On a rustic bench sat a
couple of tall footmen, as bright in their gorgeous liveries as
gold coins fresh from the mint; still, despite their splendor,
they were stretching and yawning to such a degree, that it seemed
as if they would ultimately dislocate their jaws and arms.
"Tell me," inquired the servant who was escorting Pascal, "can any
one speak to the baron?"
"Why?"
"This gentleman has something to say to him."
The two valets eyed the unknown visitor, plainly considering him
to be one of those persons who have no existence for the menials
of fashionable establishments, and finally burst into a hearty
laugh. "Upon my word!" exclaimed the eldest, "he's just in time.
Announce him, and madame will be greatly obliged to you. She and
monsieur have been quarrelling for a good half-hour. And,
heavenly powers, isn't he tantalizing!"
The most intense curiosity gleamed in the eyes of Pascal's
conductor, and with an airy of secrecy, he asked: "What is the
cause of the rumpus? That Fernand, no doubt--or some one else?"
"No; this morning it's about M. Van Klopen."
"Madame's dressmaker?"
"The same. Monsieur and madame were breakfasting together--a most
unusual thing--when M. Van Klopen made his appearance. I thought
to myself, when I admitted him: 'Look out for storms!' I scented
one in the air, and in fact the dressmaker hadn't been in the room
five minutes before we heard the baron's voice rising higher and
higher.
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