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A very brief explanation having allayed André Maranne's excitement, he offered his apologies to de Géry, invited him to take a seat in the carved wooden armchair in which his customers posed, and their conversation speedily assumed an intimate and confidential character, attributable to the earnest avowal with which it began.
The glass door on the ground floor shines more brightly than usual. More gaily than ever dance the letters over the door, and from the open windows comes the sound of glad cries, flowing from a stream of happiness. "Accepted! it is accepted! Oh, what good luck! Henriette, Elise, do come here! M. Maranne's play is accepted!" Andre heard the news yesterday.
"How is business, Monsieur Maranne?" the spirits inquired, and he answered in Maranne's absence: "Not so bad for the season, Messieurs Spirits."
And we can imagine André Maranne's stupefaction, knowing absolutely nothing of the affair, when he saw M. Joyeuse turn toward him, his face purple and swollen with rage, and point his finger at him with these terrible words: "The greatest rascal here is yourself, monsieur!" "O papa, papa! what are you saying?" "Eh? What's that? Oh! I beg your pardon, my dear André.
A very brief explanation having calmed Andre Maranne's mind, he offered his apologies to de Gery, begged him to sit down in the arm-chair of carved wood which was used by his sitters, and their conversation quickly assumed an intimate and sympathetic character, brought about by the so abrupt avowal at its opening.
The show-case on the ground-floor is more brilliant than usual. The signs over the door dance about more airily than ever, and through the open windows issue joyous cries, a soaring heavenward of happiness. "Accepted, it's accepted! Oh! what luck! Henriette, Élise, come, come! M. Maranne's play is accepted." André has known the news since yesterday.
"How is business going, M. Maranne?" the spirits had inquired, and he himself had replied in Maranne's absence: "Fairly well, for the season, Sir Spirit." The little man repeats, "Fairly well for the season," in a mischievous way, while Mlle. Elise, quite confused at the thought that it was with her father that she talked that day, disappears under her fair curls.
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