"This is my small summer salon," said Madame Chambertin, modestly. "If I had known that I was to have the honor of entertaining monsieur le baron, I would have had my large winter salon thrown open, where three sets can dance a quadrille without interfering with one another."

"We have more room than we need, madame; and I should be very sorry to cause you any inconvenience; this salon is perfectly charming; everything here shows the touch of the G.o.ddess of this blest abode."

"Ah! monsieur le baron--to be sure, I did arrange it. My husband wanted to put another clock in this corner, but he can do without it."

"It would be very difficult not to know what time it is here."

"This is rather a tasty rug, don't you think? I have a still finer one in my winter salon. You must use them a great deal in Poland, monsieur le baron?"

"Oh! we have carpets six inches thick in Poland; you sink into them as you walk, just as you do into a feather-bed. I hope to have the honor of sending you a specimen."

"Oh! monsieur le baron!"

At that moment, Monsieur Chambertin appeared, with such guests as he had been able to collect in a hurry, to dine with a great n.o.ble at his table. He had found only four persons at liberty: a former village notary and his wife, who were just about to sit down to their own repast, when their neighbor rushed in, greatly excited, and told them of the acquaintances he had made, and that he was to have the honor of entertaining at his house the n.o.ble foreigner and the professor of belles-lettres.

At that news, followed by an invitation to dine with the great man, Monsieur Bidault--such was the ex-notary's name--summoned his maid, and said:

"Clear the table, Marianne; put the pate in the sideboard, the chicken in the pantry, and the fish in the cellar, and keep them all for to-morrow; we dine with my neighbor."

And Madame Bidault ran to her mirror, crying:

"Quick, Marianne! my gown with orange blossoms, my straw hat, my lace collerette; I can't appear in neglige before those gentlemen.--Aren't you going to dress, Monsieur Bidault?"

"Oh! I'll just put on my nut-brown coat, that's all.--Be sure that the fish is kept where it's cool, Marianne."

"Marianne, do fetch my dress."

Monsieur Chambertin hurried away to seek other guests, urging Monsieur and Madame Bidault not to be late. Poor Marianne, harried on every side, did not know which way to turn: she carried the straw hat to the cellar, and ran to her mistress with the platter of fish in her hand. At last, after twenty minutes of running hither and thither, the husband and wife were in condition to appear before the ill.u.s.trious stranger. Monsieur Bidault, who had taken to writing poetry since he gave up his office, looked forward with pleasure to a discussion of the poetic art with the man of letters; and Madame Bidault, who prided herself upon having more style than anyone else in the neighborhood, was enchanted to exhibit her _savoir vivre_ before a grand seigneur.

On leaving the Bidaults, Monsieur Chambertin went to the mayor's; but the mayor was in the fields overlooking his laborers, and would not return till evening. Then he hurried to the notary, Bidault's successor; but the notary was hunting, and his wife was in the midst of making preserves, which she could not leave.

But the time was getting short, so Chambertin had recourse to an ex-apothecary of Lyon, who had retired from business and bought a pleasant little house at Allevard. He was not a very distinguished individual to place before a palatine; but as there was no time to choose, he had to be content with what he could get; besides, Monsieur Fondant talked very little, so he was not likely to say foolish things.

So Chambertin burst in upon him, and, having no time to explain himself at length, said hurriedly:

"My dear Fondant, I have a n.o.ble palatine, from Poland, at my house; he's going to dine with me; I want you, come! and a man of letters, who's a h.e.l.lenist incognito. Make haste! they are distinguished men of the first rank; we dine in half an hour."

And he was gone. He thought that he might perhaps get his friend Frossard, the ironmaster, one of the richest landholders of the neighborhood. He hurried to his house and found him in the act of dining; he had already eaten his soup and beef, when Chambertin entered the dining-room, bathed in perspiration, and called to him from the doorway:

"Stop, Frossard, stop! not another mouthful!"

"What does this mean?" rejoined the ironmaster, holding his long knife in the air over a fat chicken he was preparing to carve; "not another mouthful! I fully expect to have a word to say to the thighs and wings; I won't leave anything but the carca.s.s."

"Stop, I tell you, my friend! you must come to dine with me."

"Not to-day; it's too late, as you see."

"You must."

"I have eaten a third of my dinner already."

"That won't make any difference."

"I am very much afraid it will."

"I have two n.o.blemen to dine with me, one a literary man."

"What do I care?"

"From Poland--Cracow--a baron--a scholar!"

"Well, what of it? that's no reason why I shouldn't eat my dinner."

"I want you to have the honor of dining with them."

"So long as I have a good dinner, my dear man, it matters little to me whether I dine with a baron or a miller."

"Come, come, Frossard, my friend, have a little more elevation in your ideas."

"My chicken is getting cold."

"You shall have some delicious hare _pique_ at my house; I also have a certain pate de foie gras, which has just been sent to me from Strasbourg."

"Ah! the traitor will succeed in tempting me."

"We will have some of my old pomard, and some of that Saint-Peray you're so fond of."

"It is impossible to resist you."

"Will you come?"

"Yes; but not for your n.o.blemen and your scholars; I don't know anything about them. I'll come for the hare and the pomard, which I know all about."

Monsieur Fondant was the first to arrive; but, being naturally timid, and more embarra.s.sed than usual at the thought of appearing before two strangers, whom he supposed to be princes from the few words his neighbor had let fall, the ex-apothecary remained in the reception-room adjoining the salon where Madame Chambertin was talking with her guests; lacking courage to present himself alone, he waited for the other guests to arrive, so that he might steal in behind them.

Monsieur and Madame Bidault came at last, and so did the corpulent Frossard. Monsieur Chambertin, who had been giving orders to his cook, hurried forward to greet his guests. He found Monsieur Fondant in the reception-room, and, throwing open the door of the salon, presented Madame Bidault to monsieur le baron. During the exchange of salutations between the ex-notary and his wife and our two travellers, Frossard, who did not stand so much on ceremony, pushed Fondant, who seemed inclined to remain in the reception-room, before him; and Madame Chambertin, having made her company welcome, disappeared to give a moment's attention to her toilet.

"Monsieur le baron," said Chambertin, "I have got together a few friends, who, like myself, are overjoyed to have----"

"Faith! my dear man," said Frossard, dropping into an easy-chair, and interrupting his host without ceremony, "you came just in time; if I had put my knife into the chicken, I wouldn't have left it."

"That dear Frossard must have his joke," said Monsieur Bidault, slapping the ironmaster's leg, while his better half sat very stiffly in a chair facing Dubourg, who, half reclining on a couch, resembled a sultan pa.s.sing his slaves in review; while Menard, at a little distance, admired the ironmaster's appearance of robust health and the respectful bearing of Monsieur Fondant, who had seated himself near a window so as to be almost hidden by the curtain.

"If I had known earlier that I was to entertain monsieur le baron," said Chambertin, "I would have arranged a little soiree musicale--a little party; but I flatter myself that I shall be better prepared another time."

"You confuse me, Monsieur de Chambertin. Really, I shall not be able to leave this part of the country; and yet we are expected at the court of Bulgaria--as you know, Monsieur Menard."

At these words, Madame Bidault drew herself up and pressed her lips together; Chambertin glanced at his neighbors with an expression that said: "What did I tell you?" while Monsieur Fondant disappeared altogether behind the hangings.