“Now,” said he, playfully taking up Madame Vernet’s fan, “don’t worry your little head about your uncle and aunt. I’ll be your uncle and aunt for this evening. I’m sure I have been told by a number of persons—members of my own family—that the Pigeon House is a perfectly respectable place. So let us have a pleasant evening here, and I will take you back to Paris by the eleven o’clock train.”
“Oh, Monsieur Bouchard, there is nothing I should like better, but I am afraid——”
“Don’t, don’t be afraid. There isn’t the least chance of anyone I know turning up. I have a young jackanapes of a family connection stationed here—a young officer—but I think I have pretty effectually shut the door of the Pigeon House in his face.”
At that very moment this young jackanapes of an officer was watching and listening to Papa Bouchard with the most entrancing delight. So was Léontine, who could not refrain from pinching de Meneval in her ecstasy. The enjoyment of these two young scapegraces was enhanced at this very moment by the parrot screaming out:
“Oh, naughty old Bouchard! I’ll tell the old lady! Bad boy Bouchard!”
Madame Vernet started and looked inquiringly at the bird. Papa Bouchard was seriously vexed.
“Pray,” he said, in an annoyed voice, “don’t pay any attention to that ridiculous bird. I always thought parrots were the incarnation of the devil. I can’t imagine how the creature found out my name. At all events,” he added, tenderly, “neither bird nor devil, neither man nor woman, nor even your aunt and uncle, can spoil the evening for us.”
“I don’t think my aunt and uncle can be coming,” replied Madame Vernet. And she spoke the truth.
“So much the better,” whispered Papa Bouchard.
The waiter, the same astute François who had waited on de Meneval and Léontine, now appeared with the champagne. Monsieur Bouchard had not thought of ordering anything to eat, but when this artful François said to him, “Did Monsieur ask for a menu card?” Monsieur Bouchard replied, promptly, “Certainly I did.”