“But I couldn’t go in the coach with you.”
“No. You can be in the gardens, though, and if the Emperor wants you he can send for you.”
Cartouche in the end concluded he might as well go, not that he expected the Emperor to send for him, but simply because Fifi wished him to go. And he decided a very important point for Fifi—what she should wear.
“Now, don’t wear any of your wild hats, or that yellow gown, which can be heard screaming a mile away. Remember, the Emperor is not a Duvernet, and the Empress is not Julie Campionet. Wear your little black bonnet, with your black gown and mantle, and you will look like what you are—my sweet little Fifi.”
This was the first word of open lovemaking into which Cartouche had suffered himself to be betrayed, and as soon as he had uttered it he jumped up from the supper table and ran to his own garret as quickly as his stiff leg would allow. Fifi caught Toto to her heart in lieu of Cartouche and murmured, “He loves me! He loves me! He loves me!”
At noon, next day, a splendid imperial carriage drove into the street of the Black Cat and stopped before Fifi’s door. Fifi, dressed modestly and becomingly in black, appeared. She could not forbear carrying her huge muff, but as it was the fashion it did not detract from the propriety of her appearance.
The street was full when, assisted by a gorgeous footman, she took her seat in the carriage. Duvernet was a rapturous spectator of Fifi’s splendor, and she had the ecstasy of feeling that Julie Campionet was watching the whole magnificent event.
She sat up very straight as she drove through the bright and sunny streets toward the Tuileries. As she entered the great gates she watched for Cartouche, who was to be there. Yes, there he was, looking out for her. Fifi’s heart gave a great throb of relief, for she was really frightened half to death, and the nearness of Cartouche made her feel a little safer. The look in his face as their eyes met was full of encouragement—it did not seem to him a dreadful thing at all to meet the Emperor.
This courage of Fifi’s only lasted until the carriage door was opened, and she had to alight and walk an interminable distance through miles of gorgeous rooms, of mirrors, of paintings, of gilding, and, worse than all, in the company of the very polite old gentleman-in-waiting who escorted her.
She knew not how she found herself in a small boudoir, and presently the door opened and the Emperor and Empress entered, and at the first word spoken to her by the Emperor, as with the Holy Father, fear instantly departed from her, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to be there.