The guests began to laugh, and Julie elbowed Monin gradually toward the door, saying:
“I don’t like to have so many people in my kitchen, monsieur; they get in my way. Besides, you don’t belong here.”
Julie closed the door; and Monin, finding himself expelled from the kitchen, decided to go up to the salon and wait until the storm should have subsided. Dalville and Athalie were at the piano, singing a nocturne. Monsieur Destival was playing écarté with Monsieur de la Thomassinière; and Madame Destival, while pretending to watch the game, lost nothing of what took place at the piano.
“I have the honor to wish you good-evening,” said Monin, noiselessly entering the salon.
“Why, haven’t you gone, neighbor? I supposed that you were at home before this.”
“No, I’ll tell you—the rain——”
“In that case, you must take a hand. Come, bet on me and you will win.”
“Can I bet now?”
“Yes, it isn’t too late.”
“All right; then I’ll bet two sous.”