Chapter V: The Drill, the Swing, the Storm, and the Music

Destival, having gone out to greet Dalville, looked about for him in vain; he saw nobody near the cabriolet save little Tony and Bertrand, the latter of whom gave him a military salute.

"Well! where is he? which way did he go in?" inquired Destival. Bertrand passed his tongue over his lips and scratched his ear, seeking a suitable reply; at last he said in a firm voice:

"Monsieur Dalville will be here as soon as I am."

"But you seem to have got here before him; did he leave you on the way?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Does he know anyone in the neighborhood?"

"It would seem so, monsieur."

"At all events, he is really coming; that's the main point."

Destival ran back to inform the ladies that his friend Dalville would soon be there; that he had stopped to see a friend, but that he could not be long.

"Why, I didn't know that he knew anyone in this vicinity," said Madame Destival in surprise.

"Mon Dieu! this gentleman keeps us on the anxious seat a long while," said the vivacious Athalie, leaving the table; while La Thomassinière, annoyed that a thought should be given to anybody but himself, paced the floor a few moments, then stamped violently, and put his hand to his forehead.

"Bless my soul!" he cried, "I had almost forgotten. What time is it? Not one yet? Is there a post office[A] anywhere near?"

[A] French _poste_; when used alone the meaning is ambiguous and depends on the context. Hence the misunderstanding.

"Do you mean a donkey post?" asked Monin.

"No, for letters, of course!"

"Oh, yes! on the second street. By the way, I believe--I won't say for sure, but I'll tell you----"

"I'll go there at once; I shall be in time."

And Monsieur de la Thomassinière rushed from the room as if he would overturn everybody, paying no heed to Destival, who shouted after him:

"Stay here; I'll send it for you. Besides, your own servants are here."

The speculator darted out across the fields, and having reached a dense thicket, lay down on the grass and went to sleep, saying to himself:

"A man like me must never have a moment to himself."

The ladies returned to the salon. Monsieur Destival went down to Bertrand, and Monin, seeing that everybody had left the table, concluded to do likewise and followed his host.

As soon as Bertrand had taken some refreshment, Monsieur Destival went to him and begged him to give him a lesson in drilling and giving orders. The ex-corporal was very willing to do anything that recalled glorious memories. He repaired with Monsieur Destival to the terrace in the garden, where the latter had his rifle brought to him, and a foil which he used as a sword, and stood as straight as a ramrod as he carried out Bertrand's orders. Monin, who had followed them, thought that it was courteous to do as his host did; he took a spade in lieu of a musket, and, standing behind his neighbor, followed him through "right shoulder," "left shoulder," "present arms," etc., pausing only to use his snuff-box.

For more than an hour the gentlemen had been on the terrace with Bertrand, who would gladly have passed the day in such a pleasant occupation. Monsieur Destival, ambitious to outshine the rural constables, began to carry himself like a Prussian grenadier; and Monin, perspiring profusely in his efforts to do as well as his host, did not notice that, while taking aim, presenting arms and grounding arms with his sword, he had pushed back his cap and wig, thereby giving himself a most swaggering appearance.

The drill was interrupted by roars of laughter from the effervescent Athalie, who appeared on the scene with Madame Destival.

Monsieur Monin paused in the act of presenting arms. It was high time; a moment more and the wig would have fallen back and have exhibited the ex-druggist as the Child-Jesus. As for Monsieur Destival, he turned toward the ladies, with a martial air, weapon in hand, and said:

"Well, what do you think of my set-up?"

"Superb! But I prefer monsieur here with his spade; he is more amusing."

"What, neighbor, are you taking a lesson in the manual?"

"Yes," replied Monin, wiping his brow and pulling his wig forward; "I followed you at a distance, and I'll tell you----"

"But what can have become of Monsieur Dalville?" said Madame Destival, paying no attention to Monin; "he left you on the road, he said that he would be here as soon as you, and you have been here two hours. At whose house did you leave him, Bertrand?"

"At whose house, madame? I didn't say that I left him at anyone's house."

"But you must have seen him go into a house, didn't you? Of course you didn't leave him on the highroad?"

"Excuse me, madame, but that's just what I did: I left my lieutenant in the middle of the road, about half a league from here."

"You do not tell the whole story, Bertrand: Monsieur Auguste wasn't alone on the road, I fancy."

"I didn't see whether anybody was coming, madame."

"Oh! there must have been some peasant girl there, some rustic beauty, who captivated Monsieur Dalville!"

"What do you mean, my dear? Does he consort with that kind?" inquired the petite-maîtresse disdainfully.

"He consorts with all kinds, my dear. Bless my soul, a scullery maid, if she has a little turned-up nose, a----"

"Oh dear! oh dear! this goes far to destroy the good opinion I had formed of this gentleman."

"I tell you," said Madame Destival in a lower tone, drawing nearer to her friend, "he's a perfect libertine! If it weren't for my husband, I should never receive him. He's a man whose acquaintance is likely to endanger a woman's reputation. But Monsieur Destival is daft over him. He absolutely insists on entertaining him, and is forever inviting him here. I don't like quarrels, and I let my husband do what he chooses."

"Well, I am not so obliging; I do only what I like, and I receive only those people who suit me. Ah! if Monsieur de la Thomassinière should try to thwart me, I should instantly become subject to hysterics."

