Madame Monin, whom the trip to Cythera had made extremely warm, said to her husband when he returned to her side:
“Go get me another glass of punch, Monsieur Monin; the one I had wasn’t half full; I am sure that it’s done on purpose so that they can pass it round oftener without making any more.”
“The negro has no more, Bichette; but he told me he’d come right back with some hot punch. So I——”
“All right, that will do. Go away now; I believe this gentleman is coming to ask me to make the pont d’amour.”
But Madame Monin’s hope was disappointed; it was not to her that the young officer condemned to make the pont d’amour addressed himself but to Athalie, who laughingly assisted him to perform his penance; and Dalville observed with some vexation that the petite-maîtresse made the pont d’amour with others as readily as with him. For consolation he gave a kiss à la capucine to a young lady whose husband emulated the Knight of the Rueful Countenance; and the school-girl received her youthful cousin’s confidence while her mamma was arranging for another forfeit; and the pretty creature who held them in her dress pouted because the young officer had ceased to draw them; and the spectacled gentleman had been trying for an hour to draw another forfeit; while for most of those present the game was simply a pretext to enable everybody to remain beside the person to whom he or she was most attracted. That is something which the papas and mammas do not always see, and about which husbands give themselves little concern; but it is perfectly apparent to the keen observer, who seeks in a salon something besides an écarté table, or a commonplace conversation with people whom he has never met before and whom he has no desire to meet again.
A fresh supply of punch diverted attention from the private conversations, and from the games, which were beginning to flag. Domingo was surrounded again and Monin started on the negro’s trail; but the young men who laughingly besieged the salver constantly put aside the ex-druggist, who did not reach Domingo’s side until the glasses were once more empty.
Sorely vexed, Monin returned to his wife, who had just finished her third glass and handed it to her husband to take away.
“It’s rather good, isn’t it, monsieur?” she said.
“I don’t know whether it’s good or not,” growled Monin angrily; “I haven’t succeeded yet in getting a taste of it.”
“Because you’re not clever and don’t know how to go about it. You should have seen Monsieur Bisbis, how he pounced on the salver! I thought for a minute that he was going to take all the glasses. But you’re so slow!”