But, horror of horrors! The instant the wicked Pierrot found himself going in the direction of the door, on his way to the Rue Clarisse, he broke out into the most outrageous denunciations of the two ladies. Shrieks, demoniac laughter, yells, oaths and slang of the worst description poured from him; he screamed with rage, bit furiously at both Mademoiselle Bouchard and Élise, and forcing the cage door open, with almost human intelligence flew out and perched on Monsieur Bouchard’s shoulder, from which he continued his volley of abuse, winding up with a shout of:
“Go to the devil, you bowlegged old rapscallions!”
But the two respectable elderly persons so infamously described, were already fleeing. Of course, no such bird as Pierrot had become could be tolerated in the Rue Clarisse, and Élise cried, while she and Mademoiselle Bouchard ran down the stairs:
“The only safe thing to do, Mademoiselle, is to keep everything masculine out of our apartment. They are all alike—men and parrots—everything that is masculine is abominable and not to be trusted. They live to deceive us poor women, and are never so happy as when they are lying to us. So let them go—Monsieur, Pierre and Pierrot—the wretches, and trust to retributive justice to overtake them!”
But neither Monsieur Bouchard nor Pierre seemed to fear the blindfolded lady with the sword. They were at that moment capering with glee, and Pierre was shouting:
“I wouldn’t go back to the Rue Clarisse for a million of monkeys!”
And Papa Bouchard was saying:
“I have a confession to make. It is this—that I like a gay life, and as that worthy fellow says, I would not go back to the Rue Clarisse for a million of monkeys, and all the money in the Bank of France beside. I intend to lead a very gay life, hereafter. I am a changed, a reformed man. Léontine, I shall allow you three-fourths of your income to spend—and if you get into straits, come to Papa Bouchard and perhaps I’ll do something handsome. Victor, when next you have a little party of Pouters on hand, don’t forgot your Papa Bouchard.”
“Indeed I won’t,” cried de Meneval, “and Fallière and I will promise to get twenty of the best fellows in the regiment and take you on the biggest lark, bat, jag, and jamboree you ever heard of in all your life!”