The fresh night air and repeated ablutions at the pump in the courtyardsoon got the better of that little indisposition, and when I betookmyself to the servants' quarters it had altogether disappeared. I founda large and merry party gathered around a _marquise_ of champagne, ofwhich all my nieces, in fine array, with fluffy hair and cravats of pinkribbon, took their full share, notwithstanding the fascinating littleshrieks and grimaces, which deceived no one. Naturally they were talkingabout the famous article, an article by Moessard, it seems, full ofshocking disclosures concerning all sorts of degrading occupations thatthe Nabob was engaged in fifteen or twenty years ago, at the time of hisfirst stay in Paris.
It was the third attack of that sort that the _Messager_ had publishedwithin a week, and that rascal Moessard was malicious enough to send acopy of each number under cover to Place Vendome.
M. Jansoulet received it in the morning with his chocolate; and at thesame hour his friends and his enemies--for a man like the Nabob cannotbe indifferent to anybody--read it and discussed it, and adopted a lineof conduct toward him calculated not to compromise themselves. Thatday's article must have been well loaded; for Jansoulet the coachmantold us that in the Bois his master did not exchange ten salutations inten circuits of the lake, whereas ordinarily his hat is not on his headany more than a sovereign's when out for a drive. And when they returnedhome it was much worse. The three boys had just reached the house, allin tears and frightened to death, brought home from Bourdaloue Collegeby a good Father in their own interest, poor little fellows; they hadbeen given temporary leave of absence so that they might not hear anyunkind remarks, any cruel allusions in the parlor or the courtyard.Thereupon the Nabob flew into a terrible rage, so that he demolished awhole porcelain service, and it seems that, if it had not been for M. deGery, he would have gone off on the instant to break Moessard's head.
"And he would have done quite right," said M. Noel, entering the room atthat moment; and he, too, was greatly excited. "There's not a singleword of truth in that villain's article. My master never came to Parisuntil last year. From Tunis to Marseille, and Marseille to Tunis, that'sall the travelling he did. But that scurvy journalist is taking hisrevenge on us for refusing him twenty thousand francs."
"You made a very great mistake in doing that," said M. Francis,Monpavon's Francis, valet to that old dandy, whose only tooth waggles inthe middle of his mouth whenever he says a word, but whom the youngladies look favorably upon all the same because of his fine manners."Yes, you made a mistake. It is necessary to know how to handle peoplecarefully, as long as they are able to serve or injure us. Your Nabobturned his back on his friends too suddenly after his success; and,between you and me, my dear boy, he isn't strong enough to return suchblows as that."
I thought I might venture to say a word.
"It's quite true, Monsieur Noel, that your master isn't the same sincehis election. He has adopted a very different tone and manners. Daybefore yesterday at the _Territoriale_, he made such a hullabaloo as youcan't imagine. I heard him shout in the middle of the council meeting:'You have lied to me, you have robbed me and made me as much of a thiefas yourselves. Show me your books, you pack of rascals!' If he treatedMoessard in that fashion, I don't wonder that he takes his revenge inhis newspaper."
"But what does the article say, anyway?" inquired M. Barreau; "who hasread it?"
No one answered. Several had tried to buy the paper; but in Parisanything scandalous sells like hot cakes. At ten o'clock in the morningthere was not a copy of the _Messager_ to be had on the street.Thereupon one of my nieces, a sly hussy if ever there was one, had thehappy thought of looking in the pocket of one of the numerous top-coatshanging in long rows against the walls of the dressing-room.
"Here you are!" said the merry creature triumphantly, drawing from thefirst pocket she searched a copy of the _Messager_, crumpled at thefolds as if it had been well read.
"And here's another!" cried Tom Bois-l'Hery, who was investigating onhis own account. A third top-coat, a third _Messager_. And so it waswith them all; buried in the depths of the pocket, or with its titlesticking out, the paper was everywhere, even as the article was certainto be in every mind; and we imagined the Nabob upstairs, exchangingamiable sentences with his guests, who could have recited to him wordfor word the horrible things printed concerning him. We all laughedheartily at the idea; but we were dying to know the contents of thatinteresting page.
"Here, Pere Passajon, read it aloud to us."
That was the general desire, and I complied with it.
