“Indeed I will!” replied Léontine, who knew more of what was coming than did de Meneval.
“Scarcely were you gone,” continued Monsieur Bouchard, assuming his oracular manner, which sat rather awkwardly on him, as Madame Vernet persisted in nestling on his shoulder, “when in comes Léontine with the paste necklace, and for the same purpose—money or the pawnbroker. It at once occurred to me that she could not be trusted with any necklace on which she thought money could be raised—her debts were to tailors and dressmakers—so I gave her back her own necklace—she has it now—and told her it was paste, and she said it looked it. Then, just as I had got rid of her, in comes this lady—” Papa Bouchard made a desperate effort to shake off Madame Vernet, but that diffident person only held on to him the more affectionately—“picked up the necklace, clasped it round her neck, and walked off with it, and I have spent the most miserable week of my life trying to get it back. I had arranged to give her the two thousand francs, which Pierre, my man, has in his pocket at this moment, when, owing to this lady’s indelicate persistence in following me here, and in rashly exposing the necklace, she lost it, and I keep my two thousand francs. If I could find that rascal Pierre I could prove all I say.”
And as if in answer to his name, the door was burst open, and in rushed Pierre, pale and breathless.
“Monsieur,” he cried to Papa Bouchard; “all is discovered, and we are in the greatest danger. My wife Élise found out everything from the concierge in the Rue Bassano this evening. She went back to Mademoiselle Bouchard, and, if you please, both of them took the train for Melun to capture us—and just as I was coming to warn you I ran into them at the foot of the stairs. They had asked for Captain de Meneval’s quarters, in order to get him to help them search for us. They are on the stairs now!”
Léontine and de Meneval, meaning to let Monsieur Bouchard bear alone the brunt of Mademoiselle Bouchard’s wrath, immediately scuttled into seats against the wall, which they occupied with great dignity. Major Fallière, who had heard of Mademoiselle Bouchard, got as far away from the girls as he could, and they—Aglaia, Olga and Louise—with much discretion ranged themselves primly on a sofa at the farthest end of the room. But this left Papa Bouchard standing in the middle, with Madame Vernet embracing him tenderly. He, too, would have liked to flee, but he was literally frozen with terror, and unable to move or speak. And then the door came open, and in walked, or rather marched, Mademoiselle Céleste Bouchard and Élise.
Never in all his fifty-four years of life had Monsieur Bouchard seen his sister in such a state as she was at that moment. Her eyes sparkled, and her small figure was erect and commanding. Her emotions had made both her and Élise altogether forget the primness and propriety of their costumes, for which mistress and maid had been noted. Mademoiselle Bouchard’s correct, elderly bonnet seemed to have caught the same infection of demoralization as Monsieur Bouchard, Pierre and Pierrot, for it sat at a most improper and dissipated angle. Her mantle was awry, she had on one white glove and one black one, and a fringe of white petticoat showed the agitation in which she had dressed.
Élise was in somewhat the same condition, and she clutched a flower pot and a gold-headed stick which had belonged to Bouchard père, under the impression they were a travelling bag and an umbrella.
The sight that met their eyes was Monsieur Bouchard apparently submitting with willingness to Madame Vernet’s endearments, while the lady herself sobbed out upon his breast: