Chapter IV: Some Portraits After Nature

Since eleven o'clock Dalville had been expected at Monsieur Destival's. Madame, a brunette of thirty, with a bright eye and a most expressive glance, who was an adept in the art of making the most of a shapely figure and seductive contours by an effective costume,--madame had finished her toilet. In the country it was, of course, very simple; but there are some négligé costumes which require much preparation. However, as madame was pretty and still young, she had spent only a half hour in donning a filmy white dress, confined at the waist by an orange sash; in arranging her curls becomingly and adorning them with a bow of the same color as her sash. Nor had she asked Julie more than six times if the yellow was becoming to her.

Julie replied that madame was fascinating, that yellow was always becoming to brunettes, and, in fact, that madame need not be afraid to wear any color. Madame smiled slightly at Julie, who was only twenty-four, but was extremely ugly, which is almost always considered a valuable quality in a lady's maid.

Monsieur Destival was ten years older than his wife; he was tall and thin; his face was not handsome, but it had character; unfortunately its expression was not of the sort that denotes an amiable person, whose wit causes one to forget his ugliness; it denoted self-sufficiency, conceit, and a constant tendency to be cunning. His rustic cap, set well forward on his head, seemed to put a seal upon all the rest.

Monsieur Destival was formerly a government employé; with his wife's dowry he had bought the office of official auctioneer, which he had afterward sold at a profit. Although he never talked of politics for fear of compromising himself, and did not himself know to what party he belonged, he had had the shrewdness to set up an office as a business agent, had obtained a numerous clientage and had succeeded in tripling his capital. To be sure, he gave receptions, balls and small punches, and madame, whose eyes were full of fire and whose manners were charming, did the honors of her salon with infinite grace.

The country house, where they passed much of the time in summer, was large enough to enable them to entertain extensively, and to provide rooms for seven or eight friends. As monsieur never allowed more than one day to pass without going to Paris to look after his business, and as he sometimes passed the night there, madame--who was very timid, although she had the look of a strong-minded woman--liked to keep one of monsieur's male friends in the house.

A young man with twenty thousand francs a year could not fail to be hospitably received at Monsieur Destival's; and so, although it was only three months since Auguste had made his acquaintance, he was already on the footing of an intimate friend. Monsieur constantly urged him to call, whether at Paris or in the country, and madame was very fond of singing and playing with him.

But the clock struck twelve, and Monsieur Dalville did not appear. Madame was annoyed. Julie was posted on the lookout at a window on the second floor, and monsieur wandered from one room to another, exclaiming:

"The devil! my friend Dalville is very late, and he promised to come early, to be here for breakfast."

"Does Monsieur Auguste ever remember his promises?" asked madame snappishly.

"Oh! there you go again, always finding fault with him, attacking him, making fun of him."

"I, monsieur? What concern of mine are Monsieur Dalville's tastes or his failings? When did you ever see me attack him?"

"I know that it's all in joke; but you are a little bit caustic, my dear Emilie, you like to hurl epigrams. It is true, I admit, that I myself should be very biting, if I didn't hold myself back; in fact, I often am unconsciously. But after all, Dalville's a charming fellow--well-born--rich--talented."

"Talented? Oh! very slightly."

"I thought that he was strong on the violin?"

"No, monsieur, he often plays false--Well, Julie, do you see anyone coming?"

"Mon Dieu! no, madame, it's no use to look. And all those cheeses that I bought of Denise! How annoying!"

"For heaven's sake, mademoiselle, don't bother us with your cheeses. Go up to the cupola--you can see farther."

"Very well, madame."

Julie went upstairs and monsieur resumed the conversation.

"You won't deny, I trust, that Dalville has a pleasant voice."

"Pleasant! bah! a voice like everybody's else."

"Why, I should say that you and he sing duets together perfectly, especially the one from Feydeau's _Muletier_; you know, the one with 'What joy! what joy!' and that ends with 'coucou! coucou!'"

