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The nex morning, down came me and master to Lady Griffinses, I amusing myself with the gals in the antyroom, he paying his devours to the ladies in the salong. Miss was thrumming on her gitter; my lady was before a great box of papers, busy with accounts, bankers' books, lawyers' letters, and what not.
I shrunk back into the darkness of the area behind the refuse bins standing in front of the bay nearest the door. Within the house footsteps were approaching the scullery. I heard a door open, then a man's voice singing. He was warbling in a fine mellow baritone that popular German ballad: "Das haben die Mädchen so gerne Die im Stübchen und die im Salong."
The old waiter was just a-going to blurt out, "Mais ce n'est pas!" when Toinette stops him, and says, "Laissez donc passer ces messieurs, vieux bete;" and in they walk, the 2 jon d'arms taking their post in the hall. Master throws open the salong doar very gravely, and touching MY hat says, "Have you any orders about the cab, sir?" "Why, no, Chawls," says I; "I shan't drive out to-day."
The voice hung lovingly and wavered and trilled on that word "Salong": the effect was so much to the singer's liking that he sang the stave over again. A bumping and a rattle as of loose objects in an empty box formed the accompaniment to his song. "A cheery fellow!" I said to myself. If only I could see who it was!
The spelling, however, is made to conform to Swedish pronunciation, and one is amused at finding on placards such words as "trottoar," "salong," and "paviljong." No country is richer in song-literature than Sweden. The popular songs and ballads of the different provinces, wedded to airs as original and characteristic as the words, number many hundreds.
By the time these two spitches had been made my spitch and his we arrived at the "Hotel Mirabeu;" which, us every body knows, ain't very distant from the Plas Vandome. Up we marched to our apartmince, me carrying the light and the cloax, master hummink a hair out of the oppra, as merry as a lark. I opened the door of our salong.
Gore's last fashionable novel. Mrs. Major was quite fascinated by this brilliant conversation. She began to trot out scraps of French, just for all the world as they do in the novels; and kissed her hand to me quite graciously, telling me to come soon to caffy, UNG PU DE MUSICK O SALONG with which she tripped off like an elderly fairy.
The noble earl fainted on receiving the intelligence; but in spite of the shock to his own nerves and health, persisted in passing last night by the couch of his son." And so he did. "This is a sad business, Charles," says my lord to me, after seeing his son, and settling himself down in our salong. "Have you any segars in the house? And hark ye, send me up a bottle of wine and some luncheon.
He said the old house would now be turned into a saloon, or salong, as the French call it. He wished to be told if the right to be addressed as Madame la Marquise could compensate the child for those things of simple but enduring worth she had cast aside. He somewhat cheered Mrs. Penniman, but left the judge puffing with scorn. Wilbur Cowan met the noon train next day.
But he was a respecktabble, fine-looking old nobleman; and though it must be confest, 1/2 drunk when we fust made our appearance in the salong, yet by no means moor so than a reel noblemin ought to be. "What, Algy my boy!" shouts out his lordship, advancing and seasing master by the hand, "doan't you know your own father?" Master seemed anythink but overhappy.
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