The Nabob [128]
it appears, full of frightful occupations which the Nabob was alleged to have followed fifteen or twenty years ago, at the time of his first sojourn in Paris.
It was the third attack of the kind which the /Messenger/ had published in the course of the last week, and that rogue of a Moessard had the spite to send the number each time done up in a packet to the Place Vendome.
M. Jansoulet received it in the morning with his chocolate; and at the same hour his friends and his enemies--for a man like the Nabob could be regarded with indifference by none--would be reading, commenting, tracing for themselves the relation to him a line of conduct designed to save them from becoming compromised. Today's article must be supposed to have struck hard all the same; for Jansoulet, the coachman, recounted to us a few hours ago, in the Bois, his master had not exchanged ten greetings in the course of ten drives round the lake, while ordinarily his hat is as rarely on his head as a sovereign's when he takes the air. Then, when they got back, there was another trouble. The three boys had just arrived at the house, all in tears and dismay, brought home from the College Bourdaloue by a worthy father in the interest of the poor little fellows themselves, who had received a temporary leave of absence in order to spare them from hearing in the parlour or the playground any unkind story or painful allusion. Thereupon the Nabob flew into a terrible passion, which caused him to destroy a service of porcelain, and it appears that, had it not been for M. de Gery, he would have rushed off at once to punch Moessard's head.
"And he would have done very well," remarked M. Noel, entering at these last words, very much excited. "There is not a line of truth in that rascal's article. My master had never been in Paris before last year. From Tunis to Marseilles, from Marseilles to Tunis, those were his only journeys. But this knave of a journalist is taking his revenge because we refused him twenty thousand francs."
"There you acted very unwisely," observed M. Francis upon this-- Monpavon's Francis, Monpavon the old beau whose solitary tooth shakes about in the centre of his mouth at every word he says, but whom the young ladies regard with a favourable eye all the same on account of his fine manners. "Yes, you were unwise. One must know how to conciliate people, so long as they are in a position to be useful to us or to injure us. Your Nabob has turned his back too quickly upon his friends after his success; and between you and me, /mon cher/, he is not sufficiently firmly established to be able to disregard attacks of this kind."
I thought myself able here to put in a word in my turn:
"That is true enough, M. Noel, your governor is no longer the same since his election. He has adopted a tone and manners which I can hardly but describe as reprehensible. The day before yesterday, at the Territorial, he raised a commotion which you can hardly imagine. He was heard to exclaim before the whole board: 'You have lied to me; you have robbed me, and made me a robber as much as yourselves. Show me your books, you set of rogues!' If he has treated Moessard in the same sort of fashion, I am not surprised any longer that the latter should be taking his revenge in his newspaper."
"But what does this article say?" asked M. Barreau. "Who is present that has read it?"
Nobody answered. Several had tried to buy it, but in Paris scandal sells like bread. At ten o'clock in the morning there was not a single copy of the /Messenger/ left in the office. Then it occurred to one of my nieces--a sharp girl, if ever there was one--to look in the pocket of one of the numerous overcoats in the cloak-room, folded carefully in large pigeon-holes. At the first which she examined:
"Here it is!" exclaimed the charming child with an air of triumph, as she drew out a /Messenger/ crumpled in the folding like a paper that has just been read.
"Here is another!" cried Tom Bois l'Hery, who was making a search on his own account. A third overcoat, a third /Messenger/.
It was the third attack of the kind which the /Messenger/ had published in the course of the last week, and that rogue of a Moessard had the spite to send the number each time done up in a packet to the Place Vendome.
M. Jansoulet received it in the morning with his chocolate; and at the same hour his friends and his enemies--for a man like the Nabob could be regarded with indifference by none--would be reading, commenting, tracing for themselves the relation to him a line of conduct designed to save them from becoming compromised. Today's article must be supposed to have struck hard all the same; for Jansoulet, the coachman, recounted to us a few hours ago, in the Bois, his master had not exchanged ten greetings in the course of ten drives round the lake, while ordinarily his hat is as rarely on his head as a sovereign's when he takes the air. Then, when they got back, there was another trouble. The three boys had just arrived at the house, all in tears and dismay, brought home from the College Bourdaloue by a worthy father in the interest of the poor little fellows themselves, who had received a temporary leave of absence in order to spare them from hearing in the parlour or the playground any unkind story or painful allusion. Thereupon the Nabob flew into a terrible passion, which caused him to destroy a service of porcelain, and it appears that, had it not been for M. de Gery, he would have rushed off at once to punch Moessard's head.
"And he would have done very well," remarked M. Noel, entering at these last words, very much excited. "There is not a line of truth in that rascal's article. My master had never been in Paris before last year. From Tunis to Marseilles, from Marseilles to Tunis, those were his only journeys. But this knave of a journalist is taking his revenge because we refused him twenty thousand francs."
"There you acted very unwisely," observed M. Francis upon this-- Monpavon's Francis, Monpavon the old beau whose solitary tooth shakes about in the centre of his mouth at every word he says, but whom the young ladies regard with a favourable eye all the same on account of his fine manners. "Yes, you were unwise. One must know how to conciliate people, so long as they are in a position to be useful to us or to injure us. Your Nabob has turned his back too quickly upon his friends after his success; and between you and me, /mon cher/, he is not sufficiently firmly established to be able to disregard attacks of this kind."
I thought myself able here to put in a word in my turn:
"That is true enough, M. Noel, your governor is no longer the same since his election. He has adopted a tone and manners which I can hardly but describe as reprehensible. The day before yesterday, at the Territorial, he raised a commotion which you can hardly imagine. He was heard to exclaim before the whole board: 'You have lied to me; you have robbed me, and made me a robber as much as yourselves. Show me your books, you set of rogues!' If he has treated Moessard in the same sort of fashion, I am not surprised any longer that the latter should be taking his revenge in his newspaper."
"But what does this article say?" asked M. Barreau. "Who is present that has read it?"
Nobody answered. Several had tried to buy it, but in Paris scandal sells like bread. At ten o'clock in the morning there was not a single copy of the /Messenger/ left in the office. Then it occurred to one of my nieces--a sharp girl, if ever there was one--to look in the pocket of one of the numerous overcoats in the cloak-room, folded carefully in large pigeon-holes. At the first which she examined:
"Here it is!" exclaimed the charming child with an air of triumph, as she drew out a /Messenger/ crumpled in the folding like a paper that has just been read.
"Here is another!" cried Tom Bois l'Hery, who was making a search on his own account. A third overcoat, a third /Messenger/.