"Oh! you tire me, monsieur, with your 'coucous!'"

"He plays quadrilles on the piano."

"Who doesn't play now?"

"Faith, I don't; to be sure, I have always had so much business on hand that I have had to neglect my taste for music. At all events, Dalville is bright, pleasant, always in good spirits."

"There are days when he can't say three words in succession!"

"Let me tell you that I myself, when I'm very much occupied with some important matter, am not as agreeable as usual--that happens to everybody. To return to Dalville--he is rich--and young.--By George! I have an idea! such a delicious idea!"

"What is it then, monsieur?"

"I must find a wife for him."

"A wife for Monsieur Auguste? Why on earth should you interfere? Is it any of your business?"

"Isn't it my business to look after other people's business? This may turn out a profitable affair."

"Oh! don't go to making matches, monsieur, I beg! As if you knew anything about such things!"

"I flatter myself that I do, madame."

"A business agent make marriages--nonsense! that would be absurd!--Have you thought about your gun, monsieur?"

"Yes, madame, I told Baptiste to clean it; and Dalville promised to bring that old soldier of his, Bertrand; he will teach me how to use it; for a wolf has been seen in the neighborhood, you know, madame; and that is very unpleasant because it keeps one uneasy all the time."

"I don't suppose that that makes it impossible for you to beat up the wood?"

"Oh, no! on the contrary, madame, it was I who suggested that measure of safety. I propose to see the wolf, madame."

"You will do well, monsieur."

The conversation was interrupted by a noise in the next room.

"Ah! here's our dear Dalville at last, no doubt," said Monsieur Destival.

Madame said nothing, but she prepared a little pouting expression which would surely imply what she thought. Meanwhile the person whom they had heard did not enter the room, but continued to rub his feet on the doormat. Monsieur Destival threw the door of the salon open, and found, instead of Auguste, a little man of some fifty-five years, with a light wig, broad-brimmed straw hat, coat cut almost square, short breeches, and fancy stockings, who was rubbing and rerubbing his feet on the mat in the reception room.

"Ah! it's our neighbor, Monsieur Monin!" said Monsieur Destival, at sight of the little man.

At the name of Monin, Madame Destival made an impatient gesture, muttering:

"What a bore! why need he have come!"

"Hush! be still, madame! He still has a drug store to sell, and he wants to buy a house. I propose that he shall dine with us."

With that, Monsieur Destival turned back toward the door, where Monsieur Monin was still rubbing his feet on the mat.

"Well, aren't you coming in, my dear Monsieur Monin? What in the deuce are you doing there all this time? It's a fine day; you don't need to wipe your feet."

"Oh! but I'll tell you: as I came across the courtyard I looked up at the sky to see if we were going to have a shower, and I stepped into a dung-heap that I didn't see."

"That's Baptiste's fault; it should have been taken away."

"There, that will do."

Monsieur Monin left the mat at last, and looking up at Monsieur Destival with a pair of big eyes level with his face, wherein one would have looked in vain for an idea, smiled a smile which cut his face in halves, although it was still dominated by a nose of enormous dimensions, always stuffed with snuff, like an unlighted pipe.

"How's your health, neighbor?"

"Very good, my dear sir. Pray come in; my wife is here and will be delighted to see you."

Monsieur Monin entered the salon and removed his hat, making a low bow to Madame Destival, who acknowledged the salute by a smile which might have passed for a grimace; but Monsieur Monin took it most favorably for himself, and began his inevitable question:

"How's your health, madame?"

"Passable, monsieur; not very good at this moment; my nerves are unstrung, I have palpitations."

"It's the weather, madame; the heat is intense to-day: twenty-six degrees and three-tenths."

"Twenty-seven, neighbor," said Monsieur Destival, glancing at his thermometer.

"That's surprising! it isn't so high at my house, and yet mine's in the same position. My wife says that I've made it too low lately."

"Why did not Madame Monin come with you, neighbor?"

"She's making pickles, and it will take her all day. My! but she takes a lot of pains with 'em! She won't go out to-day."

