“Chérie, I would with pleasure, but I am so dreadfully busy this afternoon: I promised La Princesse M—— to look in during the rehearsal at her house; and then I’ve not been to Madame de B——’s for an age, and I almost swore I’d go to-day.”
“Well, what’s to prevent your going afterwards?” I cried. “It’s not yet four, and the réunion does not last more than an hour. Monsieur le Curé arrives at a quarter-past four, and leaves at five.”
“But one is bored to death waiting for him,” argued Berthe, “and the room is so hot chez les bonnes sœurs, and there won’t be a cat there to-day, I’m sure; everybody is at the skating.”
“Oh! the parish and the skating don’t interfere with each other,” I cried, laughing; “but I see you can’t come, so good-by. I must be off. Mademoiselle de Galliac will be waiting for me.”
“Comment! Is la petite to be there? I particularly want to see her. I want to know how her snow-storm costume went off at the Marine, for in the crowd I never caught sight of her. Chère amie, I’ll go with you to Monceau. After all,” she continued, drawing a long sigh as we stepped into her carriage, “this life won’t last for ever; one must think now and then of one’s poor soul.”
We were a little behind our time for the canvassing. Four of my rivals were before me in the field, and had robbed me of a few votes that I might have received by being there a quarter of an hour sooner.
“Now, Berthe,” I cried, “it’s your fault, so you must bestir yourself to help me. Attack those young girls in the window, and persuade them to vote for my child.”
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know—go and ask them.”
Berthe charged valiantly at the group in the window, introducing herself by embracing the young girls all round, and declaring her perfect confidence in their support. They gathered round her, fascinated at once by her beauty and her frank, attractive manner. I saw at a glance that the votes were safe, and that I had no need to bring up reinforcements in that quarter, so I set to work elsewhere.