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Updated: May 13, 2025
Madame Olivier had long since made up her mind as to which side to take in case of a collision between her two benefactors; she regarded Madame Marneffe as the stronger power. "Do I know him?" she repeated. "No, indeed, no. I never saw him before!" "What! Did Madame Marneffe's cousin never go to see her when she was living in the Rue du Doyenne?" "Oh! Was it her cousin?" cried Madame Olivier.
Mrs. Assingham knew better, knew there had been no historic hour, from that of Pocahontas down, when some young Englishman hadn't precipitately believed and some American girl hadn't, with a few more gradations, availed herself to the full of her incapacity to doubt; but she accepted resignedly the laurel of the founder, since she was in fact pretty well the doyenne, above ground, of her transplanted tribe, and since, above all, she HAD invented combinations, though she had not invented Bob's own.
The apartment in the Rue du Doyenne was not satisfactory; the Baron proposed to furnish another magnificently in a charming new house in the Rue Vanneau. Monsieur Marneffe got a fortnight's leave, to be taken a month hence for urgent private affairs in the country, and a present in money; he promised himself that he would spend both in a little town in Switzerland, studying the fair sex.
The Archbishop of Paris, Monseigneur Sibour, was paying a round of visits to some of the communities, and ours was among the chosen ones. The news was told us by Mother St. Alexis, the doyenne, the most aged member of the community, who was so tall, so thin, and so old that I never looked upon her as a human being or as a living being.
As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night.
They had dinner in Bohemian fashion on a small round table in Lady Ingleton's boudoir, and were waited upon by Sir Carey's valet, a middle-aged Italian who had been for many years in his service and who had succeeded, in the way of Italian servants, in becoming one of the family. The Pekinese lay around solaced by the arrival of their mistress and of their doyenne.
The Baron always withdrew with the other company at about midnight, and came back a quarter of an hour later. The secret of this secrecy was as follows. The lodge-keepers of the house were a Monsieur and Madame Olivier, who, under the Baron's patronage, had been promoted from their humble and not very lucrative post in the Rue du Doyenne to the highly-paid and handsome one in the Rue Vanneau.
"What can I do, sir?" asked Madame Olivier. "A man came here to-night in a carriage. Do you know him?" Madame Olivier had recognized Montes well enough. How could she have forgotten him? In the Rue du Doyenne the Brazilian had always slipped a five-franc piece into her hand as he went out in the morning, rather too early.
A marshal of France may have saved the Emperor or his country; "He paid on the nail" will always be the highest praise he can have from a tradesman. "Very well. And on Saturday, Monsieur Rivet, you shall have the flat tassels. By the way, I am moving from the Rue du Doyenne; I am going to live in the Rue Vanneau." "You are very right.
"Please take Jane away, Annette," said Lady Ingleton. "Miladi!" "I don't want her here this morning. I'm expecting a visitor, and Jane might bark. I don't wish to have a noise in the room." Annette, who looked decidedly sulky, approached the cushion, bent down, and rather abruptly snatched the amazed doyenne of the Pekinese from her voluptuous reveries.
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