“My children,” she said, “we must have a dance to-night; I feel twenty year younger. Thomas, you’ll take a turn, I hope? Give me a glass, marquis; but none of that sugary stuff that sticks in your gullet. Give me something stiff and strong, my friend; that’s the only kind that makes you feel good.”
Madame Thomas had taken two petits verres of brandy, one of rum and one of kirsch; she was declaring that they were very refreshing, and seemed disposed to go on drinking, when a cloud of smoke arose in the courtyard and found its way into the rooms. The guests looked at each other uneasily.
“Seems to me there’s a bit of a fog,” said Mère Thomas; “it smells like something burning; be any of you sitting on a foot-warmer?”
The servants rushed into the room, shouting in dismay:
“The house is on fire!”
“Fire!” cried all the guests, springing from their chairs. Mère Thomas alone remained seated.
“Well! all you got to do is fling water on it!” she said.
“My house on fire!” said Monsieur de la Thomassinière, glancing at the marquis. “How can it have happened? Ah! there was a pile of straw—somebody must have dropped a match on it. Look, monsieur, see what a smoke there is in the courtyard!”
As it was about nine o’clock in the evening, the flame made by a number of bunches of straw, which the marquis had fired, made the courtyard as light as day. The cry of fire! soon arose on all sides; it reached the salon, and the ladies who had taken refuge there from the society of Madame Thomas, rushed out shrieking, and calling their fathers or their husbands.
The gentlemen tried to allay their fears, saying: “It’s nothing, it won’t amount to anything; but we must go as soon as possible. Get your bonnets and shawls; make haste, for ladies should never stay where everything is in confusion. We will go with you.”