"I harbor only the friends of France," said I.
"Vive la Witherup!" cried the hussars, taking the observation as a compliment, and then chucking me under the chin and again apologizing, with a sweeping bow to my newly acquired step-mother, they withdrew.
"Well, mamma," said I, turning to the lady at my side, "perhaps you can shed some light on this mystery. Who are you?"
"Softly, if you value your life," came the answer. "Zola, c'est moi!"
"Mon Doo!" said I. "Vous? Bien, bien, bien!"
"Speak in English," he whispered. "Then I can understand."
"Oh, I only said well, well, well," I explained. "And you have adopted this disguise?"
"Because I have resolved to live long enough to get into the Academy," he explained. "I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your timely aid. If they had caught me they would have thrown me down into the midst of the claque."
"Come," said I, rising and taking him by the hand. "I have come to Paris to see you at home. It was my only purpose. I will escort you thither."
"Non, non!" he cried. "Never again. I am much more at home here, my dear lady, much more. Pray sit down. Why, when I left home by a subterranean passage, perhaps you are not aware, over a thousand members of the National Guard were singing the 'Marseillaise' on the front piazza. Three thousand were dancing that shocking dance, the cancan, in my back yard, and four regiments of volunteers were looking for something to eat in the kitchen, assisted by one hundred and fifty pétroleuses to do their cooking. All my bedroom furniture was thrown out of the second-story windows, and the manuscripts of my new novel were being cut up into souvenirs."