But I, for my part, was far from glad, for I observed that the prince, for the first time in our acquaintance, was quite drunk. Whether the proximity of the object of his affections acted on him as a stimulant, or whether it was the direct result of the intoxication of power—be that as it may, he could hardly keep on his feet. It turned out, however, that even this was to his advantage. As a general rule, no fire ever occurred without his beating somebody, but on this occasion he slept through the whole affair, and only woke up when the flames were fully extinguished.
As we returned home he startled me so distressingly that my heart seemed to contract as under the influence of some dark presentiment.
“Well, Monsieur Chenapan” (he did not even conceal the insulting double meaning that he put into my name), “how do you (tu) like my place?” asked he.
However deeply I was wounded by this deliberate jest, and by his unceremonious “thou,” addressed to a man who was no subordinate of his, I nevertheless felt it wise to submit.
“I am more than enchanted, monseigneur,” said I.
“H’m!... I should just like to see you not enchanted, you hound!”
As he said that he laughed so strangely that I suddenly understood—I was not a guest, but a captive!
Oh, ma France bien aimée! Oh, ma mère!
The prince very soon learned from me all the secrets of the craft, but, as he became more sure and confident in them, I fell lower and lower in his estimate. The first two months he paid my salary punctually, but the third month he told me right out that the whole of me was not worth two sous. When I tried to move him with entreaties, referring to my aged mother and my maiden sister, whose only treasure on earth is her virtue, he not only refused to hear the voice of generosity, but even permitted himself certain ambiguities concerning the virtue of my poor dear sister.