Louise had been in Ernestine’s service three weeks, when her mistress said to her one morning:
“Mamma is coming home at last! Papa has just told me that she will be here in three days. I am awfully glad, for she has been away nearly six weeks, and I long to see her. Oh! what joy! Then I shall have everything I want. And mamma will like you too; I am sure that she will be as pleased with you as I am.”
Louise made no reply, but she felt deeply moved; she could not understand her own perturbation when she learned that she was to see Madame de Noirmont.
Chérubin followed Daréna’s advice; he wrote a very amorous, but very timid, note for the young woman he had seen at the play. On the following day Daréna called upon his friend in good season and found him finishing his lovelorn espistle.
“Are you writing to the lovely foreigner?” asked Daréna, dropping into an easy-chair.
“Yes, my dear fellow, I have just finished my letter, which you have promised to forward to its destination.”
“Parbleu! cannot one do anything with money? Do not all obstacles vanish before it? Valets, maid-servants can be bribed, duennas and concierges corrupted. I will spend money in profusion.”
As he spoke, the count slapped his pockets, then exclaimed:
“But in order to spend it, I must have it, and I find that my pockets are empty.”
Chérubin went to his desk and took out several rouleaux of gold pieces, which he handed to Daréna, saying:
“Take this, my dear fellow, take this; don’t spare it. Reward generously all who help to forward my love.”
“You do not need to give me that injunction; I will play the magnificent, the Buckingham! After all, you are rich, and if you did not use your fortune to gratify your wishes, really it wouldn’t be worth while to have it. Is your note very ardent?”
“Why, I think that it is very honorable----”
“Honorable! that’s not what we want, my dear friend.--Come, read me what you have written, and let me see if it’s all right.”
“‘I ask your pardon, madame, for the liberty that I take in writing you, but----’”
Daréna’s roar of laughter interrupted Chérubin, who inquired:
“What are you laughing at? Isn’t it all right?”
“Ha! ha! ha! Your innocence is enchanting; one would think that it was a letter from a boy to his aunt on her birthday. Let’s hear the rest.”