“That would scarcely be rose-leaves,” I murmured.
Antoinette laughed. “And Monsieur then! He is just as bad. Has he not put new curtains in the room of Mademoiselle, and a new toilette table, and a set of silver brushes and combs and I know not what, as for the toilette of a princess? And the eiderdown in pink satin? Regardez-moi ca! Monsieur can no longer say that it is I alone who spoil the dear angel.”
“Monsieur,” said I, at a loss for a better retort, “will say whatever Monsieur pleases.”
“It is indeed the right of Monsieur,” said Antoinette, respectfully, but with a twinkle in her eye not devoid of significance.
Does the crafty old woman suspect? Perhaps my preparations for Carlotta’s return have been inordinate, for they have extended to the transformation of the sitting-room downstairs into a lady’s boudoir. I have been busy this happy week. But what care I? It will not be long before I have to say to her, “Antoinette, there is going to be a wedding.”
I must be on my guard lest, in the transports of her joy, she clasp me to her capacious bosom!
CHAPTER XIV
October 7th.
At Paddington I came upon Sebastian Pasquale lounging about the arrival platform. As I had not seen or heard of him since the end of July I had concluded that he was wandering as usual over the globe. He greeted me effusively, holding out both hands in his foreign fashion.