"I am deeply indebted to the pickles," whispered Madame Destival, while Monsieur Monin continued, doing his utmost to force another pinch into his nose:

"My wife said to me: 'I don't need you, Monin, take a walk.' So I came to see you."

"That was very agreeable of you, neighbor. Will you pass the whole day with us?"

"Why, yes, if it don't put you out, I should like to, because I'll tell you--when my wife's making pickles, she don't like to bother with cooking."

"Very good, then you will stay. You will meet Monsieur Dalville, a delightful young man, full of fun. His servant, who is an old soldier, is to give me a lesson in drilling, for I am appointed general----"

"What?"

"Why, yes, in the _battue_ we're going to have."

"Oh, yes! I was saying----"

"Won't you take part in it, Monsieur Monin?"

"Why, I'll tell you: when I had my rifle, it was all right--"

"Madame, madame, a lovely calèche is just driving into the courtyard," said Julie, rushing into the salon.

"A calèche?"

"With Monsieur and Madame de la Thomassinière."

"What! have they come? How kind of them!" cried Monsieur Destival, running to the window. Madame Destival did not share her husband's delight; however, she rose to satisfy herself concerning the arrival of her new guests, and went out to receive them; for persons who have a calèche and a livery deserve the very greatest consideration. Thus, Monsieur Destival flew at his wife's heels, leaving Monsieur Monin, who was just about to tell him how many times he had hunted, and who, finding himself abandoned in the salon, turned to his ordinary resource, and succeeded, by dint of perseverance, in forcing two dainty pinches of snuff into his nostrils.

Monsieur de la Thomassinière, for whom they ran downstairs so eagerly, was a man of about forty years of age. When he arrived in Paris, at eighteen, his name was Thomas simply, and he did not blush then for his mother, who kept a little wine-shop in her village. But residence in the capital had wrought an entire change in Monsieur Thomas. First a shop clerk, then a government clerk, then a money-lender, then a man of large affairs, Monsieur Thomas had seen Fortune smile constantly upon him. He speculated with his consols and was lucky; after that he forgot his village and adopted the tone and manners of a man in the first society. That a person should start from very low and rise very high--there is no objection to that; on the contrary, the man who wins success by his work, who makes his own fortune, leads us to believe that his merit is greater than his who attains the highest honor without exertion of his own. But the thing for which a parvenu is never forgiven is an affectation of pride and insolence, and the belief that by assuming the airs of a grand seigneur, he can lead people to forget the name and the clothes that he used to wear. Monsieur Thomas was such a one. He began by changing his too vulgar name for that of La Thomassinière. Then, instead of urging his mother to leave her village and enjoy his fortune, he contented himself with sending her a sum of money which would enable her to take down the sign of the _Learned Ass_, and to stop selling wine. But he forbade her to come to Paris, where, he said, the air was very unhealthy for elderly women. Then Monsieur de la Thomassinière set up an establishment,--carriage, servants, livery--bought a magnificent country estate and a very pretty wife of eighteen, who was turned over to him with a dowry of one hundred thousand francs, and who did not so much as ask whether her husband was handsome or ugly, because, having been perfectly educated, she knew that a husband who owns a carriage is always comely enough, and, besides that, a woman is supposed to look at nobody but her husband.

Monsieur de la Thomassinière, dressed like a dandy and aping the manners of good society, but always affording a glimpse of the days of the _Learned Ass_, was forever talking about "my estate, my property, my servants, my horses." His wife was his only possession as to whom he did not use the possessive pronoun. As for madame, a lively, volatile, giddy creature, with no thought for anything save dress and amusements, she never spoke to monsieur except to ask him for money, or to talk about some festivity that she proposed to give.

"Ah! here are our dear friends!" said Monsieur Destival, hastening forward to offer his hand to Madame de la Thomassinière to help her alight, while monsieur gazed admiringly at his horses and gorgeous livery.

