THE GODFATHER.
There was great commotion at the post-house of the little town of Vitry.
Two maids, in their Sunday best, were transforming the public parlor of
the inn into a festive dining-room; wreathing the walls with garlands,
decking the long dining-table with flowers, and converting the huge
dresser into a buffet whereon they deposited the pretty gilt china, the
large cakes, the pastries, jellies, and confections, that were designed
for the entertainment of thirty invited guests. The landlord and
postmaster, a slender little man with an excellent, good-humored face,
was hurrying from buffet to table, from table to kitchen, superintending
the servants. The cook was deep in the preparation of her roasts and
warm dishes; and at the kitchen door sat a little maiden, who, with
important mien, was selecting the whitest and crispest leaves from a
mountain of lettuce which she laid into a large gilt salad-bowl beside
her; throwing the others to a delighted pig, who, like Lazarus, stood by
to pick up the leavings of his betters. In the yard, at the fountain,
stood the man-of-all-work, who, as butler pro tem., was washing plates
and glasses; while close by, on the flags, sat the clerk of the
post-office polishing and uncorking the bottles which the host had just
brought from the cellar in honor of his friends.
Monsieur Etienne surveyed his notes of preparation, and gave an
approving nod. His face was radiant as he returned to the house; gave
another glance of satisfaction around the dining-room, and passed into
an adjoining apartment. This was the best-furnished room in the
post-house; and on a soft lounge, near the window, reclined a pale
young woman, beautifully dressed, whose vicinity to a cradle, where lay
a very young infant, betokened her recent recovery from confinement.
"Athanasia, my goddess," said Monsieur Etienne, coming in on tiptoe,
"how do you feel to-day?"
She reached out her pale hand and answered in a languid voice: "The
doctor says that, so far, I am doing pretty well, and, by great
precautions, I may be able, in a few weeks, to resume my household
duties."
Monsieur Etienne raised his eyebrows, and looked thoughtful. "The doctor
is over-anxious, my dear," said he: "he exaggerates your weakness. Our
little angel there is already three weeks old, and will be standing on
his legs before long."
"The doctor is more sympathizing than you, Monsieur Etienne," began the
wife.
"My treasure," interrupted her husband, "no one can wish to spare you
premature exertion more than I. But I do entreat of you, my angel, to do
your best to remain with the company to-day as long as you can."
"I will do all in my power to oblige you," said Madame Etienne,
condescendingly, "and if you require it. I will sit up from first to
last."
"It will be a great festival for us, provided no passengers arrive
to-day. Good Heaven! if they should come, what could I do with them?
Even the best of those we receive here are scarcely fit to introduce
among our respectable guests; and then, as for post-horses, I want every
one of them for the company. Heaven defend us, then, from passengers,
for--oh! oh! is it possible! Can it be!" said Etienne, interrupting
himself. "Yes, it is the sound of a post-horn."
"Perhaps it is some of our guests," suggested Madame Etienne. "No no,
for our postilions to-day play but one air, 'Je suis pere, un pere
heureux,'" said Monsieur Etienne, listening with all his might to the
approaching horn.
"It is a passenger," said he, despondingly, "Athanasia, my angel, we are
lost!"
So saying, Monsieur Etienne darted out of the room, as if be were
rushing off to look for himself; but he stopped as soon as he had
reached his front door, for there was no necessity to go farther. A dark
caleche, with three horses, dashed up to the door, while not far behind
came another chaise, whose post-horn was sounding "Je suis pere, un pere
heureux."
"Is it possible?" thought the discomfited postmaster. "Yes, here they
come at the very moment when the guests are arriving."
Just then another horn was heard, and "Je suis peree, un pere heureux,"
made the welkin ring.
On every side they came, but the unlucky passenger caleche blocked up
the passage. Monsieur Etienne, following the impulses of his heart,
rushed past the strangers, and ran to greet the most important of his
guests, the village curate and the pastor of the next market-place. But
just then the bewildered little man remembered his duty, and darted back
to the passengers.
There were two gentlemen in the carriage, and on the box, near the
postilion, a third person, who had the air of a valet.
"The gentlemen wish to go on to the next stage?" said Etienne, without
opening the door.
"No, sir," said one of the passengers, raising his dark-blue eyes to the
post-house. "Your house looks inviting, and we would like a room and a
cosy dinner."
Monsieur Etienne scarcely knew what reply to make to this untimely
request. "You wish to dine here--here--you would--"
Down came another post-chaise, thundering on the stones, and louder than
ever was the sound of "Je suis pere, un pere heureux."
Certainly, at that moment, the song was a mockery, for Monsieur Etienne
was a most unhappy and distracted father.
"Gentlemen," said he, pathetically, "oblige me by going on to the next
town. Indeed--"
"Why, will you not give us dinner?" asked the gentleman who had spoken
before. "I see a number of people passing us and entering the house. How
is that?"
"Sir, they are--that is--I am," stammered the landlord; then suddenly
plunging into a desperate resolve, he said, "Are you a father?"
A shade passed over the stranger's face as he replied, "I have been a
father. But why such a question?"
"Oh, if you have been a father," answered Etienne, "you will sympathize
with me, when I tell you that to-day we christen our first-born child."
"Ah, indeed!" exclaimed the passenger, with a kind smile. "Then these
persons are--"
"My guests," interrupted the landlord and postmaster, "and you will know
how to excuse me if--"
"If you wish us to the devil," returned the blue-eyed stranger, laughing
merrily. "But, indeed, I cannot oblige you my excellent friend, for I
don't know where his infernal majesty is to be found; and if I may be
allowed a preference, I would rather remain in the society of the two
priests whom I see going into your house."
"You will not go farther, then--"
"Oh, no, we ask to be allowed to join your guests, and attend the
christening. The baptism of a first-born child is a ceremony which
touches my heart, and yours, also, does it not?" said the stranger to
his companion.
"Certainly," replied the other, laughing, "above all, when it is joined
to another interesting ceremony--that of a good dinner. "
"Oh, you shall have a good dinner!" cried Etienne, won over by the
sympathy of the first speaker. "Come in, gentlemen, come in. As the
guests of our little son, you are welcome."