh! really, Monsieur Dufournelle, what are you talking about? Imitate
Grassot indeed! do you suppose that I mean to take men’s parts? Ha! ha!
ha!”
“I don’t know, but I assure you that you caught some of Grassot’s
intonations when you were rehearsing--I don’t know what rôle.--But where
is our dear little Astianax? aren’t we to see him?”
“Yes, indeed, you will see him; he should be at home before this; I
don’t know where he can have gone.”
“I’ll bet that he’s gone to get a b--b--bouquet for p--p--papa.”
“A bouquet! what! it can’t be that it’s Glumeau’s birthday?”
“Why, isn’t this Saint-Honoré’s day?”
“Sapristi! and we never thought of it, Eléonore?”
“That is true, my dear; we are very thoughtless!”
“All the same, my dear friend, I wish you many happy returns; the
bouquet will come later!”
“Thanks! thanks!” replied Glumeau, with a significant glance at his
wife. “At this moment, a bouquet isn’t what I want.”
“I must go and complete my toilet,” said the buxom Lolotte, answering
her husband’s signs with a wink. “You will excuse me, won’t you?”
“Excuse you? why, of course.”
“Yes, go and do--do what you have to do!” cried Glumeau, staring at his
feet with a distressed expression. “And I will come too.”
“You see, we came too early!” said Madame Dufournelle; “we are in the
way.”
“Why, not at all! you see that we do not stand on ceremony.”
As Madame Glumeau was about to leave the salon, the door opened, and an
old and exceedingly ugly man in blue spectacles entered, escorting a
tall and well-built young lady, dressed with affected elegance, and
endowed with one of those faces that never change.
“Monsieur and Mademoiselle Camuzard!” cried Madame Glumeau, turning back
to welcome the newcomers. “How good of you to come early! Pray come
in.--Edouard, here are Monsieur Camuzard and Mademoiselle Polymnie.”
Edouard had gone to examine his complexion in the mirror; when he saw
that more guests had arrived, he uttered a hollow groan, then did his
utmost to assume a smiling countenance, saying to himself:
“I shall never be able to take my enema! this is getting to be very
alarming!”
Mademoiselle Polymnie had in her hand a huge bouquet, which she
presented to Glumeau, saying:
“Monsieur, will you allow me to wish you a happy birthday?”
“To be sure, mademoiselle, with the greatest pleasure; I am deeply
touched. What a superb bouquet! You are too kind.”
“Sapristi! how sorry I am that we didn’t bring one!” exclaimed
Dufournelle again, while his wife laughed heartily as she looked at the
pictures on the music and at Mademoiselle Camuzard.
“How is your health, my dear Glumeau?” inquired the old gentleman,
shaking his host’s hand violently.
“Very good, Monsieur Camuzard; my health is very fair, although it isn’t
all that I could wish.”
“Are you in pain?--I have pains in my knees and arms; and it keeps
catching me here, you see, and extends all the way down my back.”
“It’s not my back that troubles me, it’s----”
“And then I cough a great deal every morning when I wake up; there are
days when I have regular paroxysms.”
“I don’t cough, but----”
“And then I expectorate very freely! Oh! I don’t try to stop that--it
does me good.”
“This is not a very amusing conversation!” said Madame Dufournelle in an
undertone to her husband; he frowned at his wife, to enjoin silence upon
her, whereupon she went to Mademoiselle Eolinde.
“Well!” she said, “what are we to act? have you decided on the plays?
What part are you going to give me? I want a pretty costume.”
“You see how co--co--coquettish she is!” said Mademoiselle Glumeau,
turning to her mother; “the co--costume is the first th--th--thing she
th--thinks of.”
“We haven’t yet decided on the whole entertainment,” said Madame
Glumeau; “we are waiting until our whole troupe has arrived.”
“If you need me,” said Monsieur Camuzard, “don’t hesitate; I’ll play any
small part, or a utility rôle.”
