“What an astonishing woman!” murmured the dandified Saint-Arthur, turning to Jéricourt; “as if we came here to carry chairs!”
“Come, come, Alfred, be decent, or I won’t take you into the country again. Look about; there are some very pretty women here, and I sacrifice myself,—I am going to carry some chairs.”
The garden began to fill with guests, some from Paris, others who lived in the neighborhood. The darkness was coming on, and the semi-obscurity added to the charm of the occasion. Some ladies, by chance or by design, had wandered away from their husbands, whom they were careful not to find again; but gallant cavaliers zealously offered their arms, to assist them in their search.
Chambourdin did not fail to take advantage of the opportunity to approach Madame Boutillon; the pretty little brunette had lost no time in losing her husband very soon after her arrival, and the bald young man hastened to offer her his arm, saying:
“You are looking for monsieur your husband? accept my arm, madame, and I’ll guide you; I know the house.”
“Oh! I am not looking for my husband at all, monsieur,” replied the little lady, laughing; “I am not afraid that he will get lost.”
“Ah! that makes a difference; pray come into the woods, madame; I will take you to the theatre and find you a seat.”
“With pleasure, monsieur.”
At that moment, Madame Glumeau walked toward the gate with a large number of ladies, exclaiming:
“Come to the woods, messieurs, everybody to the theatre; we must take seats, for it will begin very soon.”