The ladies were about to return to the garden and Bertrand to continue his lesson in drilling, when they heard loud laughter in the courtyard, and in a moment Dalville made his appearance.

"Ah! good-day, my dear friend," said Monsieur Destival, going to meet Auguste, rifle in hand; "we had about given you up. Shoulder arms, eh? Isn't this about right?"

"I see that Bertrand will make something of you."

"Here is my wife, who has been in a temper because you didn't come."

"Mon Dieu! how my husband does irritate me!" said Madame Destival to her neighbor, assuming a frigid air to welcome Auguste, who said to her:

"What, madame! have you been so kind as to be uneasy because of my non-appearance?"

"I have not said a word of that sort, monsieur. I cannot conceive why Monsieur Destival delights in crediting me with statements the thought of which I do not even entertain. I simply considered that when a person promised to arrive in time for luncheon, it was ridiculous to put in an appearance at the end of the day. However, I am not at all surprised, and--But, bless my soul! what on earth has happened to you, monsieur? What a plight you are in! A wound in the face--clothes all disarranged--It would seem that you have had some thrilling adventure."

"In truth, madame," said Auguste, bowing to Athalie, who returned his salutation with a simpering air, "I did have an encounter----"

"Perhaps he met the wolf," suggested Monin, walking up to Destival; "it seems that there is one in the woods. The peasant woman who sold my wife her cucumbers told her that the other day----"

"Can it be that you have been fighting with a wolf, my gallant Dalville?" cried Destival, presenting his bayonet to the company as if he proposed to charge a hollow square.

"Oh, no!" said madame, with a sly smile, "it was no wolf that made that mark on monsieur's face; it looks like something entirely different; don't you think so, my dear love?"

"That looks to me exactly like the scratch of a finger-nail," said Athalie the vivacious, looking very closely at Auguste; "isn't it that, monsieur?"

"You are not mistaken, madame."

"So you have been fighting, have you, monsieur?" said Madame Destival.

"No, madame, I simply met a very pretty little boy, who had broken the bowl in which he was carrying soup to his father. I gave him a piece of money to console him; at that, in his joy he embraced me; he patted my cheeks with his little hands, and he--he accidentally scratched me a little. That is a faithful account of my adventure, mesdames."

Madame Destival bit her lip and glanced at her companion, who smiled. It was evident that they both doubted the truth of Dalville's story; but he cared very little what they might think. Taking advantage of this brief pause in the conversation, Monin went to Auguste, whom he had met twice at his neighbor's and said to him in the most amiable manner:

"How's your health?"

"Very good, Monsieur Monin, except for this scratch, which is not dangerous."

"You are joking, monsieur! I tell you finger-nail scratches are not to be trifled with.--Do you use snuff?"

"Thanks."

"I know all about it, and I'll tell you why: my wife has a----"

Having no curiosity to hear Monin's story, Dalville followed the ladies, who had returned to the garden. Athalie's presence aroused in the young man a desire to be agreeable. He had not expected to find any other lady than the mistress of the house, who was well enough, but with whom he no longer took pains to be agreeable. Why? Was it because he was no longer in love with her, or because he was sure of pleasing her, or--On my word, you ask me too much.

Madame de la Thomassinière's vivacity and unconventionality harmonized perfectly with Auguste's lively humor and free-and-easy manners; and as greater liberty is authorized in the country, after a very short time he and the petite-maîtresse were laughing and joking together as if they had known each other for years.

Madame Destival did not share their gayety; she was sulky, said little, and contented herself with darting eloquent glances at the young man from time to time; the more intimate her two companions became, the more her ill-humor seemed to increase. Meanwhile they were strolling about the garden; they sat down; then Madame de la Thomassinière went to look at a pretty view, or pluck a flower, or chase a butterfly, and as she sauntered back showed Auguste a double row of lovely teeth, and seemed to say:

"Why don't you come with me?"

But Madame Destival did not leave her, and although visibly annoyed, she too ran after the butterflies.

"What on earth is the matter with you, my dear love?" said Athalie, good-humoredly; "you don't seem very hilarious."

"I beg pardon, I am satisfied; but a severe headache has just come on."

"Go in the house and lie down for a moment."

"No, my child, oh, no! I prefer to stay with you."

"You shouldn't stand on ceremony in the country. Besides, monsieur will bear me company. We will catch butterflies together."

"I will catch whatever you please, madame," said Auguste, with a smile which was instantly succeeded by a wry face, because Madame Destival pinched his arm as she replied:

"No, the air will do me good. But I thought that you intended to have some music?"

"Oh! we shall have time enough this evening, as I am to pass the night here. Is monsieur to remain?"

"If madame will kindly allow me to do so?" said Auguste, glancing at his hostess, who replied angrily:

"As you please, monsieur."

After walking for some time longer, they stopped beside a swing, and the sprightly Athalie sprang to a seat on the narrow plank, held in place by two cords only, saying to Auguste:

"Oh! do give me a push, please. I am wild over swinging; I have nearly killed myself a dozen times, but it makes no difference, I always come back to it. Not too high, monsieur, do you understand?"

"As high or as low as you choose, madame."

Auguste stood near the swing and pushed gently, while Madame Destival seated herself at a little distance, with her handkerchief at her eyes. The young man was distraught; he looked at Athalie and Madame Destival in turn; the former's petulant ways attracted him, the other's grief seemed to cause him pain.

