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Updated: June 8, 2025
He was thoroughly happy; his Helene, his belle Marquise, sat across the table from him sending messages to him with her eyes. He adored her, but he liked Lady Mount-Rhyswicke he liked everybody and everything in the world. He liked Pedlow particularly, and it no longer troubled him that the fat man should be a friend of Madame de Vaurigard. Pedlow was a "character" and a wit as well.
Finally he stumbled upon something almost grotesquely out of place: a large, new, perfectly-appointed card-table with a sliding top, a smooth, thick, green cover and patent compartments. He halted before this incongruity, regarding it with astonishment. Then a light laugh rippled behind him, and he turned to find Madame de Vaurigard seated in a big red Venetian chair by the fire.
I ask Monsieur Mellin if it is not good." "And I'll leave it to Cooley," said Pedlow. "If he can drink all of his I'll eat crow!" Thus challenged, the two young men smilingly accepted glasses from the waiter, and lifted them on high. "Same toast," said Cooley. "Queen!" "A la belle Marquise!" Gallantly they drained the glasses at a gulp, and Madame de Vaurigard clapped her hands.
Gawt in with his tourin'-caw at noon." "You will forgive, dear friend," wrote Madame de Vaurigard, "if I ask you that we renounce our drive to-day. You see, I wish to have that little dinner to-night and must make preparation. Honorable Chandler Pedlow arrived this morning from Paris and that droll Mr. Cooley I have learn is coincidentally arrived also.
She whizzed by him in a big touring-car one afternoon as he stood on an "isle of safety" at the foot of the Champs Elysees. Cooley was driving the car. Brief as the glimpse was, Mellin had time to receive a distinctly disagreeable impression of this person, and to wonder how Heaven could vouchsafe the society of Madame de Vaurigard to so coarse a creature.
I know Madge Mount-Rhyswicke and that ain't her voice." A peal of silvery laughter rang from the other side of the curtain. "They've heard you," said Cooley. "An' who could help it?" Madame de Vaurigard herself threw back the curtains. "Who could help hear our great, dear, ole lion? How he roar'!"
See what many people! It is jus' that Fate again." She laughed, and looked to the Italian for sympathy in her kindly merriment. He smiled cordially upon her, then lifted his hat and smiled as cordially upon Mellin. "I am so happy to fin' myself in Rome that I forget" Madame de Vaurigard went on "ever'sing! But now I mus' make sure not to lose you. What is your hotel?"
I suppose you saw a lot of him in Paris?" "Eh, I thought he is dead!" cried Madame de Vaurigard. "The father is. I mean, little Cooley." "Oh, yes," she laughed softly. "We had some gay times, a little party of us. We shall be happy here, too; you will see. I mus' make a little dinner very soon, but not unless you will come. You will?" "Do you want me very much?"
"Now, then," demanded Cooley, "are the ladies goin' to play?" "Never!" cried Madame de Vaurigard. "All right," said the youth cheerfully; "you can look on. Come and sit by me for a mascot." "You'll need a mascot, my boy!" shouted Pedlow. "That's right, though; take her." He pushed a chair close to that in which Cooley had already seated himself, and Madame de Vaurigard dropped into it, laughing.
"Look at them two cooing doves over there," he said reproachfully, a jerk of his bulbous thumb indicating Madame de Vaurigard and her young protege. "Madge, can't you do nothin' fer our friend the Indian? Can't you even help him to sody?" "Oh, perhaps," she answered with the slightest flash from her tired eyes. Then she nonchalantly lifted Mellin's replenished glass from the table and drained it.
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