“I beg of you to hear me. It is no insult. This gentleman had no wish, none whatever, to break the figure. He did but aim at it in jest—as English Messieurs love to do. Not because it was a bust of the Emperor, but to have something to aim at,” explained Curtis.
He might as well have addressed himself to the winds.
“A jest!—and as to the Emperor! Truly a fit subject for a jest! But the thing shall be known. M. le Général Wirion shall hear. Ah—ha, and we shall see what the gendarmes will say to Monsieur’s little jest! Eh—hé, Monsieur, I know a thing or two as to les Anglais, I can tell you. And my ornament that is broken—broken all in pieces——”
“Madame shall have full value for the bust.”
Roy felt in his pockets. “I’ve only five francs here. But it can’t be worth more.”
“You won’t get off with the mere market value of the thing,” Curtis said in English. “I have five more, and not a sou besides in the house. Here, offer her the ten.”
Roy’s hand was thrust contemptuously aside.
“Non, vraiment! Dix francs! Does Monsieur think ten francs will pay for that!” tragically pointing towards the fragments in the fender. “An image of the Emperor! Non, Monsieur! I go to the General.”
“How much?” Curtis tried to make her say. She gesticulated furiously, and declined payment. It was an insult to the Emperor. Did Monsieur imagine that money would wipe out that? Did Monsieur suppose that she cared only for her own loss? Bah!—nothing of the kind, though Madame was a widow, and could ill afford to lose anything. But this was a profound matter. Madame had a duty to perform, and incontestibly she would perform it.
With which declaration the irate landlady disappeared.