The Milkmaid of Montfermeil is a Webnovel created by Charles Paul de Kock.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
“Thief!” retorted Baptiste, glaring at Monsieur Destival with a furious expression; “don’t you dare to insult me–that wouldn’t be good for you!
I must be mighty good-natured to stay in your old shanty, where the servants don’t get anything to eat or drink! And what about my wages for two years, that I can’t get hold of a sou of! to say nothing of the money I’ve advanced.”
“All right, Baptiste, hush!” said Monsieur Destival in a lower tone; “that’s enough, I won’t say any more.”
“But I tell you that I’m tired of it,” rejoined Baptiste, shouting louder than ever. “Oh, yes! you hire a black man and you don’t pay me any more’n you do the baker and butcher and fruit woman and grocer, whose abuse I have to listen to every morning! Well! I want my money, and if you don’t like it, I don’t care a hang; with all the airs you put on, I know what’s what.”
“Hush, for heaven’s sake, Baptiste! What’s the meaning of all this foolish talk? Come, my boy, eat another biscuit, and then go to bed.”
Baptiste’s shouting had attracted several persons from the salon.
“What is it? what’s the matter?” they asked one another; and Destival made haste to reply:
“It’s nothing; my valet is drunk and doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
“No, I ain’t drunk either,” cried Baptiste, walking toward the door; “pay me my wages instead of calling me ‘thief.'”
Destival hastily closed the door on Baptiste’s heels and locked it.
“The poor fellow,” he said, “talks like a fool when he’s drunk; but I overlook it, because he’s very much attached to me.”
The people who had come thither pretended to believe what Monsieur Destival said, because it would have been discourteous to do otherwise; but they exchanged stealthy glances, laughed and whispered together, and made comments under their breath, while Baptiste, unable to return to the room, beat a devil’s tattoo on the door, shouting in a hoa.r.s.e voice:
“My wages! pay me and discharge me; that’s just what I’d like! I get tired of hearing the row your creditors make every day.”
Luckily the closed door m.u.f.fled Baptiste’s voice to some extent; and, in order that he might be heard even less distinctly, the business agent shouted louder than he:
“All right, Baptiste, all right! You’ll be sorry for this, but I forgive you; I know that you’re faithful, and that’s enough for me.”
Meanwhile Monin had seen his last hope fade away; for it was not to be presumed that the servants would bring more punch to the salon; so he returned to his wife. The guests were discussing the scene in the reception-room, even in the midst of their innocent games; and Madame Monin exclaimed:
“Mon Dieu! if I hadn’t been presenting my _little box of amourettes_ at that moment, I shouldn’t have lost a word of what that Baptiste said.
But you were there, Monsieur Monin, and heard everything. What happened?”
“I was watching for the negro to get some punch, Bichette, and it was he who drank it.”
“Who’s he?”
“The black.”
“Who’s the black?”
“The servant in a red jacket.”
“Well?”
“Well, then he took macaroons–No, I believe it was the other one who ate biscuits first–I am not perfectly sure.”
“Oh! you tell a story wretchedly, Monsieur Monin! Instead of listening to what was said, you were engrossed by biscuit and macaroons. For shame! you are such a glutton! You go into company only to drink and eat.”
“But, Bichette, when I tell you that I didn’t—-“
“Bah! hold your tongue and find my shawl; everyone’s going, you see.”
In truth, the time for departure had arrived, and the mammas had already donned their bonnets and shawls. The younger women took more time to find their wraps, and some obliging young man was always at hand to offer to help a pretty girl to find what she wanted. They still had something to say to one another before separating, and they chose to take advantage of the confusion that prevailed in the salon at that moment.
Dalville had heard nothing of the scene in the reception room, being occupied in kissing _what was beneath the candlestick_, which he had taken pains to place over the head of a very attractive young woman; so that he gave little thought to what was happening elsewhere. And Madame de la Thoma.s.siniere, intent only upon making new victims, had not listened to the unkind remarks concerning the host and hostess that were flying about in all directions.
Soon the salon was nearly empty. The ladies took their leave and Auguste did likewise, well pleased that he had pa.s.sed the evening without playing ecarte, and to have discovered that one can enjoy oneself without losing money. When he reached home he went upstairs and rang, but no one opened the door. As Bertrand usually sat up for his master, little Tony seldom carried a key. Having rung again with no better success, Auguste reflected that Bertrand, whom he had told to go out and enjoy himself, might very well not have returned; so he sent Tony to inquire of the concierge and he remained on the landing, thinking that a few days earlier he would readily have found a place to pa.s.s the night without leaving the house.
His neighbor, who had probably heard him come upstairs and ring, donned a peignoir and left her room, candle in hand. She went down one flight and saw her neighbor calmly pacing the floor of the landing. She descended a few more stairs, coughed slightly, and decided at last to go down to him. A pretty woman is very seductive in a peignoir, with her hair loosely secured by a silk handkerchief, from beneath which a few stray locks escape and fall upon a white breast, which the peignoir never conceals altogether, because there are always one or two ill-placed pins, which betray the secrets of beauty, or, perhaps, act as its confederates.
“Can’t you get in, Monsieur Dalville?” asked Madame Saint-Edmond, in the soft voice which she could a.s.sume so readily when she was not left behind with a bill to pay.
Auguste bowed low to his neighbor and replied coldly:
“As you see, madame.”
“Monsieur Bertrand must have forgotten himself somewhere. Perhaps something has happened to him.”
“I trust not.”
“That would be a great pity! such a fine fellow, and so fond of you!”
Leonie heaved a profound sigh and said nothing more. Auguste leaned over the rail to see if Tony were coming up. Leonie, finding that Auguste said nothing more, decided to reopen the conversation.
“Perhaps you would like to sit in my room, monsieur, until you can get in? I should think that you would be more comfortable than on this landing.”
“I thank you, madame, but I do not wish to disturb you or to interfere with your sleep.”
“It won’t disturb me, monsieur. As for my sleep, for several days I haven’t slept at all.”
“Is it because you have lost your poodle again, madame?”
“How unkind! How you make fun of my grief!”
Leonie heaved a more profound sigh than before, and as she had no handkerchief, she lifted a corner of her peignoir and put it to her eyes. That movement discovered some very seductive things; but when one is weeping, one cannot think of everything, and when one’s eyes are covered, one cannot see what one has disclosed.
Auguste, distrusting his weakness, continued to lean over the rail, and did not take his eyes from the concierge’s door.
“Well, Tony, are you coming back to-night?” he cried.
Leonie walked to where he stood and said in a touching voice:
“Mon Dieu! what on earth have I done to you, monsieur?”
“What have you done to me, madame? Why, it seems to me that you know quite as well as I do.”
“Oh! monsieur, how can an intelligent man trust appearances?”