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"À table, Messieurs!" cries M. Siron, bearing through the court the first tureen of soup. And immediately the company begins to settle down about the long tables in the dining-room, framed all round with sketches of all degrees of merit and demerit. There's the big picture of the huntsman winding a horn with a dead boar between his legs, and his legs well, his legs in stockings.
Thus had this singular introduction passed unperceived in the midst of more than thirty persons, art-students, ladies in dressing-gowns and covered with rice powder, six foot of Siron whisking dishes over our head, and his noisy sons clattering in and out with fresh relays. "One question more," said I: "did you recognise my voice?" "Your voice?" he repeated.
I was looking for motives. Here is an outbreak of jubilation, and a lot of men clustering together about some new- comer with outstretched hands; perhaps the 'correspondence' has come in and brought So-and-so from Paris, or perhaps it is only So- and-so who has walked over from Chailly to dinner. 'A table, Messieurs! cries M. Siron, bearing through the court the first tureen of soup.
"Yes, I am sorry he went; I feel such a Grandfather William, alone among all these lads," he replied. "My name is Dodd," I resumed. "Yes," said he, "so Madame Siron told me." "Dodd, of San Francisco," I continued. "Late of Pinkerton and Dodd." "Montana Block, I think?" said he. "The same," said I. Neither of us looked at each other; but I could see his hand deliberately making bread pills.
"Yes, I am sorry he went; I feel such a Grandfather William, alone among all these lads," he replied. "My name is Dodd," I resumed. "Yes," said he, "so Madame Siron told me." "Dodd, of San Francisco," I continued. "Late of Pinkerton and Dodd." "Montana Block, I think?" said he. "The same," said I. Neither of us looked at each other; but I could see his hand deliberately making bread pills.
I feared to look at him, lest my glances should betray my deep excitement, and chance served me so well that the soup was scarce removed before we were naturally introduced. My first sip of Chateau Siron, a vintage from which I had been long estranged, startled me into speech. "O, this'll never do!" I cried, in English. "Dreadful stuff, isn't it?" said Madden, in the same language.
And we took wine together across the table. Thus had this singular introduction passed unperceived in the midst of more than thirty persons, art students, ladies in dressing-gowns and covered with rice powder, six foot of Siron whisking dishes over our head, and his noisy sons clattering in and out with fresh relays. "One question more," said I: "Did you recognise my voice?"
Theoretically, the house was open to all comers; practically, it was a kind of club. The guests protected themselves, and, in so doing, they protected Siron. Formal manners being laid aside, essential courtesy was the more rigidly exacted; the new arrival had to feel the pulse of the society; and a breach of its undefined observances was promptly punished.
Theoretically, the house was open to all corners; practically, it was a kind of club. The guests protected themselves, and, in so doing, they protected Siron. Formal manners being laid aside, essential courtesy was the more rigidly exacted; the new arrival had to feel the pulse of the society; and a breach of its undefined observances was promptly punished.
"Such a gang, such reptiles! to think we were like that! I wonder Siron didn't sweep us from his premises." "Perhaps we weren't so bad," I suggested. "Don't let me depress you," said he. "We were both Anglo-Saxons, anyway, and the only redeeming feature to-day is another." The thought of my quest, a moment driven out by this rencounter, revived in my mind. "Who is he?" I cried.
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