"Oh! what fun! how lovely it is!" cried the petite-maîtresse. "Keep on, monsieur, harder! Look out, you are jerking me.--Ah! my dear, you can't imagine how I like this!"

Madame de la Thomassinière gave no sign of being tired of swinging; but Madame Destival, who was not at all amused, resorted to the device of fainting, and fell back in her chair with a hollow groan. Thereupon Auguste left the swing and ran to Emilie, exclaiming:

"What is the matter, madame?"

"Leave me; you are a monster!" replied Madame Destival, her eyes still closed.

"What have I done, pray?"

"Do you think that I have not noticed your conduct?"

"My conduct has been perfectly natural, I should say----"

"Not content with coming here from--from I don't know where, monsieur presumes, in my presence, to make love to that flirt, who behaves in the most indecent way! I should have hoped that you would at least respect my house, monsieur!"

"Really, madame, I cannot in the least understand your anger. I am courteous, polite--nothing more."

"Do you think that I have no eyes? It is far too evident. The least that you can do is to show some little self-restraint!"

"But----"

"Hush!"

"Well!" said Athalie, noticing that the swing moved more slowly, "what are you doing, monsieur? You are not pushing, you are letting me stop; and I don't want that. Are you tired already? Fie! a young man too!"

At that moment appeared Monsieur Monin, who, seeing that his host was determined to practise the manual until dinner, and feeling that he had not the strength to continue, had dropped his spade and bent his steps toward the garden, where, as he wiped his forehead, he sought to freshen up his ideas by resorting to his snuff-box.

"You have come in the nick of time, Monsieur Monin," said Madame Destival; "madame is sorely in need of somebody to swing her. Do her that service, she will be overjoyed."

As she said this, Emilie rose, took Auguste's arm and led him to another part of the garden, leaving Monin agape with amazement at the task assigned him, and Athalie still in the swing. Having her back to the others, she had not noticed their departure and was still ignorant of the fact that she had changed swingers.

"Well! push me, monsieur!" she said, wriggling about in the swing to make herself go.

Monin fortified himself with a pinch of snuff and walked toward the swing; but, having miscalculated the space that it covered in swinging back, the seat came down upon him as he was turning up his sleeves in order to push harder, and the young woman's plump figure struck him in the face.

Dazed by the blow, Monin fell on the turf a step or two away; while Madame de la Thomassinière gave a little shriek because his nose had almost unseated her.

"How awkward you are!" she cried; "if I hadn't held on tight, I should have fallen. Come and stop me, and help me to get down.--Well, monsieur, do you propose to leave me here?"

Monin was not quick to rise, and he was looking for his cap, which the swing had knocked off, muttering:

"I am at your service in a minute, madame. You see, if I should go home without my cap, my wife would make a row."

Really vexed, Athalie turned her head and saw Monin trying to climb a tree to reach his cap, which the swing had sent flying to a high branch. The young woman laughed heartily, then jumped down from the swing and walked away, seeking Auguste and Madame Destival in every thicket.

After scouring the garden to no purpose, she returned to the place where she had left Monin; he was still at the foot of the tree, which he had tried vainly to climb, gazing despairingly at his cap, lodged on a branch, which he could not reach, and seeking in his snuff-box some inspiration as to the means of recovering it.

"Which way did they go, monsieur?" asked Athalie, stopping beside him. He looked stupidly about and said:

"Who, madame?"

"Monsieur Dalville and Madame Destival."

"I can't tell you--unless they've gone to drill too."

Athalie went toward the house. Destival was still with Bertrand on the terrace. The young woman entered the salon; it was empty.

"This is very polite," said Athalie; "a perfect gentleman that! It seems that there is no standing on ceremony here. I would like right well to know if Monsieur Dalville is with Madame Destival. She had a sick-headache; I am curious to know how she gets rid of it."

The young woman left the salon and passed through several rooms without meeting anybody, for Julie and Baptiste were busy in the kitchen, and Monsieur de la Thomassinière's three servants had gone to the village to play goose. She went up to the first floor, where Madame Destival's bedroom was; but the door was closed and locked.

"She is in her room," thought the petite-maîtresse; and she knocked gently. There was no reply; she knocked louder. At last Madame Destival asked who was there.

"I, my dear," Athalie replied. "I came up to have a chat with you."

"Excuse me, I had dropped asleep; my headache is so much worse----"

"I have one too, and I will lie down in your room a moment; it will do me good."

"Hasn't Julie shown you your room?"

"No, my love; let me in, pray."

Madame de la Thomassinière was determined not to go away, and after some little time she was admitted. Madame Destival appeared with her clothes no more disarranged than was natural in a person who had been lying down. As she went in, Athalie glanced about the room, and her eyes longed to pierce the walls of a small closet at the foot of the bed, the mirrored door of which was tightly closed.

"Oh dear! how my head jumps!" said Madame Destival, putting her hand to her forehead.

"Isn't it any better?" asked Athalie, seating herself on a couch.

"No; quite the contrary."

"Lie down again, my dear; I will stretch myself out on this couch; I shall not be sorry for a little rest myself. This hot sun affects my nerves."

Madame Destival seemed disinclined to return to her bed; she walked about the room impatiently, and said:

"Oh, no! I don't want to go to sleep again, it's almost dinner-time."

