“I never knew a sham one.”
“I was joking.—Is she married?”
“Oho! a widow, eh? And rich?”
“I believe that she is very rich.—But I beg pardon—I have to say a word to my daughter.”
“I can’t conceive what your mother is doing!” said Glumeau in his daughter’s ear. “I can’t remain in this plight. Something must have happened to the instrument. Go and see, Eolinde, and urge your mother to make haste.”
Mademoiselle Eolinde was sorely vexed to be obliged to leave the company; she went out of the room with a sulky expression, and without acknowledging the fifth bow that young Kingerie addressed to her.
“Something out of the natural course is going on here,” said Madame Dufournelle to her husband; “Madame Glumeau goes out and does not return; the son’s trousers are all torn, and he disappears; the daughter has left the salon in a pet; Monsieur Glumeau stands first on one leg, then on the other; he frowns and doesn’t pay any attention to the conversation. There certainly is something wrong!”
“Some dish spoiled, or some entrée from the restaurant that hasn’t come, perhaps; or rather, they are making great preparations to receive this baroness whom they expect.”
“Nonsense! really? a baroness of what?”