The Milkmaid of Montfermeil Part 52

"What struck that party?" said Mere Thomas, staring at the lady in the cap. "Is she going to faint too? What's she making faces at me for, with that tail of a kite on her head?"

"Mother, I implore you!" said La Thoma.s.siniere, moving his feet frantically.

"Down! down, I say! there's dogs under the table, boy. Here's two or three on 'em running atween my legs. Tell someone to give 'em something to eat, so they'll leave us alone. Give me a drink! Who's going to fill my gla.s.s? you, old boy?"

It was the marquis to whom this question was addressed; he took a decanter of madeira that stood before him and filled the gla.s.s of his neighbor, who always refused to drink without touching gla.s.ses.

"What's this yellow wine, my boy?"

"Madeira, madame."

"Pretty good, eh?"

"Perfect! it's the best I ever drank."

"Here's your health then, my buck; and yours, old fox!"

The last remark was addressed to Madame Thomas's left hand neighbor, an old chevalier, with his hair curled and powdered in the style in vogue during the Regency, who seemed extremely ill-pleased to be seated beside Monsieur de la Thoma.s.siniere's mother. He turned his head whenever she looked at him, and did not answer when she spoke to him. This time Madame Thomas held her gla.s.s over the old fellow's plate, so that it was impossible for him to avoid replying, and he muttered disdainfully:

"I don't drink, madame."

"Ah! you don't drink, don't you, old bean-pole? Well then, you can go without, that's all. You needn't put on so many airs; you look as pleasant as a bad clove!--Your health, my son, and yours, messieurs, mesdames, and the whole company; and yours, too, you green monkey, as didn't want to let me in."

This compliment was aimed at Lafleur. Monsieur de la Thoma.s.siniere beat his brow in despair, while the marquis repeated till he was hoa.r.s.e:

"Excellent! excellent! The old patriarchal custom--to drink everybody's health. Noah's children always touched one another's gla.s.ses."

Madame Thomas tossed off the gla.s.s of madeira at a swallow; but when she had drunk it, she made a wry face and glared at the marquis, crying:

"G.o.d! what vile stuff your madeira is! Bah! it tastes like a donkey's water right in your mouth, my children!"

All the ladies cried out and hid their faces behind their napkins. The men laughed; and Madame Thomas, who saw nothing unnatural in what she had said and thought that they shared her amus.e.m.e.nt, caused her gla.s.s to be filled with another kind of wine; while her son sank back in his chair, muttering:

"I am a ruined man!"

The more Madame Thomas drank, the more loquacious she became. In vain did the marquis fill her plate, and Monsieur de la Thoma.s.siniere call to his servants: "Serve monsieur! Remove madame's plate!" the stout old lady's voice soared above those of all her fas.h.i.+onable neighbors, for people of fas.h.i.+on are not in the habit of speaking loud.

The old gentleman with the pigeon's wings, whom Madame Thomas had called a clove, could not digest that insult; he scowled terribly, tried to turn his back on his neighbor, and muttered:

"It's abominable to invite people like myself to compromise their dignity with such riff-raff! Gad! if they ever catch me here again! I am terribly distressed that I came."

For all that, the old chevalier did not go away, but ate and drank for four, by way of compensation for the annoyance that he felt.

Mere Thomas wanted some of everything, she called for all the dishes that she saw, and she would say to the marquis:

"What's that, my fine little fellow?"

"_Poulet a la Marengo_, madame."

"My soul! how it's disguised! Never mind, just pa.s.s me a wing.--And what's that black stew over yonder?"

"A salmi of partridge _aux truffes_."

"That must be heating; but give me a bit of your _salmigondis aux truffes_, I'll take the chances.--and that big dish all covered over with sauce?"

"That's a _Sultane a la Chantilly_."

"A sultana! The dear boy! does he take us for Turks, I wonder! Just give me a taste of that too, so that I'll know how those miserable dogs cook."

"You'll make yourself ill, Madame Thomas," said La Thoma.s.siniere in an undertone, horrified to see his mother's eyes grow brighter and brighter, and that she insisted on tasting all the wines as well as all the dishes.

"Get out, boy, I've got a stomach like an ostrich! Don't you remember the bet I made one day with our cousin as kept the eating house? A fine man, he was! He died three year ago, poor Chah!"

"Lafleur! Jasmin! Comtois! take these plates away; serve the dessert, I say!"

In vain did Monsieur de la Thoma.s.siniere shout to his servants--his mother continued her narrative none the less:

"You must know, my children, that Chah was one of the biggest eaters in all Brie; he was a chap with a big head, and he'd put down a turkey, saving your presence, just as slick as you or me'd swallow a lark.

Bless my soul, if he didn't take a fancy one day to bet me that he'd eat more'n me of a rabbit stew I'd made for a mason's wedding feast. I'm a sly fox, so I took his bet; and when we'd got half through, I told him in confidence that it was cats as I'd stewed up; and at that my jacka.s.s turned up his toes and got rid of his dinner on the floor."

The ladies refused to listen to any more; they left the table and took refuge in the salon. Monsieur de la Thoma.s.siniere was beside himself; he turned red, yellow and lead-colored in turn; the perspiration stood on his brow; he poured wine in his plate and put his fork in his gla.s.s. The young men laughed heartily, Auguste with the rest, for he was of the opinion that his host well deserved this little lesson. Destival was radiant; his eyes sparkled with delight as he looked from one person to another and finally fastened his gaze on La Thoma.s.siniere. The Marquis de Cligneval looked at his host with an expression which signified: "Gad! I've done what I could; but, as you see, it's impossible to hold her back."

"Well! what makes all them pretty females go scooting off at once?"

queried Mere Thomas; "be they all going to the closet together? I say, it's like the hens down our way: when one goes, the others have to follow."

A young poet, who had written some verses for Madame de la Thoma.s.siniere, and who was exceedingly annoyed because Mere Thomas's arrival, by causing Athalie to swoon and putting the ladies to flight, had prevented him from reciting his quatrain, which would, so he thought, create a sensation, said to the buxom dame, as he readjusted his collar:

"Madame, it is your fault in some degree that the Graces have fled from us."

"What's that you say, my little dapper?" retorted Mere Thomas, planting both elbows on the table, the better to observe the young man.

"I say, madame," replied the poet, "that the Graces are easily frightened, and that----"

"What's that you're singing about your Graces! Be they birds you're trying to tame?"

"Madame, the Graces are the ladies; the Zephyrs and the Loves fly at their heels; Pleasure and Laughter form their train and strew roses along their path."

"Phew! what sort of a stew is that, my boy, made out of roses and rice."[D]

[D] _Ris_, meaning _laughter_, has the same p.r.o.nunciation as _riz_ (rice).

"I mean to imply, madame, that there are remarks at which modesty takes offence, and that, when telling stories, you should touch very lightly upon certain subjects, for

"'Le Latin dans les mots brave l'honnetete, Mais l'auditeur Francais veut etre respecte!

Du moindre sens impur la liberte l'outrage Si la pudeur des mots n'en adoucit l'image.'"[E]

[E] The Latin tongue defies decency, but the French listener insists on being treated with respect. He is offended by the faintest touch of impurity of sense unless the image is softened by the decency of the words.