The Milkmaid of Montfermeil Part 16

"Here's a duet from _La Gazza_," said Athalie, after upsetting all the music on the piano; "let's try it, monsieur."

"Ace, and _pa.s.se carreau_!" cried Monsieur de la Thoma.s.siniere triumphantly, taking up the money that was on the table.

"What does _pa.s.se carreau_ mean?" Monin asked Destival in a whisper.

"It means that we have lost, as you see."

"I don't know the terms of the game. That makes four sous that I've lost already."

"Make your bet."

"Allow me to see what the weather is, first. Oh! it's still raining very hard. I am in the game."

"Monsieur is lucky!"

"And then, too, I am pretty good at this game!" said La Thoma.s.siniere, leaning back in his chair.

"I believe that I play it rather well too," rejoined Destival, biting his lips angrily.

"Be quiet, messieurs! we can't hear each other sing!" said the sprightly Athalie, while Auguste sang: "_Il certo il mio periglio_."

La Thoma.s.siniere beat time falsely with his foot, murmuring, to make believe that he understood Italian:

"Very pretty! exceedingly pretty! bravo! bravo! bravissimo!"

Whereupon Monin stooped and whispered to Destival:

"Does that mean that we have lost, too?"

"No, no! don't you hear them singing Italian? It's a duet by La Pie."[B]

[B] _Pie_ in French means magpie.

"Oho! it's by La Pie!" Monin repeated, rolling his eyes about and taking out his snuff-box. "How does it happen, neighbor, that a _pie_ writes a duet?"

"My dear Monin," said Destival testily, "please don't talk to me all the time; you see, you make me lose."

"What! I make you lose, although I am not playing?"

"Yes, yes, it confuses me. Bet again. I certainly am not a poor player, but when a person talks like that----"

"You see we've got a _pie_ at home that talks finely, and I wanted to know--That makes eight sous I've lost."

"And I sixteen francs!"

"Bah! what does that amount to, messieurs?" said La Thoma.s.siniere; "if you played for handfuls of gold as I do, it would be all very well; that's what you can call gambling! I am very sorry to waste my luck for such small stakes.--Bravo! bravissimo! _Certo pio pio piu! Atoussimo!_"

La Thoma.s.siniere insisted on mixing Italian into everything that he said, and Destival forced himself to smile, as he felt in his pockets; but his gayety was forced, and his smiles were grimaces. The two singers exchanged melting glances as they executed together roulades and flourishes, which they prolonged inordinately, and during which Madame Destival coughed impatiently in the hope of disturbing the harmony that was rapidly becoming established between them.

Suddenly the door of the salon was thrown open; a stout woman of fifty or thereabouts, wearing a straw hat whose brim barely overpa.s.sed her forehead and upon which nodded a wreath of faded roses, entered the room with the air of a person in a towering rage, holding an umbrella in one hand, and in the other a reticule large enough to hold a ten pound loaf of sugar. At sight of her Monin started back, lost his wits, upset his snuff-box, and acted as if he proposed to hide himself under the table.

"Ah! so you're here, are you, monsieur?" cried Madame Monin, for it was that lady in person who had entered the salon. "I find you gambling. I suspected as much. I wish you good-evening, neighbors. While it's thundering and a frightful storm is raging, monsieur sits here gambling instead of coming home to comfort me; and yet he knows how afraid I am of thunder storms! Excuse me, neighbor, for venturing to scold him before you, but you must agree that his conduct is unpardonable."

During this sermon, poor Monin, who had no idea what he was doing, staked a forty-sou piece instead of two sous, and stuffed his fingers into his snuff-box, in which there was nothing at all, stammering the while with a contrite air:

"How's your health, Bichette?"

"My health! a lot you worry about it, on my word! To leave me alone during the storm! Catherine had to keep me company under the quilt."

"It was the rain that----"

"As if a man should be afraid of the rain! for shame! You make me blush!"

Madame Destival did not like Madame Monin; but, being overjoyed by her arrival at that moment, she gave her a seat near the piano and overwhelmed her with attentions, to which Madame Monin replied by repeated curtsies, at the same time handing her husband the umbrella. He stepped forward to take it, and, forgetting that he was interested in the game, murmured so low that she could hardly hear him:

"Whenever you're ready, Bichette."

But Bichette, who was comfortably seated and was already beginning to criticise Madame de la Thoma.s.siniere, replied sharply:

"Now that I've come, do you think I propose to go right away again? That would be polite, wouldn't it? that would be worthy of you! I shall have the pleasure of chatting with my neighbor a minute, and listening to the music. I'm very fond of music."

"You sing, I believe--do you not, Madame Monin?" inquired Madame Destival eagerly.

"Oh! I used to sing; I had rather a good voice, too; but I've forgotten almost everything now except the duet from _Armide_: '_Aimons-nous!

aimons-nous! tout nous y convie!_' That's so lovely! it will never grow old."

"I have the score of _Armide_; you must sing that for us with Monsieur Dalville."

"Oh! really, neighbor!"

"Do you hear the present that's to be given you?" whispered Athalie to Auguste.

"I am much obliged," replied Dalville; "upon my word, I don't know what I have done to Madame Destival to make her play such a trick on me."

"Don't be alarmed; if she forces you to sing the duet, I'll be your accompanist, and I promise you that three or four chords will be broken before the tenth measure."

"How good you are, and how deeply indebted I shall be to you!"

Monin, seeing that his wife had softened somewhat, made bold to say to her:

"You sing very nicely too that song about sheep: '_Margot filait tranquillement, ne pensant, ne revant qu'a son p't.i.t, p't.i.t, p't.i.t._'"

"Hush, monsieur, and attend to your game, as you're so fond of gambling.

Is it piquet they're playing there?"

"No, Bichette, ecarte."

"What? ecarte? And how long have you known ecarte, monsieur?"