“Illustrissimo Signore!”
This drew me from my sleep, for the human ear is very susceptible to superlatives.
“What is it?”
“A letter for your lordship. As it is marked ‘Immediate,’ I thought I might take the liberty of disturbing your lordship’s slumbers.”
“You did quite right, Tomaso.”
“You owe me eight sous, signore, which I paid for the postage.”
“There’s half a franc, keep the change.”
He retired calling me Monsieur le Comte; and all for two sous—O fatherland of Brutus! The letter was from Lampron, who had forgotten to put a stamp on it.
“MY DEAR FRIEND:
“Madame Plumet, to whom I believe you have given no instructions so
to do, is at present busying herself considerably about your
affairs. I felt I ought to warn you, because she is all heart and
no brains, and I have often seen before the trouble into which an
overzealous friend may get one, especially if the friend be a woman.
“I fear some serious indiscretion has been committed, for the
following reasons.
“Yesterday evening Monsieur Plumet came to see me, and stood pulling
furiously at his beard, which I know from experience is his way of
showing that the world is not going around the right way for him.
By means of questions, I succeeded, after some difficulty, in
dragging from him about half what he had to tell me. The only thing
which he made quite clear was his distress on finding that Madame
Plumet was a woman whom it was hard to silence or to convince by
argument.
“It appears that she has gone back to her old trade of dress-making,
and that one of her first customers—God knows how she got there!—
was Mademoiselle Jeanne Charnot.
“Well, last Monday Mademoiselle Jeanne was selecting a hat. She was
blithe as dawn, while the dressmaker was gloomy as night.
“‘Is your little boy ill, Madame Plumet?’
“‘No, Mademoiselle.’
“‘You look so sad.’
“Then, according to her husband’s words, Madame Plumet took her
courage in her two hands, and looking her pretty customer in the
face, said:
“‘Mademoiselle, why are you marrying?’
“‘What a funny question! Why, because I am old enough; because I
have had an offer; because all young girls marry, or else they go
into convents, or become old maids. Well, Madame Plumet, I never
have felt a religious vocation, and I never expected to become an
old maid. Why do you ask such a question?’
“‘Because, Mademoiselle, married life may be very happy, but it may
be quite the reverse!’
“After giving expression to this excellent aphorism, Madame Plumet,
unable to contain herself any longer, burst into tears.
“Mademoiselle Jeanne, who had been laughing before, was now amazed
and presently grew rather anxious.
“Still, her pride kept her from asking any further questions, and
Madame Plumet was too much frightened to add a word to her answer.
But they will meet again the day after to-morrow, on account of the
hat, as before.
“Here the story grew confused, and I understood no more of it.
“Clearly there is more behind this. Monsieur Plumet never would
have gone out of his way merely to inform me that his wife had given
him a taste of her tongue, nor would he have looked so upset about
it. But you know the fellow’s way; whenever it’s important for him
to make himself clear he loses what little power of speech he has,
becomes worse than dumb-unintelligible. He sputtered inconsequent
ejaculations at me in this fashion:
“‘To think of it, to-morrow, perhaps! And you know what a
business! Oh, damnation! Anyhow, that must not be! Ah! Monsieur
Lampron, how women do talk!’
“And with this Monsieur Plumet left me.
“I must confess, old fellow, that I am not burning with desire to
get mixed up in this mess, or to go and ask Madame Plumet for the
explanation which her husband was unable to give me. I shall bide
my time. If anything turns up to-morrow, they are sure to tell me,
and I will write you word.
“My mother sends you her love, and begs you to wrap up warmly in the
evening; she says the twilight is the winter of hot climates.
“The dear woman has been a little out of sorts for the last two
days. Today she is keeping her bed. I trust it is nothing but a
cold.
“Your affectionate friend,
“SYLVESTRE LAMPRON.”