"Good-morning, Destival.--Lapierre, be careful of the horses.--Madame, allow me to offer my respects.--Cover my calèche, you fellows, it may rain in.--We have come without ceremony. It doesn't put you out to have me bring a few of my people, does it?"

"Of course not! I have enough to board and lodge them," replied Monsieur Destival, biting his lips, because his modest cabriolet was completely eclipsed by the superb calèche, and Baptiste and Julie, who composed his whole staff of domestics, would be hidden by a single one of the tall rascals whom Monsieur de la Thomassinière carried in his train. But these reflections did not prevent the exchange of the usual courtesies, they simply made him ambitious to enlarge his household; and so, as he led the young woman into the house, our business agent said to himself:

"I must find a wife for Dalville, sell Monin's drug shop, and buy a house for him; then I will have a little groom--a negro--and dress him in red, so that he can be seen a long way off."

The two ladies embraced.

"Good-morning, my dear girl."

"Good-morning, dear."

"How sweet of you to come to see us!"

"We are going to stay until to-morrow."

"How lovely your hats always are!"

"Do you think so?"

"Fascinating. I like that style of dress ever so much."

"It's the latest--not quite low enough in the neck."

"Why, yes. I must have some of that material; it's very stylish."

"Oh! it's very simple; the dress cost only two hundred francs. But for the country, and for calls on one's friends--I'll give you my dressmaker's address."

Madame Destival allowed Madame de la Thomassinière to go upstairs first, continuing to lavish compliments upon her, and counterfeiting the most extravagant delight in order to conceal her secret annoyance; for the new arrival was genuinely pretty, her manners were charmingly vivacious, and Monsieur Dalville, whom Madame Destival was still expecting to see, had never met her. Monsieur Dalville, who was so quick to take fire, was very likely to make love to Madame de la Thomassinière, who was no less likely to listen to him. All this caused Madame Destival much secret anger; but she affected the greater amiability on that account; for in society one must know how to make believe, to speak otherwise than one thinks; that is the great secret of social success.

Madame de la Thomassinière entered the salon, where Monsieur Monin had remained; he was on the point of attempting the introduction of another pinch of snuff, but checked himself at sight of the young woman, stepped back, removed his hat, and although he had never seen her before, began his inevitable question:

"How's your health?"

But the petite-maîtresse did not give the ex-druggist an opportunity to speak; she stifled with her handkerchief the outburst of laughter inspired by Monsieur Monin's unique countenance, and turned to Madame Destival, saying:

"Who is this?"

"A neighbor of ours, very rich, but as stupid as he is ridiculous."

"Ah! so much the better; we will have some sport with him. We may as well laugh a bit. Do you expect anybody else?"

"Why, yes, we expect a young man, a great friend of Monsieur Destival--Monsieur Auguste Dalville. Do you know him?"

"No, but I've heard a great deal about him; he is noted in society for his _bonnes fortunes_ and his conquests. I shall be very glad to make his acquaintance. As a general rule, these naughty fellows are very agreeable--don't you think so, my dear?"

"Why, sometimes--not always. However, you shall judge for yourself."

"They say he's very good-looking?"

"Oh! so-so; a passable face, that's all; rather fine eyes, but his mouth is a little too large and his lips are very thick. I don't like that type of face at all."

"For my part, I don't like thin lips. Is he light or dark?"

"I can hardly remember; he is dark, I think."

"I had an idea that I had heard that Monsieur Dalville came to your house very often?"

"Oh, no! he goes to my husband's office, on business."

"Is he musical?"

"A little."

"I have brought a nocturne that I am crazy over; he must sing it with me."

"Monsieur Dalville will certainly be delighted to sing with you.--Excuse me, my dear, but I have some orders to give. In the country we don't stand on ceremony."

"I should hope not! I will go out and see your garden."

"Do; I am going to order luncheon, and I will come and call you."

The petite-maîtresse tripped lightly down the stairs leading to the garden, and Madame Destival went to her bedroom, where she threw herself on a lounge, saying to Julie as she came in:

"Oh! Julie! I am so annoyed! I cannot stand any more, I am choking!"

