“Ah!—madame is quite different,” he replied with sudden gravity. “All the rules are broken in the case of a woman of fashion and of rank and of very great wealth. These people do not live for themselves—they are part of the State. But I will tell you one thing, Monsieur High-Muck, though you may not believe it, and that is that Madame la Marquise de la Caux was never so contented as she is at the present moment. She is free now to do as she pleases. Did you hear what Monsieur Le Blanc said last night about the way the work is being pressed? The old marquis would have been a year deciding on a plan; madame will have that villa on its legs and as good as new in a month. You know, of course, that she is coming down this afternoon?”
I knew nothing of the kind, and told him so.
“Just think, monsieur, what does go on below Coco in the season”
“Yes; she sent me word last night by a mysterious messenger, who left the note and disappeared before I could see him—Leà brought it to me. You see, madame is most anxious about her flowers for next year, and this afternoon I am going with her to a nursery and to a great garden overlooking the market-place to help her pick them out.” Here he caressed his pet again. “No, Monsieur Coco, you will not be allowed down here in the court where your pretty white feathers and your unblemished morals might be tarnished by the dreadful people all about. You shall go up on your perch; it is much better”—and with a deprecatory wave of his hand he strolled up the court-yard, Coco still nibbling his cheek with his horny black beak, the old man crooning a little love song as he walked.
I rose from my chair and began bawling out the good news of madame’s expected visit to the occupants of the several windows, the effect being almost as startling as had been Mignon’s song.
Instantly plans were cried down at me for her entertainment. Of course she must stay to dinner, our last one for the season! This was carried with a whoop. There must be, too, some kind of a special ceremony when the invitation was delivered. We must greet her at the door—all of us drawn up in a row, with Herbert stepping out of the ranks, saluting like a drum-major, and requesting the “distinguished honor”—and the rest of it: that, too, was carried unanimously. Whatever her gardening costume, it would make no difference, and no excuse on this score would receive a moment’s consideration. Madame even in a fisherman’s tarpaulins would be welcome—provided only that she was really inside of them.
With the whirl of her motor into the court-yard at dusk, and the breathing of its last wheeze in front of the Marmouset, the plump little woman sprang from her car muffled to her dimpled chin in a long waterproof, her two brown, squirrel eyes laughing behind her goggles. Instantly the importuning began, everybody crowding about her.
Up went her hands.
“No—please don’t say a word and, whatever you do, don’t invite me to stay to dinner, because I’m not going to; and that is my last word, and nothing will change my mind. Oh!—it is too banal—and you’ve spoiled everything. I didn’t think I’d see anybody. Why are you not all in your rooms? Oh!—I am ready to cry with it all!”