“Tu as l’air triste,” laughed Lizzette.
“Why, I am in despair. You remember that expensive Frenchman I took such pains to import for my kitchen a year ago, and who was such a splendid cook? Not quite equal to you, of course, Lizzette—nobody ever has been. Well, what did the beast do but get so drunk yesterday that he hasn’t prepared a meal since and we are nearly starved!”
“Wiz all zose servants in ze house?” asked Lizzette incredulously.
“Oh, as for that, the maids have succeeded in sending up something, but then you know how exasperating it is to have meals so poorly served. Dear me! he was such a model on sauces!” And a sigh that was evidently drawn from the depths of her heart followed the plaintive ejaculation.
“Was? Ou est il?”
“Oh, Mr. Mason discharged him this morning. You know how rigid he is about drunkenness. I begged Mr. Mason on my knees to let me keep Joseph another month, anyway; for Herbert—your Herbert, you know, Lizzette—is coming home from Europe, and I’ve no end of dinners planned for him, and no cook in the house. What am I to do, Lizzette? Can’t you come to me just for a month, Lizzette? I will pay you well if you will, and Antoine can stay here with these girls. Oh, do come, there’s a dear, good Lizzette.”
Mrs. Mason was gently patting Lizzette’s brown hand with one of her own daintily gloved ones. Lizzette pondered a moment. “Vot you pay Joseph?”
“An enormous sum,” answered Mrs. Mason, coloring. “He had such a reputation, you know, and one always has to pay for reputation!”
“Ah!”
The ejaculation was so dry that Mrs. Mason hastened to add: “But of course I shall not let money stand between us.”