The Milkmaid of Montfermeil Part 11

[A] French _poste_; when used alone the meaning is ambiguous and depends on the context. Hence the misunderstanding.

"Do you mean a donkey post?" asked Monin.

"No, for letters, of course!"

"Oh, yes! on the second street. By the way, I believe--I won't say for sure, but I'll tell you----"

"I'll go there at once; I shall be in time."

And Monsieur de la Thoma.s.siniere rushed from the room as if he would overturn everybody, paying no heed to Destival, who shouted after him:

"Stay here; I'll send it for you. Besides, your own servants are here."

The speculator darted out across the fields, and having reached a dense thicket, lay down on the gra.s.s and went to sleep, saying to himself:

"A man like me must never have a moment to himself."

The ladies returned to the salon. Monsieur Destival went down to Bertrand, and Monin, seeing that everybody had left the table, concluded to do likewise and followed his host.

As soon as Bertrand had taken some refreshment, Monsieur Destival went to him and begged him to give him a lesson in drilling and giving orders. The ex-corporal was very willing to do anything that recalled glorious memories. He repaired with Monsieur Destival to the terrace in the garden, where the latter had his rifle brought to him, and a foil which he used as a sword, and stood as straight as a ramrod as he carried out Bertrand's orders. Monin, who had followed them, thought that it was courteous to do as his host did; he took a spade in lieu of a musket, and, standing behind his neighbor, followed him through "right shoulder," "left shoulder," "present arms," etc., pausing only to use his snuff-box.

For more than an hour the gentlemen had been on the terrace with Bertrand, who would gladly have pa.s.sed the day in such a pleasant occupation. Monsieur Destival, ambitious to outs.h.i.+ne the rural constables, began to carry himself like a Prussian grenadier; and Monin, perspiring profusely in his efforts to do as well as his host, did not notice that, while taking aim, presenting arms and grounding arms with his sword, he had pushed back his cap and wig, thereby giving himself a most swaggering appearance.

The drill was interrupted by roars of laughter from the effervescent Athalie, who appeared on the scene with Madame Destival.

Monsieur Monin paused in the act of presenting arms. It was high time; a moment more and the wig would have fallen back and have exhibited the ex-druggist as the Child-Jesus. As for Monsieur Destival, he turned toward the ladies, with a martial air, weapon in hand, and said:

"Well, what do you think of my set-up?"

"Superb! But I prefer monsieur here with his spade; he is more amusing."

"What, neighbor, are you taking a lesson in the manual?"

"Yes," replied Monin, wiping his brow and pulling his wig forward; "I followed you at a distance, and I'll tell you----"

"But what can have become of Monsieur Dalville?" said Madame Destival, paying no attention to Monin; "he left you on the road, he said that he would be here as soon as you, and you have been here two hours. At whose house did you leave him, Bertrand?"

"At whose house, madame? I didn't say that I left him at anyone's house."

"But you must have seen him go into a house, didn't you? Of course you didn't leave him on the highroad?"

"Excuse me, madame, but that's just what I did: I left my lieutenant in the middle of the road, about half a league from here."

"You do not tell the whole story, Bertrand: Monsieur Auguste wasn't alone on the road, I fancy."

"I didn't see whether anybody was coming, madame."

"Oh! there must have been some peasant girl there, some rustic beauty, who captivated Monsieur Dalville!"

"What do you mean, my dear? Does he consort with that kind?" inquired the pet.i.te-maitresse disdainfully.

"He consorts with all kinds, my dear. Bless my soul, a scullery maid, if she has a little turned-up nose, a----"

"Oh dear! oh dear! this goes far to destroy the good opinion I had formed of this gentleman."

"I tell you," said Madame Destival in a lower tone, drawing nearer to her friend, "he's a perfect libertine! If it weren't for my husband, I should never receive him. He's a man whose acquaintance is likely to endanger a woman's reputation. But Monsieur Destival is daft over him.

He absolutely insists on entertaining him, and is forever inviting him here. I don't like quarrels, and I let my husband do what he chooses."

"Well, I am not so obliging; I do only what I like, and I receive only those people who suit me. Ah! if Monsieur de la Thoma.s.siniere should try to thwart me, I should instantly become subject to hysterics."

The ladies were about to return to the garden and Bertrand to continue his lesson in drilling, when they heard loud laughter in the courtyard, and in a moment Dalville made his appearance.

"Ah! good-day, my dear friend," said Monsieur Destival, going to meet Auguste, rifle in hand; "we had about given you up. Shoulder arms, eh?

Isn't this about right?"

"I see that Bertrand will make something of you."

"Here is my wife, who has been in a temper because you didn't come."

"Mon Dieu! how my husband does irritate me!" said Madame Destival to her neighbor, a.s.suming a frigid air to welcome Auguste, who said to her:

"What, madame! have you been so kind as to be uneasy because of my non-appearance?"

"I have not said a word of that sort, monsieur. I cannot conceive why Monsieur Destival delights in crediting me with statements the thought of which I do not even entertain. I simply considered that when a person promised to arrive in time for luncheon, it was ridiculous to put in an appearance at the end of the day. However, I am not at all surprised, and--But, bless my soul! what on earth has happened to you, monsieur?

What a plight you are in! A wound in the face--clothes all disarranged--It would seem that you have had some thrilling adventure."

"In truth, madame," said Auguste, bowing to Athalie, who returned his salutation with a simpering air, "I did have an encounter----"

"Perhaps he met the wolf," suggested Monin, walking up to Destival; "it seems that there is one in the woods. The peasant woman who sold my wife her cuc.u.mbers told her that the other day----"

"Can it be that you have been fighting with a wolf, my gallant Dalville?" cried Destival, presenting his bayonet to the company as if he proposed to charge a hollow square.

"Oh, no!" said madame, with a sly smile, "it was no wolf that made that mark on monsieur's face; it looks like something entirely different; don't you think so, my dear love?"

"That looks to me exactly like the scratch of a finger-nail," said Athalie the vivacious, looking very closely at Auguste; "isn't it that, monsieur?"

"You are not mistaken, madame."

"So you have been fighting, have you, monsieur?" said Madame Destival.

"No, madame, I simply met a very pretty little boy, who had broken the bowl in which he was carrying soup to his father. I gave him a piece of money to console him; at that, in his joy he embraced me; he patted my cheeks with his little hands, and he--he accidentally scratched me a little. That is a faithful account of my adventure, mesdames."

Madame Destival bit her lip and glanced at her companion, who smiled. It was evident that they both doubted the truth of Dalville's story; but he cared very little what they might think. Taking advantage of this brief pause in the conversation, Monin went to Auguste, whom he had met twice at his neighbor's and said to him in the most amiable manner:

"How's your health?"

"Very good, Monsieur Monin, except for this scratch, which is not dangerous."