"I should think as much, madame; I don't see how you can help it! To wait in vain for those whom you expect, and have to receive a lot of people that you don't expect!"

"Monsieur Destival is perfectly brutal, with his mania for inviting everybody he sees. If he had a château, he would not do any more!"

"That old Monin, who can't do anything but eat and drink!"

"And yet, if he were the only one, I shouldn't mind him, I promise you."

"Is his wife coming?"

"No, thank God! she is making pickles."

"That's very lucky! Madame Monin has a wicked tongue in her head; and inquisitive--why, she always comes into the kitchen to see what's going on."

"In spite of that, I should have preferred her to those Thomassinières, who put on so much style and assume the most unendurable airs and pretensions!"

"And then, who ever heard of bringing three servants to be fed! Those big rascals will eat everything in the house."

"What time is it, Julie?"

"After twelve, madame."

"He won't come. I am very glad of it now. Order luncheon. We will not dine until half past six."

"That's right; in that way they won't get any supper, at all events."

Julie went downstairs. Madame stood in front of her mirror, looked at herself a few moments, arranged a few locks of hair, then left the room, saying to herself:

"I look well enough for these people."

She went to the garden and joined Madame de la Thomassinière, whose husband, immediately on arriving, had asked Monsieur Destival for a pen and some ink, so that he might at once write an urgent letter on a matter of great importance. Monsieur Destival ensconced the speculator in his study.

"Make yourself perfectly at home," he said; "I will leave you."

And Monsieur de la Thomassinière, left to himself at the desk, scratched his head, looked at the pens, and wrote nothing at all, for the reason that he had nothing to write and no letter to send. But a man involved in great speculations should always seem preoccupied, and pretend that he needs a writing desk; that impresses fools and credulous folk, and sometimes people of good sense even; the professional schemers are the only ones who do not allow themselves to be gulled by such petty wiles, because they often use them themselves.

On leaving La Thomassinière, Monsieur Destival returned to Monsieur Monin, who did not take offence because no attention was paid to him, his wife having accustomed him to that.

"Well, neighbor, have you sold that drug shop?" queried the business agent, slapping Monsieur Monin on the shoulder.

"Not yet, neighbor. It vexes me, because, I'll tell you, those who have taken my place temporarily aren't used to it as I am, and----"

"I'll sell it for you. I hope to see you in Paris next winter, Monsieur Monin, and to know you better."

"Certainly, monsieur."

"You must come to our house to play cards."

"Do you play loo?"

"No, but écarté, and boston. I have a very pretty house to sell you."

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes, it's a great opportunity; the price is nothing at all."

"Is it insured?"

"I don't know; we will talk about all those things later; go out and take a turn in the garden. I am going to find out if they have any idea of giving us some luncheon."

Monin left the room; as Monsieur Destival turned to do likewise he confronted his wife, who exclaimed:

"What, monsieur! you have asked Monsieur Monin to call on us in Paris?"

"To be sure, madame."

"It's well enough in the country, because he's a neighbor. But in town! A man who can't say anything or do anything, and who knows no game but loo!"

"He is rich, madame."

"What if he is? that doesn't prevent his being as stupid as an owl."

"He won't be the first stupid person who has been to my house, madame. When one receives a great deal of company, it can't be otherwise. And besides, with your men of intellect, your authors and your poets, there's not a sou to be made."

"If you're so fond of money, monsieur, why do you invite so many people to your country house? It is ruinously extravagant, monsieur."

"Never fear, madame; I invite none but those who may be useful to me. Oh! I am very shrewd, I look a long way ahead. La Thomassinière is a valuable acquaintance, and I am very desirous to become intimate with him. I know that he often makes himself very ridiculous, that he tries to play the great man, and that the rôle isn't suited to him; that he occasionally makes blunders in speaking that smell horribly of his origin; that he is tiresome beyond words with his carriage, his estates, his property and his servants, whom he is forever throwing in one's face; but for all that, he's a man for whom I have a peculiar esteem and regard, because, as I told you just now, madame, I look a long way ahead.--But how about luncheon?"