I do not know if you are like me, but when I read aloud I gargle with myvoice, so to speak, I introduce inflections and flourishes, so that I donot understand a word of what I read, like those public singers to whomthe meaning of the words they sing is of little consequence providedthat the notes are all there. It was called "The Flower Boat." Adecidedly mixed-up story with Chinese names, relating to a very richmandarin, newly elevated to the first class, who had once kept a "flowerboat" moored on the outskirts of a town near a fortified gate frequentedby soldiers. At the last word of the article we knew no more than at thebeginning. To be sure, we tried to wink and to look very knowing; but,frankly, there was no ground for it. A genuine rebus without a key; andwe should still be staring at it, had not old Francis, who is the verydevil for his knowledge of all sorts of things, explained to us that thefortified gate with soldiers must mean the Ecole Militaire, and that the"flower boat" had not so pretty a name as that in good French. And hesaid the name aloud, despite the ladies. Such an explosion ofexclamations, of "Ahs!" and "Ohs!" some saying: "I expected as much,"others: "It isn't possible."
"I beg your pardon," added Francis, who was formerly a trumpeter in the9th Lancers, Mora's and Monpavon's regiment, "I beg your pardon. Twentyyears ago or more I was in barracks at the Ecole Militaire, and Iremember very well that there was near the barrier a dirty littledance-house called the Bal Jansoulet, with furnished rooms upstairs atfive sous the hour, to which we used to adjourn between dances."
"You're an infernal liar!" cried M. Noel, fairly beside himself; "asharper and liar like your master. Jansoulet never came to Paris untilthis time."
Francis was sitting a little outside of the circle we made around the"marquise," sipping something sweet, because champagne is bad for hisnerves, and besides, it is not a _chic_ enough drink for him. He rosesolemnly, without putting down his glass, and, walking up to M. Noel,said to him, quietly:
"You lack good form, my dear fellow. The other evening, at your ownhouse, I considered your manners very vulgar and unbecoming. It servesno purpose to insult people, especially as I'm a fencing-master, and, ifwe should carry the thing any farther, I could put two inches of coldsteel into your body at whatever point I chose; but I am a good sort offellow, and instead of a sword-thrust I prefer to give you some advicewhich your master will do well to profit by. This is what I would do ifI were in your place; I would hunt up Moessard and buy him withouthaggling over the price. Hemerlingue has given him twenty thousandfrancs to speak, I would offer him thirty thousand to hold his tongue."
"Never, never!" roared M. Noel. "Instead of that I will go and wring themiserable bandit's neck."
"You will wring nothing at all. Whether the story is true or false, youhave seen the effect of it to-night. That's a specimen of the pleasuresin store for you. What do you expect, my dear fellow? You have thrownaway your crutches and tried to walk alone too soon. That's all right ifyou're sure of yourself and firm on your legs; but when your footing isnot very good anyway, and in addition you are unlucky enough to haveHemerlingue at your heels, it's a bad business. And with it all yourmaster's beginning to be short of money; he has given notes to oldSchwalbach, and don't talk to me of a Nabob who gives notes. I am wellaware that you have heaps of millions over yonder in Tunis; but you willhave to have your election confirmed in order to get possession of them,and after a few more articles like the one to-day, I'll answer for itthat you won't succeed. You undertake to struggle with Paris, m
y boy,but you're not big enough, you know nothing about it. This isn't theOrient, and, although we don't wring the necks of people who offend us,or throw them into the water in leather bags, we have other ways ofputting them out of sight. Let your master beware, Noel. One of thesedays Paris will swallow him as I swallow this plum, without spitting outthe stone or the skin!"
Really the old man was most imposing, and, notwithstanding the paint onhis face, I began to feel some respect for him. While he was speaking weheard the music overhead, the singing provided for the entertainment ofthe guests, and out on the square the horses of the municipal guardsshaking their curb-chains. Our party must have been a very brilliantaffair from outside, with the myriads of candles and the illuminateddoorway. And when one thinks of the ruin that perhaps was beneath itall! We stood there in the vestibule like rats taking council togetherin the hold, when the vessel is beginning to take in water without thecrew suspecting it, and I saw plainly enough that everybody, footmen andlady's maids, would soon scamper away at the first alarm. Can it be thatsuch a catastrophe is possible? But in that case, what would become ofme and the _Territoriale_, and my advances and my back pay?
That Francis left me with cold shivers running down my back.