“Oh! there’s no danger of that—madame sends for it often enough. I know what she uses it for.”
Left alone in the salon, Alfred lost patience; he returned to the reception room, where he was nearer madame’s boudoir; thereupon he heard quite distinctly the rattle of knives and forks and glasses, and the popping of corks, which sounds proceeded from the dining-room.
He even heard a sneeze, so loud that the doors shook. But the maid returned with the blue phial with the opal stopper and handed it to the young man, saying:
“Why didn’t monsieur stay in the salon? Perhaps monsieur heard noises in the dining-room? Madame’s two cats are dining with me; they amuse me and are good company for me.”
“My dear girl, one of them has a cold in the head; he sneezes pretty loud for a cat—loud enough to break the windows.”
“Oh! monsieur is mistaken, the sneezing was in the yard. The concierge does nothing else; it’s downright disgusting!”
Paying no further heed to what the maid said, our young elegant, armed with the precious phial, ran back to the restaurant, and going at once to the door of his private room, tried to open it; but to no purpose did he turn the knob, the door was bolted inside.
Saint-Arthur began to knock and call.
“What does this mean? It’s I, Zizi!—Jéricourt! Why do you lock yourselves in? What’s the meaning of this jest?”
“Have you brought the phial?” murmured the young actress in an altered voice.