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What house parties he gave then! men and women of talent flocked under his hospitable roof indeed there was no lack of talent some of it from the Opéra some of it from the Conservatoire, and they brought their voices and their fiddles with them and played and sang for him for days, in exchange for his feudal hospitality more than that, the painter Paul Deschamps covered the ceiling of his music room with chubby cupids playing golden trumpets and violins one adorable little fellow in the cove above the grand piano struggling with a 'cello twice as high as himself, and Carin painted the history of love in eight panels upon the walls of the old ballroom, whose frescoes were shabby enough, so I am told, when de Savignac purchased them.
What an unexpected and welcome surprise! For weeks I had hunted in vain for a thoroughbred. I had never hoped to be given one from the kennels of Monsieur de Savignac's château. "Enchanted, Pierre!" I cried "Present my compliments to Monsieur de Savignac. Tell him how sincerely grateful I am, and say that he may expect me to-morrow before noon."
She started nervously, then, rising, whispered to François, who had come to open it, then a moment later rose again and, going out into the hall, closed the door behind her. "Thursday then," I heard a man's gruff voice reply brusquely. I saw de Savignac straighten in his chair, and lean to one side as if trying to catch a word of the muffled conversation in the vestibule.
Yes, indeed, to honour him Mayor of Hirondelette, the little village close to his estate, and de Savignac had to be formal and dignified for the first time in his life this good Bohemian at the village fêtes, at the important meetings of the Municipal Council, composed of a dealer in cattle, the blacksmith and the notary.
And the thrice-happy Suzette is dreaming of her own wedding to come, for it is long past midnight and I am alone with my wise old cat "The Essence of Selfishness," and my good and faithful spaniel whom I call "Mr. Bear," for he looks like a young cinnamon, all save his ears. If poor de Savignac were alive he would hardly recognize the little spaniel puppy he gave me, he has grown so.
"Au revoir," came back to me faintly, as Pierre and the doggie and I entered the green lane and started for home. "Monsieur sees that I was right, is it not true?" ventured Pierre, as we gained the open fields. "Monsieur de Savignac would have been grieved had not monsieur accepted the little dog."
And a few second-hand dealers from afar, in black derbys, lifting a dirty finger to close a bid for mahogany. Close to this sordid crowd on the mud-smeared lawn sat Le Gros, his heavy body sunk in a carved and gilded arm-chair that had once graced the boudoir of Madame de Savignac. As I passed him, I saw that his face was purple with drink.
No wonder de Savignac left the university he had no longer any need of it.
"Pardon, monsieur," he resumed after an awkward pause, "but but monsieur, by not going, will grieve Monsieur de Savignac He will be so happy to give monsieur the dog so happy, monsieur. If Monsieur de Savignac could not give something to somebody he would die. Ah, he gives everything away, that good Monsieur de Savignac!" exclaimed Pierre.
"I'd like a little rain myself," said I, reaching for a chair "I have a young dog to train a spaniel Monsieur de Savignac has been good enough to give me. He is too young to learn to follow a scent on dry ground." Le Gros raised his bull-like head with a jerk. "De Savignac gave you a dog, did he? and he has a dog to give away, has he?" The words came out of his coarse throat with a snarl.
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