"How on earth did you ever succeed in sleeping here? Your husband makes such a noise with his 'present arms,' and his 'ready, aim!'"

"It didn't disturb me at all."

"What did you do with Monsieur Dalville?"

"What did I do with him? Why, nothing."

"I thought he was with you."

"With me?"

"When you left me in the swing, didn't you take him away with you, and leave in his place the charming Monsieur Monin, whose society is so entertaining?"

"Monsieur Auguste left me immediately; he must have gone for a walk to the village."

"Do you know, my dear, that I should not have recognized Monsieur Dalville from the picture that you drew of him. In the first place, you said that he wasn't good-looking, that he had a common look."

"I did not say common, I swear."

"That he hadn't good style, that he was a rake, a ne'er-do-well, a man whose visits might compromise a woman."

"Oh! you exaggerate, my dear!"

"I beg your pardon, but you said all that, you drew a shocking portrait of him! For my part, I think him very good-looking, and I like his manners very much."

"That is very fortunate for him, madame."

"Well! what on earth are you doing? You are putting on your belt inside out."

"Why, so I am! I have fits of absent-mindedness."

"Shall I fasten your dress for you, my dear?"

"Thanks; I can dress myself."

At that moment the sound of something being placed against the window made Emilie jump.

"What is that?" she said.

"It was in that closet, I think; something fell."

"No, madame, the noise didn't come from the closet; it was at the window."

The ladies went to the window and saw Monsieur Destival, who had just placed a ladder against the outer sill.

"What in the world are you doing, monsieur?" exclaimed Madame Destival in alarm; "what is the meaning of this ladder and all this confusion?"

"My dear love, I know now all the evolutions there are; the only thing left for me to learn is to storm a fort; that's the bouquet, so Bertrand says, and he's going to show me how. You, mesdames, are inside the fortress, you represent the enemy; you must try to keep us out, but we will enter the citadel in spite of you."

"What is the meaning of this absurd nonsense, monsieur?"

"It's the bouquet, madame, I tell you.--Come, Bertrand; one! two! At the double-quick, isn't it?"

"I am not willing that you should storm my room, monsieur.--Take away that ladder, Bertrand, I beg you.--You are mad, monsieur! Do you have to storm a fort to catch a wolf?"

"Nobody knows what may happen, madame."

"I know that you won't happen to reach my room, monsieur."

As she said this, Madame Destival closed her window with a bang, and led Madame de la Thomassinière from her room, saying:

"Let's go down, my dear, let's go down, I beg you, for they'll turn everything topsy-turvy with their drilling."

They went out on the terrace, where Monsieur Destival still held his ladder, which Bertrand tried in vain to take away from him. The business agent was determined to raise it somewhere.

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, if you absolutely must lay siege to something," said Madame Destival, "let it be a tree in the garden, and not my bedroom."

Bertrand grasped at this idea, and Athalie suggested to them that they should attack the tree in which Monsieur Monin's cap had lodged. They went toward the swing and found the ex-druggist there, with his short, fat arms around the tree, trying to climb it, but unable to raise himself more than three inches from the ground.

At sight of the ladder, Monin uttered a cry of delight, and outdid himself in thanks when Monsieur Destival ascended it at the double-quick, having no suspicion that the manoeuvre had any other purpose than the recovery of his cap. But alas! Monsieur Destival thought it best to capture the trophy with his bayonet, and the point of his weapon pierced the top, which was of thin straw. Bertrand shouted "Bravo!" Monin made a wry face, the ladies laughed, and Auguste arrived in time to witness the tableau.

Auguste bestowed a sweet smile on Madame de la Thomassinière and a rather cold bow on Madame Destival. I do not know whether you can guess the cause, but the ladies had no difficulty.

"Are you just from the village, monsieur?" said the petite-maîtresse, showing her pretty teeth.

"Yes, madame, I have had a most instructive walk; I have acquired some new knowledge, and I hope to make good use of it."

"Dinner is on the table," said a thin, yellow little man, with a napkin on his arm. It was Baptiste, the one male servant, who acted as scrubber, cook, footman, errand-boy and butler all at once, pending the time when Monsieur Destival should establish his household on a more extensive scale. So that poor Baptiste was worked to death, and told Julie every day that he did not propose to remain in a place where they made him do the work of a horse.

"Say that dinner is served, Baptiste. That fellow will never be trained!--Come, mesdames, to the table! Ouf! I have well earned it. I have drilled terribly hard to-day.--Here, Monin, here's your cap. Did you see how I picked it up?"

"You made a hole in it," said Monin, gazing at the crown with a piteous expression.

"Bah! in the heat of the action; charge, bayonets! one, two! eh, Bertrand?--But the ladies have gone already. Let's go now and attack the dinner; I expect to make a tremendous breach in it. Go to Julie, Bertrand; she'll look after you."

Bertrand betook himself to the servants' quarters, and Monin, after trying to bring the straws nearer together and conceal the hole in his cap, followed his host to the dining-room.

They were all seated at the table, when Monsieur Destival cried:

"Well! how about Monsieur de la Thomassinière? He's missing again."

"That's so, I had forgotten all about my husband," said Athalie, smiling at her right-hand neighbor; and that neighbor was Auguste, who was seated between the two ladies. "Oh! you mustn't wait for him."

