“‘J’entre en train quand il entre en train,
J’entre en train quand il entre—’”
You must sing the chorus, children.”
“One moment, one moment, madame,” said the marquis; “pray wait for the coffee and liqueurs.”
“Oh, yes! that’s so, my friend; they’ll clear my voice.”
“This is getting worse and worse!” said the marquis to his host in an undertone.
“Oh! monsieur le marquis, I am in utter despair; I am overwhelmed with confusion; I am afraid to turn my head!”
“Why, my dear fellow, I am not in the least offended; a great many people have mothers who are—who are not precisely noble. That does not prevent your being a man whom I esteem beyond measure, nor does it make your dinner any the less delicious. But there are people in society who are not so sensible as I am, and in whose estimation this may do you an injury. To say nothing of the fact that our dear mamma is getting tipsy, and I don’t know what she may not sing us before she is through.”
“And to think that I expect more than eighty people to-night for the ball—the most fashionable and most distinguished people in Paris! Save me, monsieur le marquis; I lay my purse, my cash-box, my credit, at your feet!”
“My dear La Thomassinière, my friendship for you is an sufficient motive to—However, I believe that I have a note for six thousand francs to meet to-morrow.”
“You will allow me to attend to that, monsieur le marquis.”