Léontine, womanlike, was the first to rally. She was quite pale—de Meneval was not sure whether she had recognized the necklace or not, and he was afraid to ask. Her voice trembled slightly as she said:
“I think I’ll go and speak to Papa Bouchard. It will be such—such fun to let him know we have been watching him all the time.”
Out of sheer stupidity, and being thoroughly disconcerted, de Meneval walked along with her toward Monsieur Bouchard and Madame Vernet. Léontine jumped to the conclusion that he suspected something. So she stopped short and said, in a voice that she vainly tried to make laughing and merry:
“Let me have Papa Bouchard to myself—it will be the more amusing if you appear later on.”
“Certainly,” replied de Meneval, and continued to walk with her toward Papa Bouchard and Madame Vernet. The fact is, he had not heard a word of what Léontine was saying. Papa Bouchard was standing in front of Madame Vernet, and his countenance showed that all was not at ease within. She had asked him to button her glove, and he could not well refuse, but the sight of the necklace was rather trying to his nerves. And in the midst of it appeared the two human beings he least desired to see on earth—Léontine and de Meneval!
The three stood looking at each other like a trio of criminals. Madame Vernet, the blushing, the bashful, the diffident, was the only one of the four who was not cruelly embarrassed. And then, besides the infernal necklace—for so Papa Bouchard characterized it in his new vocabulary—the idea of being caught supping with a lady at the Pigeon House! Suppose those two scamps should fly off to the Rue Clarisse with the gruesome tale—and he didn’t know exactly how much champagne he had taken, only his head was buzzing a little—poor, poor Papa Bouchard! However, it would never do to show the white feather in the beginning; the champagne had given him some Dutch courage, but it did not supply him with any judgment, for his first remark was about the most indiscreet he could have made. Assuming, or trying to assume, his usual authoritative air, he said to de Meneval:
“Monsieur le Capitaine, I thought there was a distinct understanding between us that there were to be no more suppers at the Pigeon House. And bringing your wife to this place——”
“I know of no such understanding, Monsieur Bouchard,” replied de Meneval, with some spirit. “I deny your right, or that of any other man, to say where I shall have supper with my wife. If the Pigeon House is proper enough for you and this lady—” de Meneval indicated Madame Vernet, who, with her usual bashfulness, had retired a little—“whom I overheard just now thanking you for the superb necklace she wears, it is assuredly proper for me and for my wife.”
This was unanswerable logic, and Papa Bouchard was momentarily staggered by it. De Meneval followed up his advantage by saying, significantly, “To-morrow morning I shall come to see you, and you will kindly explain to me some mysteries concerning—” De Meneval stopped short; he could not speak his mind to Monsieur Bouchard without letting the terrible and menacing cat out of the bag regarding the necklace.
It was now Léontine’s turn at the poor gentleman.