"It's very annoying! Where can he have gone? Do you suppose he has lost his way in the Forest of Bondy?"

"It's a very dangerous place," said Monin, fastening his napkin to his buttonhole; "they say there's a band of robbers there just now, who----"

"Suppose I tell your three servants to beat up the neighborhood? What do you think, madame?"

"Oh! no, monsieur; don't worry about my husband, I beg. I assure you that he will turn up. I am not in the least anxious."

"So long as madame is not disturbed," said Madame Destival, pursing her lips, "it seems to me that we should do wrong to be. After what she says, we may venture to dine."

"Very good, let us dine. One, two, at the soup, and by the left flank at the beef."

"For heaven's sake, monsieur, are we going to hear nothing now but 'one, two'?"

"Faith, madame, this day has given me a great liking for the military profession. What a fine thing is a man who holds himself perfectly straight, with his body thrown back!--Pass me the beans.--Your man Bertrand is a terrible fellow; he knows his business root and branch. Deuce take it! what a fellow he is! How he handles a musket! He told me that he was satisfied with me. Three or four lessons more, and I hope----"

"I hoped that you knew quite enough, monsieur."

"Madame, a man cannot know too much about managing weapons. I wish now that we might be attacked by robbers!"

"Would you set them to drilling, monsieur?"

"No, madame, but I would make the most of my advantages; I can fire four shots in five minutes now."

"I didn't know that, monsieur."

"Oh! there are still more surprising things. Just look at Monin; he did nothing but listen to us a moment, but see how much better he carries himself than he did this morning."

"It is certain," said Monin, raising a turnip on his fork and putting it in his mouth as if the latter were a gun barrel, "it is certain that drilling is good for a man; and I'll tell you what----"

Monin was interrupted by the arrival of La Thomassinière, quite out of breath, for he had taken a long nap under his tree, and, on waking, had reflected that they might dine without him.

"Ah! here you are at last, you terrible man!" said Destival.

"I beg pardon; I am late, I know, but I have written at least ten letters since I left you."

"Why didn't you write them here?"

"Faith, I was in such a hurry that I went into the first place I saw."

"Well, sit down beside Madame Destival."

"I'll soon overtake you, for, you see, I don't eat beef; it's poor stuff, is beef! it isn't worth eating."

Monsieur de la Thomassinière took his seat, gazing at Auguste with some surprise, because he had given him only a slight nod, and continued to eat without apparently paying any attention to the parvenu, which was a sore trial to that gentleman, who always wanted to make a sensation.

But Dalville had seen on the instant what manner of man Monsieur de la Thomassinière was. Fools enjoy the advantage of being accurately judged in a very short time, whereas it often requires a long time to form a just appreciation of men of sense.

The dinner was lively enough, thanks to Auguste and his neighbor on his left, who talked all manner of nonsense and seemed very much inclined to suit their actions to their words. The mistress of the house ate little, and Monin ate a great deal. Monsieur Destival attacked each dish in measured time, and stuck his fork into a radish as if it were a bayonet. As for Monsieur de la Thomassinière, when he found that Dalville was determined not to take any notice of him, he decided to make himself prominent by holding forth concerning the various dishes. He declared the chicken cooked too much, the peas too large, the salad too sour, and the beaune too new. An exceedingly agreeable guest was Monsieur de la Thomassinière; but a very rich man must never seem content with what is put before him. The idea! that would make people think that he had never eaten anything good.

It was dark when they reached the dessert, because it was late when they sat down. The sky was heavily overcast; the heat became more intense, and the flashes that rent the clouds from time to time indicated an impending storm.

Monsieur Monin made haste to eat his cheese, because his wife was afraid of the thunder, and his orders were to go home to her whenever a storm was brewing. La Thomassinière asked if the house was provided with lightning rods. Monsieur Destival ordered all the windows closed at the first clap of thunder, and the sight of the lightning made him forget to present arms with his glass. As for the petite-maîtresse, she declared that she was terribly afraid of a thunder storm, and she hid her face upon Auguste's shoulder at every flash.

"The deuce! the deuce! the weather is very threatening!" said Monsieur Destival. "Come, messieurs, a glass of champagne; that will scatter the clouds and make us forget.--Baptiste, have you shut everything tight?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Be very careful that there's no draught."

"But you are stifling us, monsieur."

"Windows must be closed when it thunders, madame; that is only prudent."

"Then why don't you have a lightning-rod?" said La Thomassinière; "I have three on my country-house, two on the house I live in in Paris, and one on my other fine house on Rue de Buffaut."

"Yes, I shall have one put on at once.--Come, messieurs, your glasses, there goes the cork."

"Oh! mon Dieu!" cried Athalie, pressing against her neighbor; "how you frightened me with your cork!"

"The storm seems to frighten you terribly, my dear love," said Madame Destival, with a sneer.

"Oh, yes! terribly!"

"My wife's nerves are extremely sensitive."

"Look out, you're not pouring into the glass, Destival."

"That confounded flash dazzled me. Will your charming wife have some?"

"Yes, I'm very fond of champagne. Please make it foam a lot, monsieur."

"Here you are, belle dame.--Come, Dalville, drink with madame."

"That is just what monsieur is doing," said Madame Destival spitefully.

"And you, Monin, pass your glass."

"Oh! I was just going to say that I must go; my wife's afraid of thunder."