“It’s to be hoped that we shall not need him!” whispered Madame
Dufournelle to her husband; “he’s altogether too hideous; he looks like
a bird of prey.”
“Hush, Eléonore, I beg you.”
“My dear love, pray go and attend to what you have to do,” said Monsieur
Glumeau, looking at his wife. “Our friends will excuse you; they know
that the mistress of the house always has orders to give.”
“Do go, dear lady; your charming daughter is here to do the honors, you
know.”
“Since you are good enough to excuse me--I have something to attend to.”
“Would you like me to come and help you?” inquired Madame Dufournelle;
“dispose of me.”
“Oh, no! you are too kind; I don’t need any help for what I have to do;
I will return in a moment.”
And the mistress of the house was once more on the point of leaving the
room, when the door opened again to admit two other guests, a gentleman
and a lady, both of mature years, who came forward smiling pleasantly at
the company.
“Monsieur and Mademoiselle Mangeot!” exclaimed Madame Glumeau, who was
obliged to step back as she curtsied, because the newcomers came
straight toward her. “How very good of you to come early!”
“Why, you said five o’clock, and it is just about to strike the hour,”
replied the gentleman, bowing low. “I am as exact as a pendulum; I
hurried my sister who, I thought, would never finish arranging her hair;
I always dread being late.”
“Yes, my brother wanted to ride,” said Mademoiselle Mangeot, “but I
reminded him that we should arrive sooner on foot than in an
omnibus.--Will you allow me to wish you a happy birthday, Monsieur
Glumeau?”
And the middle-aged damsel, producing a pretty little bouquet of
_pompon_ roses, which she had under her shawl, presented it to Glumeau,
who smelt it, making a peculiar face, and replied:
“Really, mademoiselle, you overwhelm me--_pompon_ roses!”
“You are fond of them, I believe?”
“Oh, yes! I am very fond of them--but not too hot.”
“What! are there such things as hot bouquets?”
“Oh! I beg pardon, mademoiselle, I made a mistake; I meant to say that
it would give me great pleasure to take it now.”
“Why, take it then, monsieur; as you see, I am offering it to you for
that purpose.”
“To be sure--excuse me--I am absent-minded; I do take it--that is to
say, yes, I accept these lovely roses.”
“You take them awkwardly; you will prick yourself; you should let me put
them in myself.”
“Put them where, pray?”
“Why, in your buttonhole.”
“Sapristi! how annoyed I am that I didn’t bring a bouquet!” repeated
stout Dufournelle; and Mademoiselle Eolinde, overhearing him, muttered
between her teeth:
“He s--s--says that every year, but he n--n--never brings one.”
“My dear Monsieur Glumeau,” said Monsieur Mangeot, stepping forward to
shake hands with the master of the house, who seemed determined to keep
his hands pressed against his abdomen, “pray accept my good wishes also,
and may I be able to offer them again a hundred years hence.--That’s not
a new idea, but it’s always good!--And the dear boy, the charming
Astianax, where is he, pray?”
“I can’t imagine!” said Madame Glumeau; “to think of his not being here
yet--to-day of all days! Really, I am beginning to be anxious.”
“You know, mamma, that my b--b--brother was going to order a
b--b--bouquet full of meaning; no d--d-doubt--no doubt that is what is
k--k--keeping him.”
“What on earth is a bouquet with a meaning?” inquired Monsieur Camuzard.
“It’s a _selam_, monsieur.”
“Ah! and what might a _selam_ be?”
“It’s a bouquet with a meaning.”
“Excellent!”
“When a man has a daughter named Polymnie, he ought to be more learned,”
said Madame Dufournelle laughingly to Mademoiselle Mangeot; and she,
being a little hard of hearing, replied:
“Yes, I think it will be fine.”
Meanwhile Madame Glumeau, noticing her husband’s repeated signals,
determined to leave the salon without asking leave of the latest comers.
