It was all comical enough; but, by-and-by when, having finished our meal, we found ourselves in the street again, Carinne thrust a folded slip of paper into my hand.
“What is this, mignonne?”
“Look, then,” said she. “It was conveyed by the élégant under thy plate.”
I opened and examined it. It was a note for five pounds.
“Au diable!” I murmured, flushing scarlet.
Carinne placed her hand on my arm. She looked up in my face very earnest and pitiful.
“Jourdain,” she said, “makes his living by turning his knowledge of weaving to account; De Courcy begs his by ‘parfilage.’ Which is the better method, mon ami? Is it not well to face the inevitable courageously by taking thy accomplishments to market?”
“I will become a salad-dresser,” said I.
* * * * * * *
On the following day arrived a very courteous note from my petit-maître of the dining-room, entreating me, as a special favour, to come that evening to a certain noble house and make the salad for a large dinner-party that was to be given therein. I went, was happy in confirming the great opinion formed of my powers, and was delicately made the recipient of a handsome present in acknowledgment of my services. From that moment my good little fortunes rolled up like a snow-ball. Within a period of eighteen months I had accumulated, by the mere “art of selection,” a sum of near a hundred thousand francs—truly a notable little egg’s-nest.