"Why, your wife's making pickles, you know; she's busy."

"But when it thunders she drops everything and crawls under a woolen quilt, and if I shouldn't go to see how she is--Oh! what a crash! it came very soon after the lightning, so the storm can't be far away."

"Suppose we have a little music?" said Monsieur Destival, helping himself to a third glass of champagne, in order to recover his courage; "it seems to me that that wouldn't be a bad idea. What do you say, Dalville?"

Auguste had stooped to pick up his knife, which he had dropped under the table for the second time.

"Monsieur is awkward to-day," said Madame Destival, rising from the table with a gesture of impatience; "I believe that we shall do well to go up to the salon."

At that moment the clouds broke, the rain fell in torrents, and the fields assumed a novel aspect. Everybody rose; the petite-maîtresse leaned heavily on Auguste's arm, because the storm had taken away all her strength. Monsieur de la Thomassinière, desirous to play the scholar, because he thought that his companions were no more learned than he, went to one of the windows and declared that the storm would not be _consequential_ because the atmosphere was very beautiful at sunset.

Auguste could not restrain a slight laugh, which caused the trembling Athalie to press his arm all the harder. Monsieur Destival, who had recovered his spirits in some measure since the rain began, which made the storm much less dangerous, executed a half wheel to the left of the company, and charged up the stairs at the double-quick. Monin was left alone in the dining-room, folding his napkin as a matter of habit, and muttering as he listened to the rain:

"It's coming down hard, and I haven't any umbrella, and they've made a hole in the top of my cap! so what am I going to do?"

Having taken snuff two or three times, our friend decided to address Julie, who had just passed through the room. He followed her, calling after her:

"I beg pardon, mademoiselle, but couldn't you----"

As Julie did not reply, Monin followed her to the kitchen, where Bertrand was drinking with Baptiste and Monsieur de la Thomassinière's three tall footmen, who did not agree with their master that the beaune was too new.

"Could you lend me an umbrella?" asked Monin.

"We haven't any here," Julie replied curtly.

"Nonsense! an umbrella!" said Bertrand, in whom the beaune had already aroused a tendency to talk. "As if a man should use such a thing! Is that what I taught you this morning--to handle an umbrella?"

The guests began to laugh, and Julie elbowed Monin gradually toward the door, saying:

"I don't like to have so many people in my kitchen, monsieur; they get in my way. Besides, you don't belong here."

Julie closed the door; and Monin, finding himself expelled from the kitchen, decided to go up to the salon and wait until the storm should have subsided. Dalville and Athalie were at the piano, singing a nocturne. Monsieur Destival was playing écarté with Monsieur de la Thomassinière; and Madame Destival, while pretending to watch the game, lost nothing of what took place at the piano.

"I have the honor to wish you good-evening," said Monin, noiselessly entering the salon.

"Why, haven't you gone, neighbor? I supposed that you were at home before this."

"No, I'll tell you--the rain----"

"In that case, you must take a hand. Come, bet on me and you will win."

"Can I bet now?"

"Yes, it isn't too late."

"All right; then I'll bet two sous."

"What sort of bet is that--two sous!" exclaimed La Thomassinière contemptuously; "do you suppose that I play for copper? It's vulgar enough to play for a crown. Take that away, monsieur, it's covered with verdigris."

"It's my two sous, monsieur; I bet them."

"No one wants them, monsieur."

"What! have I won already?"

"Here, I'll fix that," said Destival, taking a ten-sou piece from his pocket; "I'll add eight sous to make up Monin's bet. So I stake three francs forty, and you, my dear fellow, three francs ten. My neighbor is prudent, you see, and yet he is very rich, in very comfortable circumstances. His nest is well feathered, the rascal!"

"Then how can he propose to bet two sous?" said La Thomassinière; "it's beyond belief.--Ace, ace, and ace. You are robbed."

"What! does he admit that he has robbed us?" Monin asked his neighbor in an undertone.

"That means that we have lost.--Well, now for our revenge.--Aren't you betting, Madame Destival?"

"No, monsieur, I prefer to listen to the singing."

"Betting won't prevent you, madame; I don't lose a note while I am playing."

"Nor I," said La Thomassinière. "I am like Cato, I can easily do four things at once!"

"Haven't you any duets of Rossini's here, my dear?" inquired Athalie, running her fingers over the keys.

"Why, I don't know, but I think not."

"I think, madame, that I have had the pleasure of singing some of them with you here," said Dalville.

"Ah! you remember, do you, monsieur?"

"Here's a duet from _La Gazza_," said Athalie, after upsetting all the music on the piano; "let's try it, monsieur."

"Ace, and _passe carreau_!" cried Monsieur de la Thomassinière triumphantly, taking up the money that was on the table.

"What does _passe carreau_ mean?" Monin asked Destival in a whisper.

"It means that we have lost, as you see."

"I don't know the terms of the game. That makes four sous that I've lost already."

"Make your bet."

"Allow me to see what the weather is, first. Oh! it's still raining very hard. I am in the game."

"Monsieur is lucky!"

"And then, too, I am pretty good at this game!" said La Thomassinière, leaning back in his chair.

"I believe that I play it rather well too," rejoined Destival, biting his lips angrily.

"Be quiet, messieurs! we can't hear each other sing!" said the sprightly Athalie, while Auguste sang: "_Il certo il mio periglio_."

