“Well,” said la Peyrade, “we’ll talk it over later; here’s your sister, and she would think everything lost if this little matter reached her ears.”
When Brigitte appeared Colleville shouted “Full!” and proceeded to sing the chorus of “La Parisienne.”
“Heavens! Colleville, how vulgar you are!” cried the tardy one, hastening to cast a stone in the other’s garden to avoid the throwing of one into hers. “Well, are you all ready?” she added, arranging her mantle before a mirror. “What o’clock is it? it won’t do to get there before the time, like provincials.”
“Ten minutes to two,” said Colleville; “I go by the Tuileries.”
“Well, then we are just right,” said Brigitte; “it will take about that time to get to the rue Caumartin. Josephine,” she cried, going to the door of the salon, “we’ll dine at six, therefore be sure you put the turkey to roast at the right time, and mind you don’t burn it, as you did the other day. Bless me! who’s that?” and with a hasty motion she shut the door, which she had been holding open. “What a nuisance! I hope Henri will have the sense to tell him we are out.”
Not at all; Henri came in to say that an old gentleman, with a very genteel air, had asked to be received on urgent business.
“Why didn’t you say we were all out?”
“That’s what I should have done if mademoiselle had not opened the door of the salon so that the gentleman could see the whole family assembled.”
“Oh, yes!” said Brigitte, “you are never in the wrong, are you?”
“What am I to say to him?” asked the man.