"Oh! in that case, I've no sympathy for you. What an absurd idea it is for women to wear their hair so long!"

Monsieur Mirotaine pa.s.sed his time offering everybody water. Monsieur Calle was the only man who accepted it, the result being that the host looked kindly upon him. Young Artaban, who had been very quiet thus far, began to toss his knife and fork in the air, to the great displeasure of Madame Trichon, who said to him:

"That's not the way to behave in company, my boy; at the table you should sit very still, and not play with the knives and forks."

Monsieur Brid'oison, who admired his son's skill, answered for him:

"Artaban isn't playing, madame; he is juggling at this moment like the East Indians; they call it juggling. They have b.a.l.l.s which they toss in the air with great dexterity; having no b.a.l.l.s, Artaban uses his knife and fork; it's harder, and more dangerous. But don't be alarmed; Artaban is too skilful to hurt himself."

"That may be, but he'll hurt me! he'll throw his fork in my face, and the chair was quite enough for me!"

"But, madame, I will answer for my son. He's as light-fingered as a monkey!"

Monsieur Brid'oison had hardly finished the sentence, when the fork, badly aimed by Artaban, struck Madame Trichon on the chin, just on a level with her teeth. She gave a loud shriek and sprang to her feet in a rage.

"It's outrageous! it's shameful!" she cried; "he has sworn to disfigure me! I insist on sitting at a small table; I will not sit by this little blackguard any longer!"

Monsieur Brid'oison turned scarlet when he heard his son called a blackguard; he mumbled something between his teeth, which, luckily, was drowned by the crash of several plates which the maid dropped, thereby driving Monsieur Mirotaine to despair. Meanwhile, at a sign from Aldegonde, Monsieur Calle had risen and changed seats with Madame Trichon. Thereupon peace was restored, albeit Monsieur Brid'oison continued to mutter:

"Blackguard! call my son Artaban a blackguard! If that woman was a man, she'd have had to give me satisfaction for that!"

The two bottles of Chateau-Leoville were brought, and Dodichet, having tasted it, exclaimed with the liveliest satisfaction:

"Good! this can fairly be called wine; and it's delicious, too! an intoxicating bouquet!"

"Will you have some water in it?" said Monsieur Mirotaine, offering him a carafe.

"Water in such wine as this? why, it would be downright profanation! I most earnestly hope that no one will think of spoiling it with water.--Miflores, my dear count, just taste this wine! It will make you eloquent."

"If it does make him eloquent, it will surprise me greatly," said Monsieur Brid'oison to Calle, who was ogling Aldegonde, who was scrutinizing Miflores, who was gazing in admiration at his br.i.m.m.i.n.g gla.s.s.

"How they do eat and drink!" thought Monsieur Mirotaine, stifling a sigh; "but I don't see that this supposed marrying man tries to get acquainted with my daughter. To make up for it, the commission merchant in sugar is very loquacious; he impresses me more or less as a _blagueur_. Mon Dieu! suppose that my dinner is thrown away!"

Dodichet kept the claret in circulation, but was always careful to help himself first. Monsieur Miflores succeeded at last in saying:

"Yes, it's a very good wine."

Calle outdid all the rest by exclaiming:

"This wine is perfect nectar!"

The two bottles were soon emptied.

"Give us some more, Monsieur Mirotaine," said Dodichet; "you see how we honor it."

"I haven't any more," Mirotaine replied, "those were my last two bottles."

"Oh! what a pity!"

"But you will have some champagne in a moment."

"If it's as good in its way as the claret, it will be ambrosia."

The champagne arrived with a _creme a la vanille_, which Goth proudly placed on the table.

"Ah! now for the sweets!" cried Dodichet.

"It's a _creme a la vanille_," said Aldegonde.

Whereupon Miflores spoke for the second time.

"So much the better!" he cried.

"He has spoken!" said Madame Putiphar.

"Yes, but not to Juliette."

"That will come with the champagne, no doubt."

Aldegonde served everybody with cream, and everybody made haste to taste it; but, in a moment, exclamations rose on all sides:

"Bah! what on earth is this?"

"What an extraordinary taste!"

"Mon Dieu! how nasty it is!"

"In the first place, it isn't sweetened at all!"

"If that was all! But the taste and the smell! I know that taste, but I can't remember what it is."

Aldegonde summoned the cook, who appeared at once.

"What did you put in your cream, Goth? it has a most peculiar taste."

"I put in what I always do, madame: milk, whites of eggs, a little of vanilla--I didn't have much of that to put in, my word!"

"And sugar?"

"Yes, the candied sugar monsieur gave me wrapped up in paper; I put it all in."

"Ah! I know what it smells of!" cried Dodichet; "it's camphor; your cream is flavored with camphor!"

"What does this mean, Monsieur Mirotaine?" said Aldegonde, looking sternly at her husband; "was it camphor you gave Goth, instead of sugar?"

"If it was, I must have taken the wrong package," said Mirotaine, slightly embarra.s.sed. "As a matter of fact, I have several packages of camphor in my desk--and I must have mixed them with the sugar."

"There is no further doubt, monsieur, that it was camphor you gave the servant."