And fearing that other guests might arrive to detain her, she made her
escape by a door leading to her bedroom.
When he saw his wife disappear, Monsieur Glumeau uttered an exclamation
of satisfaction which was drowned by the arrival of Monsieur Kingerie,
the young man who did whatever anyone desired. He was a little fellow,
who always acted as if he were ashamed of himself; on entering the room,
he began by blushing to the ears, ran into a chair that was between
himself and the master of the house when he attempted to salute him, and
as he rose after picking up the chair, he ran his head into Monsieur
Glumeau’s stomach. That gentleman uttered a savage oath, while the
timid Kingerie, distressed beyond words at what he had done, hastily
stepped back and trod on Mademoiselle Mangeot’s foot; and as she was
afflicted with corns, she pushed the awkward youth violently away,
whereupon he collided with Monsieur Camuzard, causing his spectacles to
fall off.
Madame Dufournelle laughed until she cried, saying to her husband:
“Pray stop that gentleman or he will upset the whole company.”
They got young Kingerie seated at last; he was at a loss to apologize
for his awkwardness and seemed disposed to weep; but, luckily for him,
other guests arrived, so that he ceased to monopolize the attention.
First, there was a gentleman of very attractive appearance and with a
distinguished air, whom they called Monsieur de Merval; he entered the
salon with the ease of manner born of familiarity with good society,
saluted one and all without knocking anybody down, and shook hands with
Monsieur Glumeau without hitting him in the stomach. Although Monsieur
de Merval was no longer a young man, he was still most attractive; which
was proved by the fact that when he entered the salon, all the ladies,
young and old, drew themselves up, and composed their features and their
bearing; you will never see a woman do all that for a man who is not
worth the trouble.
Monsieur Glumeau, who seemed to have much consideration for Monsieur de
Merval, forgot for a moment the remedy he was awaiting, to say to him
some of those courteous phrases which people exchange in society, as we
exchange silver for small coins.
“I do not see madame,” replied the newcomer, after paying his respects
to Mademoiselle Eolinde.
“Mamma will be here d--d--directly; she has g--g--gone to pre--pre----”
“My wife has gone to see if dinner will be served soon,” hastily
interposed Monsieur Glumeau. “The master’s eye, you know, or rather the
mistress’s, is always indispensable when one entertains a few friends.”
“And your son?”
“My son--I can’t understand his absence; he should have been here long
ago; something has happened----”
“P--p--papa, I think I hear my b--b--brother’s voice in the
d--d--dining-room; he’s with Monsieur Cha--Chambourdin.”
“That’s very fortunate; we shall know in a minute what has detained
him.”--And Monsieur Glumeau whispered in his daughter’s ear: “Go and see
if your mother has prepared--you know what. I must have it.”
“But p--p--papa, I c--c--can’t--can’t leave the s--s--salon n--now; that
would l--l--leave only you with the g--g--guests, and you’re not very
b--b--brilliant.”
“Parbleu! you must come in with me, you rascal!” exclaimed a young man,
the possessor of a comely face, but with an absolutely bald head, who
entered the salon at that moment, dragging young Astianax, who had his
hands over the rents in his trousers.
“Mesdames and messieurs, I have the honor to present a young man who was
scampering upstairs, without stopping at his worthy father’s door; but I
seized him on the wing, saying: ‘My dear boy, it is too late to go up to
your room; the paternal arms await you and the soup must be
served.’--Still, he wouldn’t come, and you see now how he objects to
coming in.”
“What does this mean, my son?” inquired Monsieur Glumeau, after shaking
the hand that Chambourdin offered him. “Why do you stand there at the
door and not come in?”
“Excuse me, father--allow me to go up to my room a moment; I will come
right down again; it is impossible for me to face our guests at this
moment.”
“What! impossible? why, you’re facing them now.”
“And I don’t see that the boy is dressed like a wild Indian, either!”
said Chambourdin, as he saluted the ladies.
