“I beg your pardon?” said M. Raindal, who had listened only with half an ear to these long complaints.
The abbé Touronde started.
“I was thinking of these bad men, dear master. In my own mind I was abusing them.... You know, we of the South, we are warm-blooded and our tongue is not always sufficiently Christian!...”
The return of Mme. Chambannes, followed by her Uncle and Aunt Panhias, brought the dialogue to an end. The introductions were made. Panhias was in evening clothes with a black tie. His head hung down, like that of a thinker, but the expression was that of a gray-headed bookkeeper. His gait, the way he stood and the folds of his bearded face showed the fatigue of one of those office clerks to whom money has come too late. Mme. Panhias, on the other hand, seemed optimistic and jovial. She wore a brown silk dress tightly stretched around her ample shape. She rolled her r’s more than Mme. Chambannes did, and only a connoisseur could have perceived the Oriental in her, through her semi-Spanish, semi-South-American accent.
A few minutes later Gerald and, behind him, George Chambannes entered the smoking-room. Both were in evening dress. Instinctively M. Raindal lowered his eyes to examine his own frock coat. The butler announced that Madame was served and the party went into the dining-room.
The dinner was cordial and merry. M. Raindal felt no longer the shyness and the self-consciousness of an unwelcome stranger which had made him stiff at first. From so much intercourse with the Chambannes, he had become familiar with the names of their relations, the ways of the house and the tastes of the guests. In consequence, there were very few conversations in which he now hesitated to take his share owing to discretion, fear of a faux-pas or ignorance of the subject. Nothing seemed to trouble him any more. The ogling and the perfume of Mme. Chambannes now proved to be nothing more than stimulants to his ready tongue. They addressed each other as comrades, with a slight touch of fatherly superiority on the part of M. Raindal and of willing submissiveness on that of Mme. Chambannes. Even Chambannes made use, when he spoke to the master, of such turns of speech as were reserved as a rule for old friends. How different from the first dinner, when M. Raindal had felt himself so awkward and slow in recovering his heartiness. When Uncle Panhias admitted, absent-mindedly or under the effect of the wines, that Smyrna was his native town, the master almost congratulated him! Smyrna, the pearl of Tonia, was an exquisite city; its Greek name meant myrrh or incense, the perfume beloved of the gods. He never stopped until dessert was served, praising the city, supporting his theory with anecdotes and historical reminiscences. Aunt Panhias thanked him with enthusiastic replies that were to each of his sentences as the rolling of a drum.
When they went to the smoking-room, Zozé asked M. Rainda leave to light a cigarette. Then, by slow degrees, she went over to Gerald. He had let himself fall down on the divan and was sending spirals of smoke to the ceiling through his pouting lips. She sat beside him and asked coaxingly:
“What are you making a face for?”
He did not reply at first but, after a while, he grunted. “Is this kangaroo going to be here often?”
Zozé suppressed a smile.