La Thomassinière beat time falsely with his foot, murmuring, to make believe that he understood Italian:

"Very pretty! exceedingly pretty! bravo! bravo! bravissimo!"

Whereupon Monin stooped and whispered to Destival:

"Does that mean that we have lost, too?"

"No, no! don't you hear them singing Italian? It's a duet by La Pie."[B]

[B] _Pie_ in French means magpie.

"Oho! it's by La Pie!" Monin repeated, rolling his eyes about and taking out his snuff-box. "How does it happen, neighbor, that a _pie_ writes a duet?"

"My dear Monin," said Destival testily, "please don't talk to me all the time; you see, you make me lose."

"What! I make you lose, although I am not playing?"

"Yes, yes, it confuses me. Bet again. I certainly am not a poor player, but when a person talks like that----"

"You see we've got a _pie_ at home that talks finely, and I wanted to know--That makes eight sous I've lost."

"And I sixteen francs!"

"Bah! what does that amount to, messieurs?" said La Thomassinière; "if you played for handfuls of gold as I do, it would be all very well; that's what you can call gambling! I am very sorry to waste my luck for such small stakes.--Bravo! bravissimo! _Certo pio pio piu! Atoussimo!_"

La Thomassinière insisted on mixing Italian into everything that he said, and Destival forced himself to smile, as he felt in his pockets; but his gayety was forced, and his smiles were grimaces. The two singers exchanged melting glances as they executed together roulades and flourishes, which they prolonged inordinately, and during which Madame Destival coughed impatiently in the hope of disturbing the harmony that was rapidly becoming established between them.

Suddenly the door of the salon was thrown open; a stout woman of fifty or thereabouts, wearing a straw hat whose brim barely overpassed her forehead and upon which nodded a wreath of faded roses, entered the room with the air of a person in a towering rage, holding an umbrella in one hand, and in the other a reticule large enough to hold a ten pound loaf of sugar. At sight of her Monin started back, lost his wits, upset his snuff-box, and acted as if he proposed to hide himself under the table.

"Ah! so you're here, are you, monsieur?" cried Madame Monin, for it was that lady in person who had entered the salon. "I find you gambling. I suspected as much. I wish you good-evening, neighbors. While it's thundering and a frightful storm is raging, monsieur sits here gambling instead of coming home to comfort me; and yet he knows how afraid I am of thunder storms! Excuse me, neighbor, for venturing to scold him before you, but you must agree that his conduct is unpardonable."

During this sermon, poor Monin, who had no idea what he was doing, staked a forty-sou piece instead of two sous, and stuffed his fingers into his snuff-box, in which there was nothing at all, stammering the while with a contrite air:

"How's your health, Bichette?"

"My health! a lot you worry about it, on my word! To leave me alone during the storm! Catherine had to keep me company under the quilt."

"It was the rain that----"

"As if a man should be afraid of the rain! for shame! You make me blush!"

Madame Destival did not like Madame Monin; but, being overjoyed by her arrival at that moment, she gave her a seat near the piano and overwhelmed her with attentions, to which Madame Monin replied by repeated curtsies, at the same time handing her husband the umbrella. He stepped forward to take it, and, forgetting that he was interested in the game, murmured so low that she could hardly hear him:

"Whenever you're ready, Bichette."

But Bichette, who was comfortably seated and was already beginning to criticise Madame de la Thomassinière, replied sharply:

"Now that I've come, do you think I propose to go right away again? That would be polite, wouldn't it? that would be worthy of you! I shall have the pleasure of chatting with my neighbor a minute, and listening to the music. I'm very fond of music."

"You sing, I believe--do you not, Madame Monin?" inquired Madame Destival eagerly.

"Oh! I used to sing; I had rather a good voice, too; but I've forgotten almost everything now except the duet from _Armide_: '_Aimons-nous! aimons-nous! tout nous y convie!_' That's so lovely! it will never grow old."

"I have the score of _Armide_; you must sing that for us with Monsieur Dalville."

"Oh! really, neighbor!"

"Do you hear the present that's to be given you?" whispered Athalie to Auguste.

"I am much obliged," replied Dalville; "upon my word, I don't know what I have done to Madame Destival to make her play such a trick on me."

"Don't be alarmed; if she forces you to sing the duet, I'll be your accompanist, and I promise you that three or four chords will be broken before the tenth measure."

"How good you are, and how deeply indebted I shall be to you!"

Monin, seeing that his wife had softened somewhat, made bold to say to her:

"You sing very nicely too that song about sheep: '_Margot filait tranquillement, ne pensant, ne rêvant qu'à son p'tit, p'tit, p'tit._'"

"Hush, monsieur, and attend to your game, as you're so fond of gambling. Is it piquet they're playing there?"

"No, Bichette, écarté."

"What? écarté? And how long have you known écarté, monsieur?"

"I don't know it, but I was just going to tell you, I'm betting on it."

"Ah! you're betting, are you? Well, I trust that you are modest at least, and don't play for big stakes?"

"Oh, no! never fear, Bichette!"

"You have lost your forty sous, Monsieur Monin!" exclaimed Destival at that moment, heaving a deep sigh.

