“What! you no longer have a cabriolet?”
“No, madame, I have mustered it out of service, as well as my groom, and I have kept only my faithful Bertrand; for he is a friend rather than a servant, and one doesn’t part with a friend just because one is unfortunate.”
“What’s that? why, what you say is very true,” replied Athalie, going to a mirror to arrange her curls. “Bless my soul! how pale I am to-day! It frightens me! I am going to have one of my nervous attacks, I feel sure.”
It was at that moment that Monsieur de la Thomassinière entered the salon, assuming a more self-important air, a heavier tread than usual, and with a frown already prepared, lest his visitor should ask him for a loan.
“Who on earth was it who desired to see you, monsieur?” queried Athalie, still looking at herself in the mirror.
“A person who had some very important information to communicate, madame, and who preferred not to come in, knowing that I had company; indeed, it is a nuisance to have company all the time, and I propose to adopt the plan of not receiving visitors when I am at home.”
“Parbleu! you can do better than that, Monsieur de la Thomassinière,” said Auguste, laughingly. “You should imitate a lady of my acquaintance, who, when she had not put on her red paint and white paint and blue paint—in a word, when she had not finished beautifying herself—used to go to the door herself and say: ‘I am not at home.’”
“Ha! ha! that is very good!” said Athalie; “but I feel rather uncomfortable, and I believe that I will go and lie down.”
The petite-maîtresse left the room with a slight nod to Auguste, while La Thomassinière continued to pace the floor, frowning ominously.
“Well, Monsieur de la Thomassinière, how’s business?” said the young man, leaning back in his chair, while the parvenu seemed not to know what to do with himself.