“Now we mustn’t forget any body,” said Birotteau.
“If we forget any one,” said Constance, “they won’t forget it. Madame Derville, who never called before, sailed down upon me in all her glory yesterday.”
“She is very pretty,” said Cesarine. “I liked her.”
“And yet before her marriage she was even less than I was,” said Constance. “She did plain sewing in the Rue Montmartre; she made shirts for your father.”
“Well, now let us begin the list,” said Birotteau, “with the upper-crust people. Cesarine, write down Monsieur le Duc and Madame la Duchesse de Lenoncourt—”
“Good heavens, Cesar!” said Constance, “don’t send a single invitation to people whom you only know as customers. Are you going to invite the Princesse de Blamont-Chavry, who is more nearly related to your godmother, the late Marquise d’Uxelles, than the Duc de Lenoncourt? You surely don’t mean to invite the two Messieurs de Vandenesse, Monsieur de Marsay, Monsieur de Ronquerolles, Monsieur d’Aiglemont, in short, all your customers? You are mad; your honors have turned your head!”
“Well, but there’s Monsieur le Comte de Fontaine and his family, hein?—the one that always went by the name of GRAND-JACQUES,—and the YOUNG SCAMP, who was the Marquis de Montauran, and Monsieur de la Billardiere, who was called the NANTAIS at ‘The Queen of Roses’ before the 13th Vendemiaire. In those days it was all hand-shaking, and ‘Birotteau, take courage; let yourself be killed, like us, for the good cause.’ Why, we are all comrades in conspiracy.”
“Very good, put them down,” said Constance. “If Monsieur de la Billardiere comes he will want somebody to speak to.”
“Cesarine, write,” said Birotteau. “Primo, Monsieur the prefect of the Seine; he’ll come or he won’t come, but any way he commands the municipality,—honor to whom honor is due. Monsieur de la Billardiere and his son, the mayor. Put the number of the guests after their names. My colleague, Monsieur Granet, deputy-mayor, and his wife. She is very ugly, but never mind, we can’t dispense with her. Monsieur Curel, the jeweller, colonel of the National Guard, his wife, and two daughters. Those are what I call the authorities. Now come the big wigs,—Monsieur le Comte and Madame la Comtesse de Fontaine, and their daughter, Mademoiselle Emilie de Fontaine.”
“An insolent girl, who makes me leave the shop and speak to her at the door of the carriage, no matter what the weather is,” said Madame Cesar. “If she comes, it will only be to ridicule me.”