per, of course--that goes without saying--and entirely
befitting a person in my position. But that was the general tone of the
occasion. Not until toward the close of the collation did I hear any of
the unseemly remarks, any of the scandalous anecdotes that amuse the
gentlemen of our council so highly; and it gives me pleasure to state
that Bois-l'Hery the coachman, to cite no other instance, is very
differently brought up from Bois-l'Hery the master.

M. Noel alone, by his familiar tone and the freedom of his repartees,
overstepped the limit. There's a man who does not scruple to call
things by their names. For instance, he said to M. Francis, so loud
that he could be heard from one end of the salon to the other: "I say,
Francis, your old sharper played still another trick on us last week."
And as the other threw out his chest with a dignified air, M. Noel
began to laugh. "No offence, old girl. The strong box is full. You'll
never get to the bottom of it." And it was then that he told us about
the loan of fifteen millions I mentioned above.

Meanwhile I was surprised to see no signs of preparation for the supper
mentioned on the invitations, and I expressed my anxiety in an
undertone to one of my lovely nieces, who replied:

"We are waiting for M. Louis."

"M. Louis?"

"What! Don't you know M. Louis, the Duc de Mora's valet de chambre?"

Thereupon I was enlightened on the subject of that influential
personage, whose good offices are sought by prefects, senators, even by
ministers, and who evidently makes them pay roundly for them, for, with
his salary of twelve hundred francs from the duke, he has saved enough
to have an income of twenty-five thousand francs, has his daughters at
the boarding-school of the Sacred Heart, his son at Bourdaloue College,
and a chalet in Switzerland to which the whole family go for the
vacation.

At that juncture the personage in question arrived; but there was
nothing in his appearance that would have led me to guess his position,
which has not its like in Paris. No majesty in his bearing, a waistcoat
buttoned to the chin, a mean, insolent manner, and a fashion of
speaking without opening his lips, very unpleasant to those who are
listening to him.

He saluted the company with a slight nod, offered a finger to M. Noel,
and there we sat, staring at each other, congealed by his grand
manners, when a door was thrown open at the end of the room and the
supper made its appearance--all