“Hold your tongue,” exclaimed Madame Laurent, “you have been disgracing my house.”
“Mais, Madame, ecoutez-moi—”
“No, no,” cried the German, “we saw you—we saw you.”
“Mais, Monsieur Le Comte—” “Fie, fie!” cried the Frenchman.
“Mais, Monsisur Le Vicomte—” At this every mouth was opened, and the patience of Monsieur Margot being by this time exhausted, he flew into a violent rage; his tormentors pretended an equal indignation, and at length he fought his way out of the room, as fast as his shattered bones would allow him, followed by the whole body, screaming, and shouting, and scolding, and laughing after him.
The next morning passed without my usual lesson from Monsieur Margot; that was natural enough: but when the next day, and the next, rolled on, and brought neither Monsieur Margot nor his excuse, I began to be uneasy for the poor man. Accordingly I sent to Madame Laurent’s to inquire after him: judge of my surprise at hearing that he had, early the day after his adventure, left his lodgings with his small possession of books and clothes, leaving only a note to Madame Laurent, enclosing the amount of his debt to her, and that none had since seen or heard of him.
From that day to this I have never once beheld him. The poor professor lost even the little money due to him for his lessons—so true is it, that in a man of Monsieur Margot’s temper, even interest is a subordinate passion to vanity.
CHAPTER XVIII.
It is good to be merry and wise, It’s good to be honest and true; It is good to be off with the old love Before you be on with the new.—Song.