“Good! I am very glad to see that you know a thing or two! The fact is that this house is furnished in the most wretched fashion! I have no idea where they could have picked up all this stuff; a second-hand dealer would never recognize himself here; and when one has lived a long while at the Hôtel Meurice, one finds a terrible difference! But still one resigns oneself to it, when one cannot do otherwise. Wait while I write a line; then you will carry my letter and this bouquet. Just pull that bell over there.”
Chicotin pulled the bell; a maid-servant, covered with a layer of dust from top to toe, answered the summons and said:
“What does monsieur want?”
“Light to seal a letter, for there is nothing here! not a candle on the mantelpiece, no sealing wax on this desk—if that’s what you call it.”
“But there’s wafers in the box where the night light is. Look, monsieur.”
“Will you be kind enough to take all that away! Do you suppose that I would touch that filthy box? Do you suppose that I use wafers? I tell you that I want wax, a seal and a candle. Come, make haste.”
The girl left the room grumbling. The gentleman moved his chair to the desk and began to write, swearing at the paper, the pens and the sand.
The maid returned, bringing a copper candlestick, with a tallow candle lighted, and a stick of wax, which she placed on the desk.
“As for a seal,” she said, “madame says that she ain’t got any, but that a big sou will do just as well.”
“What’s this you have brought me?” cried the gentleman, pushing the candle away in disgust. “Ah! what an outrage!”