The White House Part 4

"You must see, my dear, that it's impossible.--They fit me very well, these stockings--exceedingly well--it's surprising! I have a leg that adapts itself to anything."

"By the way, do you remember the way we behaved last night?--Well! we had a most extraordinary scene! You know madame won't let us read in bed, because she's afraid of fire."

"She is quite right; as to that, I agree with her."

"That's all right, but we girls don't care a fig for her orders. Last night, after Fdora had dictated a note to Thenas, and when Adeline had finished telling us how she detected her lover's treachery--Oh! by the way, I never told you that story; it's terribly funny!"

"My dear, if you would be good enough to put on my curl-papers now, I should----"

"The iron isn't hot yet; it's on the stove upstairs; no matter--give me some tissue paper, I'll arrange you."

"Put on fifteen."

"Why not thirty-six, like another Ninon?--Look out now, don't move!--Just imagine that Fidelio--that's Adeline's lover's name--has a business agency office, and always keeps pretty little maid servants, who, they say, he's in the habit of making love to. It's so well known in the quarter, that they always tell a girl of it beforehand when she enters his service, so that she may know what to expect----"

"The iron----"

"Nonsense! don't bother me with your iron!--Adeline didn't know all that. The rascal had introduced himself to her under a false name. Ah!

what villains men are! Instead of putting on curl-papers for you, I ought to tear all your hairs out, one by one!"

"Fifine--I beg you----"

"Don't move.--But that isn't all: Monsieur Fidelio, not satisfied with having a pretty blonde of twenty in his service, was making love to a married woman; and this married woman, it seems----"

"You are pulling my hair!"

"Oh! that, you know, is very bad! That a woman who is free should do what she pleases--that's all right. But one either is bound or one isn't--that's all I know; that is to say, unless the husband's a tyrant or a miser."

"It's after nine o'clock, Fifine!"

"What's the odds? you will have time enough to make conquests.--Now then, the servant noticed that the lady came very often to see Fidelio on business, and that Fidelio, instead of being pleasant with his maid, as he usually was, did nothing but scold her. But one can be a servant and still have lively pa.s.sions; such things have been known. To revenge herself, the girl goes one fine day to the lady's husband and offers to make him a witness of a meeting between his wife and her man of business. The husband was frantic; he accepted, sent for a cab, and got in with the little blonde, who was to tell the driver to stop at the proper time. But on the way--and this is the funniest part of it!--the husband began to find the little maid much to his liking and proposed to transfer his pa.s.sion to her.--'We are both deceived,' says he; 'let's take our revenge together.'--She didn't take to that scheme; she resisted and the man persisted. Tired of being urged by him,--he had entirely forgotten his wife,--she told the coachman to stop, opened the door, and jumped out of the cab. The gentleman jumped after her and broke his nose on the ground. The girl, to escape his attentions, entered the first house she came to. It happened to be ours; and who do you suppose she found in the pa.s.sage?--who but Fidelio colloguing with Adeline!--Then there was an explosion, explanation, confusion, and----"

"The iron must be red hot!"

"I'll go and fetch it; but if it isn't hot, I won't come down again."

Robineau looked at himself in the mirror, saying:

"When Fifine is in the mood for chattering, there's no way to stop her.

But she puts on curl-papers like an angel; I shall have the best dressed hair at the ball."

Fifine returned, carrying the curling-iron, smoking hot.

"Come quick; it isn't too hot."

"It looks all red to me. My dear love, be careful not to burn me, I beseech you."

"Dieu! he's a perfect little lamb when he's frightened!--To return to our scene of last night: we had just gone to bed, and I was reading--because, without flattering myself, I am the best reader.