"Forty sous!" shouted Madame Monin, jumping from her chair with a violence that made all the furniture in the room tremble; "what's that? Monsieur Monin betting forty sous! Why, that is horrible! For heaven's sake, neighbor, what did you give him to drink at dinner?--What is the meaning of such extravagance, Monsieur Monin? Have you gone crazy?"

"No, Bichette, it's a mistake; I assure you that I didn't bet but two sous."

"You put forty sous on the table, monsieur," said La Thomassinière, "and they're lost."

"I had won a lot, you see," whispered Monin to his wife; "that was just my winnings."

"You must admit that I am playing in hard luck," said Destival; "that makes seven times that I have been responsible for Monin's losing."

"Seven times, monsieur! have you bet seven times in succession?" cried Madame Monin, glaring at her husband with the expression of a cat about to pounce upon a mouse.

"Why, no, Bichette; you know perfectly well that I am incapable of such a thing!"

"Here's the duet from _Armide_," said Madame Destival; "come, Monsieur Dalville, sing it with madame."

"I don't know it," said Auguste.

"Nonsense! you are enough of a musician to sing it at sight."

"I'll prompt you in your passages, monsieur," said Madame Monin, removing her hat lest it should interfere with her voice.

Madame Monin began. Her voice was almost enough to set one's teeth on edge. Monin applauded every measure. Suddenly a chord broke. The vivacious Athalie ran her fingers over the keys and seemed excited by the fire with which she was playing. Soon a second chord broke, then a third, and it was impossible to go on. Athalie left her seat, saying:

"What a pity! it was going so well!"

"That's the disadvantage of your pianos," said Madame Monin testily, as she put on her shepherdess's hat; "Monsieur Monin's little flute's the thing; there's no danger of that ever breaking, at all events."

"Do you want me to go and get it, Bichette?"

"Upon my word, this is a pretty time of night to make such a suggestion! We must go home to bed, monsieur; that will be much better than your little flute."

Destival left the card-table, red as a turkey-cock.

"I can't stand it any longer!" he cried. "That makes twelve times that he has passed! I've lost at least forty francs!"

"Oh! how can anyone risk so much money?" said Madame Monin. "If you should ever lose forty francs, Monsieur Monin, I'd have a separation at once."

"Here's a fine to-do over a trifle!" said La Thomassinière, rising from his chair; "I'll stake it on a single hand to-morrow, at a notary's, who's a friend of mine. That's where they play écarté! The table is covered with gold and bank-notes! Ah! there's some fun in that! But otherwise écarté's a very stupid game.--Well! are we going to bed?"

"Go to bed, monsieur, who's preventing you?" said Athalie; "we don't need you."

"Faith, I am terribly sleepy."

"Baptiste will show you to your room, which is over this."

"And where is mine, my dear, if you please?" queried the petite-maîtresse, as her husband went up to bed without bidding anyone good-night, because it was bad form.

"Yours, my dear?" rejoined Madame Destival; "why, with your husband; we have only one room to offer you."

"What! can it be by any chance that you are going to make me sleep with him?"

"Why, of course."

"Oh! that is absurd! Such a thing never occurred to me. I never sleep with Monsieur de la Thomassinière. I have my own suite, as you know."

"For once, belle dame," said Destival, with a sly expression, "our dear husband will not complain."

"Mon Dieu! how amusing!" exclaimed Athalie, sulkily. Meanwhile, Madame Monin, who had succeeded at last in tucking up her dress and putting on her shawl, said to Madame Destival with a simper:

"For my part, I sleep with my husband, and I should just like to hear him mention a separate room! Ha! ha!"

"You know perfectly well, Bichette, that I have no desire to----"

"All right, Monsieur Monin, I know what I know.--Good-night, neighbors.--Well, monsieur, why don't you put on your cap? What sort of way is that to act?"

Monin was afraid that his wife would discover the hole in his cap. He finally decided to wear it over his left ear, so that the top would be less visible to the eyes of his better half. And Madame Monin led her spouse away, promising him that she would never again let him dine out without her, because he was not careful of himself at the table, and wine made him plunge into all sorts of extravagance.

When his neighbors had gone, Monsieur Destival admitted that the drilling had fatigued him terribly, and he speedily vanished.

The music had cemented the intimacy between Dalville and the brilliant Athalie. With those who are capable of enjoying the charms of harmony, there is nothing that brings two hearts together so quickly as a sweet or tender ditty, or a passage overladen with passion, which the performers often address to each other. Music is a very potent auxiliary in love; it stirs the emotions, it speaks to the soul. Thank heaven, almost all our ladies know how to play the piano now.

But Athalie rose, and Madame Destival escorted her to her apartment. Before going in, the petite-maîtresse laughingly said to her friend:

"My dear, I must tell you something in confidence: I believe I've made a conquest of Monsieur Dalville."

"Do you think so?"

"I am almost sure of it; he has been talking to me in that veiled way,--you know what I mean; and then he squeezed my hand very tenderly."

"I congratulate you!"

"Oh! you understand that I mean to have a little sport with him, that's all."

"But I must tell you frankly that the conquest is of little value, for he is a man who falls in love with every woman he sees.--Adieu, my dear, good-night."

"Until to-morrow, my love! I shall get up early for a walk in the fields."

"I will go with you, my dear."

The ladies parted. Madame Destival went down to the salon, but Dalville was no longer there; he too had retired. So madame did the same and summoned Julie to undress her.