“Do you tink it vil rain to-morrow?”
“I hope it may; it is most excessively warm.”
“Dat is de reason I am ’ere,” said the Frenchman; “I cannot slip ven it is so very ’ot!”
“And how is your lady?” demanded my friend.
“Very vel, I tank you, sar! Madame D***, you know, is most happy ven she is alone. C’est son caractère Bréton.”
“Have you been at the theatre this evening?” continued my friend in his interrogatory.
“No, sar! I never go to de teatre,” replied the Frenchman. “I have given lessons until very late, and just came ’ere to read le Courier des Etats-Unis before going to bed. Puis-je vous offrir quelque chose?”
“I am much obliged to you; but it is too late,” replied my friend.
“Too late!” exclaimed the Frenchman with affected astonishment; then suddenly recollecting himself, and taking out his watch, “Upon my honneur,” cried he, “it is past two a clock. I ’ad no idee dat it vos so late;” and, without saying another word, the poor fellow took up his hat and cane, and vanished through the back entry.
“That Frenchman,” observed my friend, “is one of the most arrant cowards I ever saw in this country. He has married an American lady; and is afraid lest his being seen at a public-house should exclude him from the society of his wife’s acquaintance. We have a good many foreigners among us, on whom the dread of public opinion, and the peculiar fashions of our people, act as a similar restraint. You can hardly say of any man in this country that he is master in his own house; much less is he at liberty to act as he pleases in public; but there are very few Frenchmen among us, I assure you, at least among the wealthier classes, who do not think with Molière’s Tartuffe, ‘que ce n’est pas pêcher que de pêcher en silence.’ But it’s now high time to leave this place if we wish to take aught before going to bed.” So saying, he threw some change on the plate which one of the musicians presented to him, and, snatching up his hat, opened the door for our exit.