Auguste had lent us the _Barons von Felsheim_, and we were devouring it--that is the word--when, in the middle of a charming chapter, someone knocked at our door, and we heard madame's voice calling:--'Mesdemoiselles, why have you a light burning so late?'--At that the most profound silence replaced our bursts of laughter, and to hide the light,--for we didn't propose to put it out--it occurred to me to put a vessel--you know, a night vessel,--over the candle-stick. That worked very well; she couldn't see anything. Madame called again, and we didn't answer. Then madame went away; and when we thought she was back in her room, I took off the protecting vessel.--What do you suppose? The light was really out. We were in despair; we didn't feel like sleeping, and we didn't want to be left in the middle of a very interesting chapter, in which there's something about truffles--and not a match, because we haven't as yet saved up a sufficient sum to purchase that commodity, for milliner's apprentices aren't in the habit of patronizing savings banks. However, we were determined to have a light, and for my own part, I would have gone out and unhooked the street lantern rather than not finish my chapter. Just at that moment we heard your guitar and your voice. Ah! my dear, you have no idea of the effect that produced on us! You were an Orpheus, a demiG.o.d!--'Not in bed yet!' we shouted all together, and in an instant I was out of bed; I put on the petticoat of modesty, because love of reading shouldn't carry one so far as to go about naked, and I ran to the door and opened it; but I hadn't taken two steps on the landing when I felt someone seize my arm, and madame, who was watching at the door, cried:

"'Aha! so this is the way you sleep, mesdemoiselles! But I propose to find out who it is that dares to leave the room in spite of my orders--to light her candle, I suppose.--I knew too much to make any answer. Madame called to Julie to come up with a light. I got away from her; and while she stood in the doorway to keep me from going back, I ran down to her apartment, put out the candles, and threw the matches out of the window. So madame couldn't find out who it was that came out, and we pa.s.sed the time feeling around for each other.--There! your hair's all done, my friend."

"Thank G.o.d!--I remember that you made noise enough.--I must wait till they're cold before I take them off.--Fifine! you're a perfect devil!

But no matter--I love you sincerely, and if I should ever be rich like Alfred----"

"Ah! then we should see some fine things, shouldn't we?"

"Yes; you would see--In the first place, wealth wouldn't make me any different; it's so absurd to be proud and self-satisfied just because one has a few more yellow boys in one's pocket! Does it increase one's merit? I ask you that, Fifine?"

"It is certain that if you were a millionaire, your eyes wouldn't be any larger."

"Bah! unkind girl! they are large enough to admire you.--Oh! stop that!"

"I have never heard you speak of this Alfred, whose party you are going to."

"He's a boarding-school friend; he always used to play leap-frog with me. Since then, we have rather lost sight of each other; he is always in his carriage or in the saddle, and I go on foot."

"That's better for the health."

"Well, with all his fortune Alfred is bored. Anyone can see that he doesn't know what to do with himself. He is weary of pleasure; and then, he's a rake, a libertine, a man incapable of true love."

"For a friend of yours, you give him a pretty character!"

"A friend of mine! oh! simply a boarding-school acquaintance, I tell you."

"Is he good-looking?"

"Yes, rather; that is to say, an ordinary face, but already worn and lined."

"Introduce him to me."

Robineau rose with an offended air and went to the mirror to remove his curl-papers.

"If I knew that he would make you happy, mademoiselle," he said, "I certainly would not hesitate! But I doubt if you would find in Alfred the profound and sincere affection which I feel for you."

"Dieu! my friend, how you do adore me to-night!"

"Because I've no carriage, you talk jestingly of abandoning me. But just let me get wealthy, and my only revenge will be to give you a magnificent country house."

"You must supply it with rabbits, understand, because I am very fond of rabbit stew. But meantime, while monsieur goes to his dance, I'm going to trim a cap."

"Downstairs?"

"No, upstairs."

"Is the shop closed already?"

"What, at nine o'clock? Don't you follow the example of those evil tongues across the street, who say that the best part of our business is done when the shop is closed. Pretty shopkeepers they are, to talk about other people! The chief partner is bargaining for a place as box-opener at a theatre."