"Speak to Baptiste, monsieur; I have given my orders to Julie."

Madame Destival went into the garden, where the petite-maîtresse was strolling about, gathering a bouquet.

"I am picking your flowers, you see," she said.

"You are doing just right, my dear love; pray take all that you please."

"Your garden is lovely."

"Oh! it isn't very extensive; but there is plenty of shade, and that's what I like."

"So do I. I have had a forest planted on our estate at Fleury. It will be delicious, I assure you."

"But before it grows----"

"Oh! we have set out nothing but large trees. I will send you an invitation for next month. I am waiting for the painting and decorating I am having done to be finished, before going there for a month. But I shall take plenty of guests; for I don't like the country except with a lot of people about."

"For my part, I am rather fond of solitude."

"Mon Dieu! I should die if I were alone a single day!"

"So you don't like reading?"

"Yes, I do, for a moment or two, in bed; but not long at a time; it tires me."

"And music?"

"I play and sing only when someone is listening to me."

"Drawing?"

"Oh! that was all right at boarding-school! I mean to have a little theatre on my estate, and we will have theatricals there; that's great fun. I used to act often at boarding-school. I was particularly fond of the parts in which I changed dresses."

"What a child you are!"

"What would you have? one must pass the time somehow. If I had nothing but my husband to amuse me, great heaven! where should we be? A man who thinks of nothing but figures and exchange and heaven knows what. These business men are very disagreeable."

The ladies, having turned into another path, found themselves in the neighborhood of Monsieur Monin, who had stopped and seemed to be in a sort of trance before a plum tree laden with very large fruit. At sight of the ladies he took off his hat and muttered: "How's your--" But he did not finish the sentence, because he remembered that he had already paid his respects to them in the salon; so he turned and pointed to the tree, saying: "That tree bears very fine fruit."

"Why, my dear, you don't mean that you have fruit trees in your garden?" cried the petite-maîtresse; "why, that's the worst possible form; you must take them all away and set out in their place ebony-trees, acacias, and sycamores."

"Oh! our garden makes no pretensions," rejoined Madame Destival, biting her lips with anger; "it isn't a park such as you have on your place, and Monsieur Destival is very fond of fruit."

"He is quite right," said Monin, who had walked nearer to the plum tree when Madame de la Thomassinière spoke of taking it up. "Fruit is the body's friend when it's good and ripe. But I was just going to say----"

"And monsieur's plums!" continued the younger woman. "Dear, dear! they are very vulgar; they should be left for the servants."

"Oh! when Monsieur Destival has made a fortune, then we will have a separate orchard; but meanwhile we are simple enough to be content with a small country place. What would you have? We were not born in a palace--in the lap of grandeur."

Madame Destival uttered these last words with malicious emphasis; but Madame de la Thomassinière seemed to pay no heed to them; as hare-brained as she was inconsequent, she said offensive things unintentionally; and if she talked constantly of her dresses, her diamonds and her estate, it was less from vanity than as a matter of habit, whereas the wish to make a show of his wealth was the motive behind every act of her husband.

"Luncheon is waiting, mesdames," said Monsieur Destival, hastening forward gallantly to offer his arm to the petite-maîtresse; "come; it is late, and you must be hungry. Faith, if Dalville comes, he will have to eat alone, that's all there is about it."

The master of the house walked away with the young woman. Monsieur Monin had taken off his hat and was about to offer Madame Destival his arm; but she, divining his purpose, vanished by another path, and the little man, having lost sight of her, decided to betake himself alone to the dining-room; but first he cast a last tender glance at the plum tree.

They were seated at the table, and Monsieur de la Thomassinière was still in the study.

"Tell him that we are going to have luncheon," said Monsieur Destival, "and that we're only waiting for him."

