“Whom do I see? Madame de Marsan! by what chance? Really, this is a happiness I did not expect! To what are we indebted for this pleasant surprise?”
“Monsieur de Marsan meets Monsieur Vauvert sometimes at the department, and Monsieur Vauvert has been urging him for a long time to come to his concerts; so to-day we decided to come;—but I confess,” she said, turning to me, “that I did not expect all that I see.”
“We will try, madame, to give you so much pleasure that you will not regret your evening.”
Thereupon my neighbor ran to the piano, doubtless to preëmpt the place next to the tall young lady. But the little chubby-faced man had anticipated him, and I foresaw that we could not escape the Princesse de Navarre.
While the young woman was singing her air from Montano et Stéphanie, being forced to give up my chair to a damsel who was looking about in vain for a seat, I went for a breath of air to the dressing room, where a number of young men had taken refuge, driven from the salon by the shrill cries of the singer. At that moment the doorbell rang; Vauvert opened the door, and little Friquet appeared. I expected a scene between the uncle and the nephew, and I waited to hear.
“Where have you been, you rascal?” demanded Vauvert, trying to assume an imposing air.
“Why, uncle, I have been—I have been at the office.”
“At your office, until eleven o’clock at night!”
“Yes, uncle.”
“You don’t expect to make us believe that, I hope?”