“But I cannot do that—I have an important engagement!” said Victor Hugo.
Meurice, his most intimate friend, who knew all his engagements, turned to him in astonishment, and Sarah, seeing his astonishment, naturally thought that Hugo was merely making an excuse so that he would not have to dine with her. She turned haughtily away. But Hugo, running after her, laid his hand on her arm in supplication.
“Do not be angry, ma petite Reine,” he said, “my engagement is with you!”
“With me!”
“Yes, I have told the cook to prepare a great dinner to-night, and you are my guest!”
Sarah regarded him suspiciously. Stories of his libertinage had been current for years.
“Whom else have you invited?” she demanded.
“Oh,” answered Hugo, vaguely waving his hand, “er—lots of people—Duquesnel, Meurice here, and—and others.”
Sarah caught the amazed expression on Meurice’s face and, excusing herself, sought out Duquesnel.
“Has Victor Hugo invited you to a grand dinner at his house to-night?” she asked.