Baptiste went up to the study and called through the door:

"Luncheon is served, monsieur."

"Very well, very well, I will come down," replied La Thomassinière, continuing to roll little balls of paper; "I have only one more note to write."

The valet withdrew and reported the answer that was made to him.

"What a terrible man he is with his notes!" said Madame Destival; "doesn't he have a moment to himself, even in the country?"

"My husband?" replied the petite-maîtresse; "why, my dear love, he's a most insufferable creature with his endless writing! He is never ready at meal-time; and even when we have twenty persons to dinner, which happens quite often, I have to send for him three or four times."

After making balls of paper for another five minutes, Monsieur de la Thomassinière concluded at last to go down to the dining-room.

"I beg pardon, here I am! It wasn't my fault," he said as he took his seat; "you shouldn't have waited for me. You see, I happened to think about a certain speculation I am interested in.--Give me the wing of a chicken and a glass of claret; that is all I take in the morning.--Well, Athalie, have you devastated madame's flower garden?"

Athalie, who ate quite heartily for a petite-maîtresse, answered with a laugh:

"I have been doing what I chose, monsieur; you know perfectly well that it doesn't concern you."

"That is true, madame, that is perfectly true. I supply the money, I pay the bills. Twelve hundred francs to a milliner seems a trifle expensive. But madame must have the best there is."

"If you lose your temper, monsieur, the next bill will be twice as large."

"You know well enough, madame, that when it's a question of giving you money, I never have to be asked twice. When one is rich, that's perfectly natural; we must help the tradesmen to make money; isn't that so, Destival?"

"To be sure," replied his host, "I have the same feeling.--Well, what do you think of my claret? You don't say anything about it."

"It is very fair; but I have some better than this, oh! much better! I will give you some when you come to my house, and you'll see."

"And this cream--do you like it, madame?"

"Very much," replied the petite-maîtresse. But Monsieur de la Thomassinière helped himself to three spoonfuls, saying:

"Let's taste the cream." Then he made a slight grimace and added: "Oh! my estate is the place for fine dairy products! This can't be compared with it; it's an entirely different thing! And our fowls! ah! they are delicious. To be sure, they are fed with such care! Now you people think that you are eating something good when you eat a chicken like this. Well, let me tell you that if you should see my poultry yard at Fleury, you would look on this as rubbish."

"It is very fortunate then that we know nothing about it," retorted Madame Destival, with a meaning glance at her husband. He, to change the subject of that pleasant conversation, turned to Monin, who had not said a word since he had been at the table, being engrossed by the second joint of a chicken, which he seasoned now and then with snuff, glancing occasionally with the eye of a connoisseur at a magnificent pie that stood in front of him, to which he seemed to be saying: "How's your health?"

"Your appetite seems to be in good condition, neighbor?" said Destival.

"Yes, yes, it's the weather that does it. Do you take snuff?"

And Monin offered his box to Destival, then to La Thomassinière, who, after taking a tiny pinch, took from his pocket a gold snuff-box at which he gazed for some time with a complacent expression.

"This is Virginia," he said, "the very best snuff there is; it's very expensive, but I don't care for any other kind. Try it, monsieur."

Monin, who never declined a pinch of snuff, was about to partake of the Virginia, when they heard the wheels of a carriage entering the courtyard, and Julie hurried into the dining-room, saying:

"Here's Monsieur Dalville; his cabriolet has just come in."

Madame Destival smiled with satisfaction, and the petite-maîtresse hastily ordered her plate to be changed, so that the débris of her repast might not be seen in front of her. Monsieur Destival ran out to receive his dear friend, and Monsieur de la Thomassinière thought: "This Dalville must be a millionaire, to have his arrival make such a sensation."

As for Monin, with his pinch of Virginia in one hand and his fork in the other, confused by the bustle caused by Dalville's arrival, he put a dainty piece of ham to his nose and the superfine snuff in his mouth. He discovered his mistake, however, and put each article in its proper place.