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It was a memorable evening. In Madame Chebe's bedroom, littered with pieces of cloth and pins and small toilet articles, Desiree Delobelle superintended Sidonie's toilet. The child, appearing taller because of her short skirt of red flannel with black stripes, stood before the mirror, erect and motionless, in the glittering splendor of her costume. She was charming.
It was a memorable evening. In Madame Chebe's bedroom, littered with pieces of cloth and pins and small toilet articles, Desiree Delobelle superintended Sidonie's toilet. The child, appearing taller because of her short skirt of red flannel with black stripes, stood before the mirror, erect and motionless, in the glittering splendor of her costume. She was charming.
The two others conversed by his side, first in undertones, then louder, for M. Chebe's shrill, piercing voice could not long be subdued. He wasn't old enough to be buried, deuce take it! He should have died of ennui at Montrouge. What he must have was the bustle and life of the Rue de Mail or the Rue du Sentier of the business districts. "Yes, but a shop? Why a shop?"
As for M. Chebe, who prided himself on being as fond of nature as the late Jean Jacques Rousseau, he did not appreciate it without the accompaniments of shooting-matches, wooden horses, sack races, and a profusion of dust and penny-whistles, which constituted also Madame Chebe's ideal of a country life.
The two others conversed by his side, first in undertones, then louder, for M. Chebe's shrill, piercing voice could not long be subdued. He wasn't old enough to be buried, deuce take it! He should have died of ennui at Montrouge. What he must have was the bustle and life of the Rue de Mail or the Rue du Sentier of the business districts. "Yes, but a shop? Why a shop?"
In Claire's circle her welcome was decidedly cold. The Faubourg Saint-Germain has its pretensions; but do not imagine that the Marais has none! Those wives and daughters of mechanics, of wealthy manufacturers, knew little Chebe's story; indeed, they would have guessed it simply by her manner of making her appearance and by her demeanor among them. Sidonie's efforts were unavailing.
Of the dot of eighty thousand francs which she had brought him, and which he had squandered in his absurd schemes, only a small annuity remained, which still gave them a position of some importance in the eyes of their neighbors, as did Madame Chebe's cashmere, which had been rescued from every wreck, her wedding laces and two diamond studs, very tiny and very modest, which Sidonie sometimes begged her mother to show her, as they lay in the drawer of the bureau, in an old-fashioned white velvet case, on which the jeweller's name, in gilt letters, thirty years old, was gradually fading.
When he reached it, he inquired timidly if Madame Chebe's little allowance would be continued. "Yes," was Risler's reply, "but never go beyond it, for my position here is not what it was. I am no longer a partner in the house."
He had been detained at home; Sidonie had company Delobelle touched M. Chebe's foot under the table and, as he spoke, the poor man, decidedly perplexed by the two empty glasses that awaited him, wondered in front of which of the two he ought to take his seat. Delobelle was generous. "You have business together, Messieurs; do not let me disturb you."
They read it again and again; and for a whole week, until Sidonie's departure, it lay on the mantel-shelf beside Madame Chebe's treasures, the clock under a glass globe and the Empire cups.
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