"This is my aunt, madame," said Denise to Virginie; and the latter saluted the old woman with the patronizing air of a woman of fashion, saying:

"I am very glad to make the acquaintance of your venerable aunt. Dieu!

what an antique cast of countenance! I am very fond of elderly people.

Let me embrace you, madame."

Having embraced Mere Fourcy, Virginie called Cezarine:

"Cousin, come here and let me present you to our excellent aunt."

"One moment, pleathe," said Cezarine, "until I get rid of thith mitherable dog of herth, that hath grabbed my cathmere. Oh! I know what the matter ith--day before yethterday I wrapped up a leg of mutton in it----"

Virginie coughed to drown Cezarine's words, and the latter at last escaped from the dog and bestowed a regal salutation on Mere Fourcy.

"This is my cousin," said Virginie, presenting her friend to Denise's aunt. "I told her about your lovely niece, and she could not resist the desire to make her acquaintance and yours, venerable aunt; we left our hotels and climbed into the wretched chamber vessel called a stage, where we had no other company than a couple of old clowns who smelt of rancid b.u.t.ter. But when we are going to see people we like and esteem, we take a standing jump over all such little annoyances, don't we, cousin?"

"Yeth, my dear," Cezarine replied, walking like Semiramis.

"It's very kind of you, madame," said Mere Fourcy, "and we appreciate your courtesy. But you must have something to eat."

"We have already dined _a la fourchette_, but we don't like to decline."

"For my part, I could eat all day long in the country," said Cezarine.

The ladies entered the house, and while the table was being laid, Cezarine petted Coco.

"What a hanthome boy! what a fine profile!" she exclaimed. "He'll look like Theodore. Ith he yourth, my beauty?"

This question was addressed to Denise, who blushed as she replied:

"What did you say, madame?"

"You're infernally stupid!" cried Virginie; "the idea of asking this child such a question, as if she was old enough to--Why, she hasn't begun to think of such things."

"Look you, my dear, I don't know her ekthact age. Bethideth, I've got a thithter who wath a mother at thirteen."

"Is she a Creole, then?"

"Yeth, a Creole from the Pont-aux-Choux."

Luckily Mere Fourcy was in the cellar at that moment, so that she did not hear the colloquy between the two ladies. Denise longed to learn something about Auguste, but she dared not take the liberty to ask Virginie; she was afraid that that young woman would divine her profound interest in him, and the poor child would have been terribly abashed to have those fine ladies of Paris, both of whom she believed to be friends of Auguste, know her heart's secret. To that sweet child love was all in all; she was very far from suspecting that to her two visitors it was a very small matter.

While Denise was preparing the repast, Virginie insisted upon helping Mere Fourcy to set the table, which the old woman would not allow; and during the contest between the peasant and the Parisian, a bottle slipped from under the arm of the former and fell at Cezarine's feet, where it broke and spattered her dress.

"O Dieu! my merino is all thpotted!" she cried; "what am I going to do?

I haven't got another."

"You can wear your velvet," said Virginie, motioning to her to be careful what she said. Cezarine, engrossed by her dress, paid no heed but continued to complain.

"It'th jutht the dreth that ith motht becoming to me; I wore it when I captivated Theodore."

"That's her husband, who's in the army--he's a general.--Come, cousin, you have made enough fuss over your dress. You have plenty of others, I should say."

"I thertainly did have all thothe I put up the thpout----"

"Up the spout, Mere Fourcy, means cutting them up into towels. You see, we are all so changeable in Paris--we have to have a new dress every week; we throw our money out of the window! A wicked place that Paris is! Happy the people who live in villages! Ah! the country! trees and animals and rye bread--that's what I call happiness! I hope to end by buying a little chateau or a cottage--it's all one to me, so long as it's in the country. As for Denise, whom I love as if I was her mother, if there's one thing I'd advise her to do, it's to stay here and not go to Paris again. However, I fancy she don't care much about it; and the way Monsieur Dalville received her the last time--why, it made me frantic! And to think that the poor child had brought him fresh eggs and such a fine cake!"

Denise, returning with a huge soup-kettle full to the brim, overheard Virginie's last words and halted behind Cezarine, motioning to Virginie to say nothing to her aunt. Virginie, being accustomed to dissemble, understood the girl's signs and continued, trying to repair her blunder:

"After all, the young man is very excusable, for you see, Madame Fourcy, there are people in Paris who don't like cake; it isn't as it is in the village, where it takes the place of salad. And then, Auguste is a little thoughtless; but his heart's in the right place! yes, he has a very kind heart! I know him better than anybody. Besides, at this time above all others, I shouldn't think of speaking ill of him; and although he's ruined----"

"Ruined!" cried Denise; and in her emotion the girl dropped the kettle, whose contents completed the disfigurement of Cezarine's gown.

"Great G.o.d! but I'm unlucky to-day!" she cried, as she gazed at her garment; "how do you expect me to go back to Parith, and play _Andromaque_ on Monday, in thith dreth?"

Mere Fourcy lost herself in apologies; but Denise paid no heed to the accident she had caused; she ran to Virginie, exclaiming:

"Ruined! Monsieur Auguste ruined! Oh! mon Dieu! madame, how did it happen, pray?"

"I'll tell you directly, my dear love."

Virginie, first of all, seated herself at the table; Cezarine did the same and forgot the accidents that had happened to her dress as she helped herself to double portions. Mere Fourcy stood respectfully before the young women, and poor Denise, with her eyes fixed on Virginie's, waited impatiently until she should choose to tell her what had happened to Auguste.

"Pray be seated, venerable aunt," said Virginie to Mere Fourcy, who believed that she was entertaining ladies from the court.

"Indeed, madame, I shall not think of it!"

"I thall refuthe to eat if you continue to thtand," said Cezarine, as she ate her third egg.

"I know too well what I owe you, madame."

"You don't owe us anything at all, Mere Fourcy; on the contrary, we ought to be waiting on you."

"Oh, madame! the idea!"

"Respect the wrinkled--that's my motto. Sit down, I say!"

"How well madame would play the mother of Coriolanuth!"

"Let's drop Coriola.n.u.s, cousin, and give Madame Fourcy a chair."

As she spoke, Virginie rose from the table, seized Mere Fourcy's arms and led her to a chair. As the peasant woman continued to resist, Virginie pushed her backward and ended by taking her by the shoulders and forcing her to the floor beside the chair. The good woman fell almost under the table, while Virginie, thinking that she was seated, resumed her own place. But when she found that she could not see her, she said:

"I am afraid that I have given you rather a low chair, but, at all events, you'll be more comfortable than if you were standing."

"That'th a very nithe theat you've got!" said Cezarine, as she a.s.sisted Mere Fourcy to rise. "Why, did you fall? Thee what cometh of holding back! Did you hurt yourself?"

"You're very kind, madame--just a little bit, on the hip."

"That can't help doing you good; it thtirth up the blood. Take a theat, pray."