"Wake, Gabrielle, wake!" he cried—in French, of course.
Madame Brisson, who was also little and fat with a white skin that was her pride, opened her eyes, stared an instant, and then sat up in bed.
"Heavens, Brisson!" she cried, her hand to her throat. "What is it? What has happened? Have you illness?"
"No, no!" said her husband, who was struggling with his trousers. "But rise, quickly!"
Madame Brisson glanced at the dark windows.
"I do not understand," she said.
"Ah, Gabrielle," said her husband reproachfully, "I should never have believed you could have forgotten! It is to-day, at sunrise, that our guests depart!"
"Heavens!" cried Madame Brisson again, and she, too, bounded from the bed and began to don her clothes with trembling fingers. "That I should have forgotten! Forgive me, Aristide! What hour is it?"
"It is almost four and a half. At five, the coffee must be ready."
"It shall be!" Madame promised, and hurried from the room, to complete her toilet in the kitchen.