“Won't you go down, sir, then? It's past eleven now, and there 's a good many people below.”
“Who have come?” asked I, eagerly.
“Well, sir,” said he, with a certain degree of hesitation, “they 're not much to talk about There's eight or nine young gentlemen of the embassies—attachés like—and there's fifteen or twenty officers of the Guides, and there's some more that look like travellers out of the hotels; they ain't in evening-dress.”
“Are there no ladies?”
“Yes; I suppose we must call them ladies, sir. There's Madame Rigault and her two daughters.”
“The pastrycook?”
“Yes, sir; and there are the Demoiselles Janson, of the cigar-shop, and stunningly dressed they are too! Amber satin with black lace, and Spanish veils on their heads. And there's that little Swedish girl—I believe she's a Swede—that sells the iced drinks.”
“But what do you mean? These people have not been invited. How have they come here?”
“Well, sir, I must n't tell you a lie; but I hope you 'll not betray me if I speak in confidence to you. Here's how it all has happened. The swells all refused: they agreed together that they 'd not come to dinner, nor come in the evening. Mr. Cleremont knows why; but it ain't for me to say it.”
“But I don't know, and I desire to know!” cried I, haughtily.