I considered this extremely diplomatic.

Turning to the man at the mantelpiece, he said, "Grousset, do you think we ought to allow the _citoyenne_ to leave Paris?"

Grousset (the man addressed) stepped forward and looked at Mr. Washburn's card, saying something in an undertone to Rigault, which caused him instantly to change his manner toward me (I don't know which was worse, his overbearing or his fawning manner).

"You must forgive me," he said, "if I linger over your visit here. We don't often have such luck, do we, Grousset?"

I thought I should faint!

Probably the man Grousset noticed my emotion, for he came to my rescue and said, politely, "Madame Moulton, j'ai eu l'honneur de vous voir a un bal a l'Hotel de Ville l'annee derniere."

I looked up with surprise. He was a very handsome fellow, and I remembered quite well having seen him somewhere; but did not remember where. I was happy indeed to find any one who knew me and could vouch for me, and told him so. He smiled. "I venture to present myself to you, Madame. I am Pascal Grousset. Can I be of any service to you?"

"Indeed you can," I answered, eagerly. "Please tell Monsieur Rigault to give me my pa.s.sport; it seems to have been a colossal undertaking to get it." I preferred the _Pascal_ G. to the _Rascal_ R.

Grousset and Rigault had a little conversation together, and presto! my longed-for pa.s.sport lay before me to sign. No Elsa ever welcomed her Lohengrin coming out of the clouds as I did my Lohengrin coming from the mantelpiece.

I signed my name quickly enough; Rigault put the official seal on it, and, rising from his chair, politely handed it to me.

Before taking my leave of the now over-polite Prefect, I asked him how much there was to pay.

He courteously replied, "Rien, absolument rien," and added he was glad to be of any service to me; and if there was anything more he could do, I had only to command.

I did not say that I thought he had done enough for one day, but I bowed him good-by and turned to go out.

Mr. Pascal Grousset offered me his arm, begging to take me to my carriage.

The gendarmes threw open doors, and we retraced our steps through all the different rooms until we reached the one where I had left Mademoiselle W----, whom I expected to find waiting for me in agonizing anxiety.

But what did I see?

Mademoiselle sound asleep on the bench, bag, smile, and all, gazed at and guarded by the dreaded soldiers.

"I am afraid," said Pascal Grousset, "that you have been greatly annoyed this morning. Your interview with the Prefect must have been most painful to you!"

"I confess," I said, "it has never been my fate to have been placed in just such a situation, and I thank you, _de tout mon coeur_, for your a.s.sistance. You certainly saved my life, for I doubt if I could have lived another moment in that room."

"Perhaps more than your life, Madame; more than you imagine, at any rate."

As he put us in the carriage, he looked puzzled when he saw _le mari_ I had said was waiting for me; but a smile of comprehension swept over his face as he met my guilty glance. He apparently understood my reasons.

On reaching home, tired, exhausted, and oh! so hungry, we found Mr.

Washburn. He and Mr. Moulton had been very anxious about me, picturing to themselves all sorts of horrors, and when I told them what really had happened they felt that their anxieties had not been far from the truth.

Mr. Washburn laughed at the subterfuges I had used and the lie I had told.

They examined my pa.s.sport as a great curiosity, and noticed it had _Valable pour un an_.

Mr. Washburn said, "Evidently they intend this sort of thing to go on forever."

_23d of April._

Mrs. Moulton has decided to leave for Dinard, and starts the day after to- morrow.

We have been a.s.sured that the train would make connections as far at least as Rennes; beyond that no one could tell whether they went regularly or not.

Mrs. Moulton had procured a red _billet de circulation_ with a date, a white one without a date, Mr. Washburn's card, and different pa.s.ses. She was certainly well prepared for any emergency. As there was only one day train, she was obliged to take that (it left al seven o'clock A.M.).

A desire to see some of her friends before her departure spurred Mrs.

Moulton to invite them to dinner. Our friends are now so few and far between that it is not difficult to know whom to choose or where to find them.

The result was a miscellaneous company, as you will see: Mr. Washburn, Auber, Ma.s.senet, Beaumont, and Delsarte. Our family consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Moulton, Henry, Mademoiselle Wissembourg, and myself.

Mrs. Moulton asked Henry to bring with him some green peas from Pet.i.t Val to eke out the chef's meager menu.

With the aid of a friendly officer, Henry managed to pick a "whole bushel"

(he always exaggerates), which, with his toilet articles, completely filled his large _sac de voyage_. Besides this, he had a portmanteau with his evening attire, and a package which Count Arco wished to send to Paris.

Count Arco ordered out the "ancient and honorable relic" of our landau (the same I had used on the famous 18th of March) and the artillery horses, with their heavy dragoons, in order to deposit Henry and his bags at the pontoon bridge, where a man was found to take them as far as the station.

To divert himself while tramping along with his _sac de voyage_, Henry sh.e.l.led the peas, casting the pods behind him, after the manner of Tom Thumb, never dreaming that the peas thus left to chum familiarly with his toilet things might suffer from the contact and get a new flavor. He was surprised to see how the "bushel" had diminished in volume since it started.

Mrs. Moulton had promised to send the carriage to meet _l'envoi extraordinaire_; but Henry, finding none, started to walk toward home, followed by a porter carrying his extra baggage.

What was Henry's astonishment at seeing Louis drive out of the Hotel de Ville with two strange men in the coupe. Henry hailed Louis, who, though scared out of his wits, pulled up obediently, disregarding the angry voices from inside. Henry opened the door and addressed the strangers politely, "Messieurs, this is my carriage; I beg you to alight."

"Par exemple!" cried the two, in chorus. "Who are you?"

"I happen to be the proprietor of the carriage," replied Henry, a.s.suming an important air, "and if you decline to leave it I shall call the Sergent de Ville." Then turning to the porter, he told him to put the bags in the coupe, which he did.

"Ha, ha!" laughed the two men. "_Faites ca, mon bon!_ that would be amusing. Do you know who we are?"

Henry did not, and said he was not particularly anxious to know.

"This is Monsieur Felix Pyat, and I am his secretary. Here is a _bon_ for your carriage," handing Henry the card.

"Well," said Henry, pulling out his card, "here is my card, here are my pa.s.ses, and here [pointing to Louis] is my coachman!"

Felix Pyat said, "How do we know that this is your carriage?"

Henry acknowledged that at the moment he looked so little like the owner of anything except the bag, in which the peas were rattling like bullets, that he forgave the doubt.

Louis was called from the box and the question was put to him. In ordinary moments Louis would have mumbled and stuttered hopelessly; but he seemed to have been given overwhelming strength on this occasion, and surprised Henry by confirming his words with an unction worthy of the great Solomon himself. He waved his whip aloft, pointed to Henry, and putting his hand on his heart (which I am sure was going at a tremendous pace) said, "I swear that this is my master!"

No one but a Communard could have doubted him; but Felix Pyat no more believed Louis's oath than he did Henry's doc.u.ments.

"_Bien_," said Pyat; "if it is true that you live in the Rue de Courcelles, we will leave you there and continue on our way."

Now followed the most spirited altercation, all talking at once, Henry trying to get in the coupe, and the others refusing to get out.