Mademoiselle Chichette had taken her place at the table, where she seemed to pay no heed at all to anything that was said by the gentlemen who were with her. The Alsatian seemed about twenty years of age; she was very small, but she had a very becoming measure of embonpoint; her face was round, with dark eyes, not very large, but well-shaped and surmounted by gracefully arched light eyebrows; a tiny mouth, pretty teeth, a plump little chin adorned by a faint dimple, chubby cheeks, and an extremely fresh complexion combined to form a charming village girl’s face; but there was no character to it, no expression in her eyes; always the same placidity and the same smile.
Daréna scrutinized the Alsatian anew, then said to Poterne under his breath:
“She’s very pretty, and as fresh as a rose. She looks respectable; in fact, she has rather a stupid air; but that will pass for innocence. Do you know, you have made a genuine find; when she is handsomely dressed, Chérubin cannot possibly help falling in love with her.—Ah! here’s the punch—let’s have a drink! Drink, young Chichette. Alsatians generally have a well-developed gullet.”
Mademoiselle Chichette smiled and took a glass, saying:
“The accent is a little pronounced,” muttered Daréna. “However, it doesn’t matter, it’s Polish—that’s understood.—Some macaroons, waiter! What! you see that we have a lady with us, and you forget the macaroons! Haven’t you any? If not, you should make some.”
“I have sent for some, monsieur.”
“That’s lucky for you. Meanwhile, give us some cakes, or gingersnaps—whatever you have.”
During this dialogue Poterne heaved a succession of stifled sighs. At last a dish was brought and placed by Daréna in front of the young work-girl, and he himself stuffed himself with cakes as if he had not dined. Whereupon Monsieur Poterne also decided to attack the plate, and to devour all the gingersnaps.
“You see, Comte de Globeski,” said Daréna, in a serio-comic tone, “that I did well to order these trifles. But now let us talk business, and come to the point.—Mademoiselle Chichette, you have one of the prettiest faces to be met with in Paris or the suburbs. We desire a young man to fall violently in love with you. That will be easy to bring about; but we wish his passion to encounter obstacles. Why? That does not concern you; the essential thing is that you should do exactly what you are told to do. In the first place, you are Monsieur le Comte de Globeski’s wife—consequently you are the Comtesse de Globeska. That is the usual custom in Poland: the man’s name ends in i and his wife’s in a.”