"I give you my word, mademoiselle, that Monsieur Dalville has gone out; or, rather, that he hasn't come in. He went to a grand ball last night, and it seems to have lasted a long while."

"Great heaven! what actions! Why, it's shocking. That young man is destroying himself. Bertrand, you don't keep a sharp enough lookout over him; it isn't right. You ought to preach at him."

"In the first place, mademoiselle, Monsieur Dalville's the master; in the second place, when I try to talk reason with him, he refuses to listen to me, or sends me to the devil."

"That's very wrong! Ah! if I were only his mother or sister, you'd see how good I'd make him! I'm going to wait for him, Bertrand, for he must come in soon. Still at a ball at eight in the morning! Oh! I don't take any stock in that yarn."

Mademoiselle Virginie, who was perfectly familiar with the apartment, opened a door leading to a small salon in which she installed herself, placing her hat on one chair, her shawl on another, and throwing herself on a couch. Bertrand quietly followed her, and as if accustomed to such performances from her, continued to eat the bread and cheese which he had in his hand when she rang the bell.

"I certainly do not care for Monsieur Auguste any more," said Virginie, after a moment; "I must be a confounded fool to care for a man who has thirty-six mistresses; hasn't he, Bertrand?"

"Oh! mademoiselle, I can't say----"

"Yes, yes, he has thirty-six! I don't say all at once; he would have to be a northern Hercules. And yet--if it could be--It isn't worth while; one man's no better than another. I know them so well! Don't you think I'm right, Bertrand?"

"Oh! as for that, there have been men who--the great Turenne, for instance."

"Bah! what an a.s.s the man is with his great Turenne! Does he take me for a sentry-box? I don't know ancient history, Bertrand; I don't care about anything except my own time, and I tell you Auguste's a rake. In the first place, he played me a shameful trick three weeks ago. Think of it! he made an appointment with me, and we were to pa.s.s the day together and go to Feydeau in the evening; and monsieur left me to cool my heels and went off into the country, to his Monsieur Destival, business agent.

He's another fox, that fellow! He'd better attend to what goes on in his own house, eh, Bertrand?"

"In his own house, mademoiselle? Do you mean----"

"Yes, you understand well enough! That is, unless he likes it. Bless my soul! there are husbands whom that sort of thing just suits! Did you spend the night at that place?"

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"Mon Dieu! how rural! Did you stay there several days? Come, Bertrand, speak out--you have time enough to eat; you know that I haven't set foot inside this door for an age, and Monsieur Auguste hasn't so much as had the decency to come to inquire for my health. And yet I've been very ill; I nearly died! I am ever so much changed, am I not, Bertrand?"

"Why, no, mademoiselle, I don't see that----"

"Oh, yes! the whites of my eyes are yellow yet. To be sure this dress isn't becoming. It's too high, it cramps me.--Well, Bertrand, what did you do in the country?"

"I taught Monsieur Destival the manual, mademoiselle."

"Oho! is he going to enlist in the voltigeurs? How about his wife--does she do the manual too? She ought to learn to drum so that she can march in front of her husband when he goes out to fire his gun."

"I don't know what madame was doing, mademoiselle."

"Of course not; it was your business to keep the husband busy, while Monsieur Auguste dallied with madame in the thick shrubbery! I can see that man firing at crows while his wife hunts strawberries! Ha! ha!"

Mademoiselle Virginie laughed so heartily that it was several minutes before she could speak again. Meanwhile Bertrand paced the salon floor, continuing his breakfast.

"Oh dear! it hurts to laugh like that.--Tell me, Bertrand, when did you come back?"

"The next day, mademoiselle."

"And Auguste hasn't been there again since?"

"No, mademoiselle; he's often wanted to go, but he hasn't had time."

"Oh! of course not; he has so much to do! And he hasn't been to see me once in the last fortnight! He leaves me sick, almost dying! And I am not well yet. Oh, no! I am still suffering terribly.--What's that you're eating, Bertrand?"

"Just plain Roquefort cheese, mademoiselle."

"It's queer to watch another person eat; it makes me want to eat too; you see, I always have to do what I see others do. You may as well give me some breakfast, my little Bertrand, because, you see, if I should whine and cry till to-morrow, it's all nonsense, and my calf wouldn't be any bigger for that; would it, Bertrand?"

"Mademoiselle, if you----"

"He's a good fellow, this Bertrand; I love him a lot, I do; yes, I'm very fond of him, although he's a bit of a traitor, like his master."

"Oh! as for that, mademoiselle, when you talk about being honest, I flatter myself----"

"All right, Bertrand; I only said that for fun. But I'm not going to breakfast on honesty. What are you going to give me?"

"If mademoiselle would like coffee, I'll go down and have some sent up."

"Coffee! oh! that makes a hole in my stomach, it's no good. Haven't you got anything to eat here?"

"We have the remains of a pie, a bit of fowl, and some Lyon sausage."

"Ah! I like those better than coffee; bring 'em all, my little Bertrand; just to pa.s.s the time till Auguste comes back."

Bertrand moved a small tea-table to the couch, and lost no time in laying it for Mademoiselle Virginie's breakfast, who a.s.sisted him by going to the sideboard herself for whatever she needed, saying:

"I am sorry to put you to so much trouble, Bertrand."

"You are joking, mademoiselle."

"Where's little Tony?"

"He's with monsieur; he has to have somebody on account of the cabriolet."

"That boy's a sly little rascal; he'll never tell me anything, whereas you, Bertrand, you do at least talk; to be sure, I know that you don't tell me everything. After all, you're right; there are some things I ought not to know, they'd make me too unhappy. Meanwhile, I'll have my breakfast."

Mademoiselle Virginie took her place before the breakfast, and, while repeating from time to time that she was still sick, speedily caused the cold fowl to disappear, and made a vigorous a.s.sault on the pie and the sausage, washing them down with claret, in which she did not deem it necessary to put water.

But, while she was eating, Virginie glanced at a clock in front of her and cried:

"The rascal! Why doesn't he come home? You must admit, Bertrand, that people don't stay at a ball till nine o'clock in the morning. I know myself that bourgeois b.a.l.l.s always end by five; my aunt used to give one sometimes. Poor aunt! I shall have to make up with her now!--I say, this pie isn't half bad.--You see, Bertrand, my aunt's a woman of your sort."

"I understand--a tall woman, five feet six inches, like me, eh?"

"No, no! what a donkey you are with your six inches! Still, it would be rather nice[C] if my aunt had six of 'em. When I say of your sort, I mean a fine woman, a respectable woman. Oh! she preaches to me, I tell you, she does! She used to say such touching things to me that I wept like a Magdalen while I was listening; but once outside--prrr!--I forgot all about it.--A body could eat a two pound loaf with this devilish sausage!--That wretched Auguste! Ah! he shall pay me for this. In the first place, I don't propose to go till he comes back, if I have to stay here till to-morrow. It don't make any difference to me, I'm my own mistress."

[C] The joke consists in the fact that the same word--_pouce_--means "inch" and "thumb."

At that moment the bell rang softly.

"Ah! there he is!" cried Virginie; "don't tell him I'm here, Bertrand, do you hear? I want to surprise him. Shut the door of the salon."