Ah me, the responsibility, the anxiety of having a Daughter! The moment comes when she has measles and chicken-pox; and then, what dark days for the father. And Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre is no exception; Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre has chicken-pox, has measles. In the Latin Quarter, alarm and emotion. All Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre’s many fathers énervés and agitated. All the fathers suggesting precautions and remedies. All the fathers trying to remember what their parents did when they had chicken-pox and measles. Does the Committee study books on those diseases? At all events, the Committee is in constant communication with the farm. Also, the Committee proceeds solemnly to the farm. The telegram to Paris: “No complications. Malady following its ordinary course.” Another telegram: “Think it wiser to remain the night.” A third telegram: “Good night. Took nourishment this morning.” And in the Etudiant and the Cri du Quartier, the brilliant organs of the Quarter, the announcement in large type: “We rejoice to announce that the adopted Daughter of the students of the Latin Quarter is now allowed to take air in her garden. To all her fathers she returns her warmest thanks for their sympathy, messages and offerings. But the quite unusual number of her fathers render it impossible to thank each one of them individually.” Follows Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre’s signature, the scrawling letters, L. B., faithfully reproduced. Says Paul: “I gave her a pencil-box. Children adore that.”
However, four years have elapsed since Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre pained her many dear fathers by having chicken-pox. To-day, she has turned eleven, but she still resides far away from “the pernicious influences and surroundings of the city.”
Says Paul: “Country air is still indispensable.”
Says Gaston: “Always milk and eggs.”
Says Pierre: “Honest folk about her.”
Down to the farm goes the Committee: and back comes the Committee with the report that Mademoiselle Lucie Bagarre can now dive her hand into the pockets of the Committee’s dear corduroy waistcoat. She has grown; she is almost a jeune fille. How, by the way, stands her banking account? Well: but since the occasion for increasing it now presents itself, let the occasion be used to the utmost. The fête of Mi-Carême: the proceeds of the fête to be set aside for “la fille adoptive des étudiants, la petite Lucie Bagarre.” A grand bal masqué at Bullier’s. Says Paul: “In order to attract the public, we must be amazing.” All the fathers scheming how to be amazing. All the fathers painting themselves and donning fantastic costumes. All the fathers calling upon Paris to swell their fund by visiting Bullier’s. And Paris responds: Paris flocks to Bullier’s.
An amazing spectacle, and an amazing night: the good Bohemians have succeeded in being entirely amazing. Bullier’s packed; Bullier’s all light, all colour, all movement, when the Committee of Five proudly surveys the scene.
Says Paul: “Gold.”
Says Gaston: “Bank-notes.”
Says Pierre: “A dot.”