Almost instantly,
the motherly looking person appeared in the doorway. She had been
waiting for Napoleon's signal.
"See!" she cried, holding up a bottle of milk. "I have it! To the
dairy-lunch and the chemist's I have been while--"
Rouquin leaped forward and snatched the squalling Napoleon from Mrs.
Bingle's arms, and an instant later deposited him in those of his
maternal grandmother, who in almost the same instant was pushed rudely
out of the room. The door was quickly closed. Napoleon's howls
receded.
"Now," said Rouquin, "we may talk in peace. My faithful old servant,
Madame," he went on, turning to Mrs. Bingle with his rarest smile. "I
do not know what I should do without her. She has gone out for the
milk and--Ah, what a treasure she is! Mon dieu, how I appreciate that
wonderful Fifi! That is her name, Madame--Fifi. Ah! Sublime--"
"She didn't look like a servant, Mr. Rouquin," said Mrs. Bingle,
recovered from her surprise.
"You speak of her dress, Madame? Has she not declared but now, this
instant, that she went out to the chemist's, to the dairy-lunch? Catch
Fifi on the street in her servant's dress! No, no! She spends her
wages on dress, vain creature.
Pages:
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306