“Ha! ha! at Bobino’s, eh?” cried Monsieur Roquencourt. “Pardieu! that must have been fine! A difficult rôle like that! In the first place, you must be careful about the accent:[2]
“Dé façon qué dé loin sur lé pauvre animal
Lé perdreau, sans mentir, semblait être à chéval,
Et fût resté longtemps dans la même posture,
Si mon chien n’avait pris cavalier et monture.
Eh donc, que dites-vous?”
[2] That is, the Gascon accent.
During this declamation, Giraud stamped on the floor and pretended to writhe with pleasure on his chair; Madame Giraud was occupied solely in keeping her children quiet, and Monsieur Mouillé did not stir.
“Ah! bravo! bravo!” cried Giraud. “I say, wife, you never heard such acting as that, did you?—Monsieur Mouillé, you should consider yourself very fortunate to have come to Saint-Mandé with us! very fortunate in every respect, indeed, for there is everything here that can seduce and fascinate!—Oh! Monsieur Roquencourt, something else—just a fragment or two.”
“I wonder if this sort of thing is going to last long,” Caroline whispered to me. I smiled but said nothing. Monsieur Roquencourt did not wait to be asked twice. He stepped forward again to the centre of the salon:
“Here is a passage from the scene in which he is asked about his son; and it is his son himself who questions him, unrecognized by him.”
“Ah, yes! I see.—Wife, somebody asks him about his son. Attention, Monsieur Mouillé! And it is his son himself. Do you understand?”
“I don’t understand at all,” replied the young man.
“Yes, you do; yes, you do.—Hush! be quiet, children!”