"It isn't always pleasant," remarked the wine-man; "and the best evidence is, that the son, M. Maxence, got tired of it."
"He does not live with his parents any more?"
"He dines with them; but he has his own lodgings on the Boulevard du Temple. The falling-out made talk enough at the time; and some people do say that M. Maxence is a worthless scamp, who leads a very dissipated life; but I say that his father kept him too close. The boy is twenty-five, quite good looking, and has a very stylish mistress: I have seen her....I would have done just as he did."
"And what about the daughter, Mme. Gilberte?"
"She is not married yet, although she is past twenty, and pretty as a rosebud. After the war, her father tried to make her marry a stock-broker, a stylish man who always came in a two-horse carriage; but she refused him outright. I should not be a bit surprised to hear that she has some love-affair of her own. I have noticed lately a young gentleman about here who looks up quite suspiciously when he goes by No. 38." The servant did not seem to find these particulars very interesting.
"It's the lady," he said, "that my cousin would like to know most about."
"Naturally. Well, you can safely tell her that she never will have had a better mistress. Poor Madame Favoral! She must have had a sweet time of it with her maniac of a husband! But she is not young any more; and people get accustomed to every thing, you know. The days when the weather is fine, I see her going by with her daughter to the Place Royale for a walk. That's about their only amusement."
"The mischief!" said the servant, laughing. "If that is all, she won't ruin her husband, will she?"
"That is all," continued the shop-keeper, "or rather, excuse me, no: every Saturday, for many years, M. and Mme. Favoral receive a few of their friends: M. and Mme. Desclavettes, retired dealers in bronzes, Rue Turenne; M. Chapelain, the old lawyer from the Rue St.
Antoine, whose daughter is Mlle. Gilberte's particular friend; M.
Desormeaux, head clerk in the Department of Justice.; and three or four others; and as this just happens to be Saturday"
But here he stopped short, and pointing towards the street.
"Quick," said he, "look! Speaking of the - you know - It is twenty minutes past five, there is M. Favoral coming home."
It was, in fact, the cashier of the Mutual Credit Society, looking very much indeed as the shop-keeper had described him. Walking with his head down, he seemed to be seeking upon the pavement the very spot upon which he had set his foot in the morning, that he might set it back again there in the evening.
With the same methodical step, he reached his house, walked up the two pairs of stairs, and, taking out his pass-key, opened the door of his apartment.
The dwelling was fit for the man; and every thing from the very hall, betrayed his peculiarities. There, evidently, every piece of furniture must have its invariable place, every object its irrevocable shelf or hook. All around were evidences, if not exactly of poverty, at least of small means, and of the artifices of a respectable economy. Cleanliness was carried to its utmost limits: every thing shone. Not a detail but betrayed the industrious hand of the housekeeper, struggling to defend her furniture against the ravages of time. The velvet on the chairs was darned at the angles as with the needle of a fairy. Stitches of new worsted showed through the faded designs on the hearth-rugs. The curtains had been turned so as to display their least worn side.
All the guests enumerated by the shop-keeper, and a few others besides, were in the parlor when M. Favoral came in. But, instead of returning their greeting:
"Where is Maxence?" he inquired.
"I am expecting him, my dear," said Mme. Favoral gently.
"Always behind time," he scolded. "It is too trifling."
His daughter, Mlle. Gilberte, interrupted him:
"Where is my bouquet, father?" she asked.
M. Favoral stopped short, struck his forehead, and with the accent of a man who reveals something incredible, prodigious, unheard of, "Forgotten," he answered, scanning the syllables: "I have for-got-ten it."
It was a fact. Every Saturday, on his way home, he was in the habit of stopping at the old woman's shop in front of the Church of St.
Louis, and buying a bouquet for Mlle. Gilberte. And to-day...
"Ah! I catch you this time, father!" exclaimed the girl.
Meantime, Mme. Favoral, whispering to Mme. Desclavettes:
"Positively," she said in a troubled voice, "something serious must have happened to - my husband. He to forget! He to fail in one of his habits! It is the first time in twenty-six years."
The appearance of Maxence at this moment prevented her from going on.
M. Favoral was about to administer a sound reprimand to his son, when dinner was announced.
"Come," exclaimed M. Chapelain, the old lawyer, the conciliating man par excellence, - "come, let us to the table."
They sat down. But Mme. Favoral had scarcely helped the soup, when the bell rang violently. Almost at the same moment the servant appeared, and announced:
"The Baron de Thaller!"
More pale than his napkin, the cashier stood up. "The manager," he stammered, "the director of the Mutual Credit Society."