“My dear good father, I assure you that I have something on that is--is
not presentable.”
“Mon Dieu! c--c--can it be that my b--b--brother has the same trouble as
p--p--papa?” said tall Eolinde to herself; “does he want one t--t--too?”
Monsieur Glumeau, who had had the same thought as his daughter, dared
say nothing more; but the bald youth, who was in the habit of playing
jokes in company, and who was very unceremonious wherever he went, crept
noiselessly behind the son of the house, and, giving him a sharp push,
forced him to pitch forward into the salon; and in that movement
Monsieur Astianax was obliged to remove his hands from his knees, thus
disclosing the two rents; whereupon everybody uttered an exclamation of
surprise.
“Great heaven!”
“Ah! the poor fellow!”
“Both knees torn! he must have fallen.”
“You fell, didn’t you?”
“How does it happen, my son, that those trousers, which are almost new,
are torn on both knees?”
“Well! now you know why I didn’t want to come in--you see that I was
right. Am I presentable like this?”
“But, my son----”
“It is I who am to blame for everything!” cried Chambourdin; “I forced
him to disclose his disaster. Strictly, I ought to lend him some
trousers, but as I believe he has another pair, I prefer that he should
wear his own.--Go, hapless victim of a slippery sidewalk, but don’t be
long! something tells me that the soup is not far away.”
Little Astianax disappeared, and Monsieur Glumeau would have been glad
to do as much, but his guests surrounded him and talked to him; he was
hemmed in on all sides.
“Everybody must have come, is it not so, my dear friend?” said
Chambourdin, offering him snuff in one of those snuff-boxes known as
_rat-tails_.
“No, indeed, and it’s very lucky--otherwise there would be thirteen of
us,” replied Glumeau, writhing about as inoffensively as possible.
“Thirteen! I had just as soon sit thirteen at table. Truffles,
champagne, chambertin and thirteen at table every day--I’ll subscribe
for that if I don’t have to pay in advance.”
“Or if you don’t have to pay afterward, perhaps?” said Monsieur
Dufournelle.
“Oh! what a spiteful thing to say, big Dufournelle! How fat the fellow
is growing! If he keeps on he won’t be able to go into any house;
partitions of decent dimensions no longer conceal him--he will have to
have some made expressly for him.”
“Hold your tongue, advocate without causes!”
“I an advocate? Oh! I have abandoned the profession; I wasn’t loquacious
enough, and then I was too good a fellow. I settled disputes on the
instant. I induced the parties to dine together and I dined with them;
we all got tipsy; after dinner they embraced and that was the end of
their litigation. My confrères begged me to give up practice--I was
ruining the profession.”
“Whom else do you expect, Monsieur Glumeau?” inquired Monsieur Camuzard.
“A lady--a charming lady--not very young, but very good-looking still.”
“And her name?”
“The Baronne de Grangeville.”
“A baroness! the deuce! a real baroness?”
“I never knew a sham one.”
“I was joking.--Is she married?”
“No, she’s a widow.”
“Oho! a widow, eh? And rich?”
“I believe that she is very rich.--But I beg pardon--I have to say a
word to my daughter.”
“I can’t conceive what your mother is doing!” said Glumeau in his
daughter’s ear. “I can’t remain in this plight. Something must have
happened to the instrument. Go and see, Eolinde, and urge your mother to
make haste.”
Mademoiselle Eolinde was sorely vexed to be obliged to leave the
company; she went out of the room with a sulky expression, and without
acknowledging the fifth bow that young Kingerie addressed to her.
“Something out of the natural course is going on here,” said Madame
Dufournelle to her husband; “Madame Glumeau goes out and does not
return; the son’s trousers are all torn, and he disappears; the daughter
has left the salon in a pet; Monsieur Glumeau stands first on one leg,
then on the other; he frowns and doesn’t pay any attention to the
conversation. There certainly is something wrong!”