CHAPTER II
MOTHER CITRON'S TENANTS
"Now you've forgotten the fish knives and forks! Do you expect my loverto eat with his fingers like that old Chinaman I had for three monthslast year!"
Susy d'Orsel spoke with a distinct accent of the Faubourg, whichcontrasted strangely with her delicate and distinguished appearance.
Justine, her maid, stood staring in reply.
"But, Madame, we have lobsters...."
"What's that got to do with it, they're fish, ain't they?"
The young woman left the table and went into the adjoining room, a smalldrawing-room, elegantly furnished in Louis XV style.
"Justine," she called.
"Madame."
"Here's another mistake. You mustn't get red orchids. Throw theseout.... I want either mauve or yellow ones.... You know those are theofficial colors of His Majesty."
"Queer taste his ... His Majesty has for yellow."
"What's that to do with you. Get a move on, lay the table."
"I left the _pate de foie gras_ in the pantry with ice round it."
"All right."
The young woman returned to the dining-room and gave a final glance atthe preparations.
"He's a pretty good sort, my august lover." Justine started in surprise.
"August! Is that a new one?"
Susy d'Orsel could hardly repress a smile.
"Mind your own business. What time is it?"
"A quarter to twelve, Madame." And as the girl started to leave the roomshe ventured:
"I hope M. August won't forget me, to-morrow morning."
"Why, you little idiot, his name isn't August, it's Frederick-Christian!You have about as much sense as an oyster!"
The maid looked so crestfallen at this that Susy added, good-naturedly:
"That's all right, Justine, A Happy New Year anyway, and don't worry.And now get out; His Majesty wants nobody about but me this evening."
Susy d'Orsel, in spite of her physical charms, had found life hardduring the earlier years of her career. She had become a mediocreactress merely for the sake of having some profession, and hadfrequented the night restaurants in quest of a wealthy lover. It wasonly after a long delay that fortune had smiled upon her, and she hadarrived at the enviable position of being the mistress of a King.
Frederick-Christian II, since the death of his father three yearspreviously, reigned over the destinies of the Kingdom of Hesse-Weimar.Young and thoroughly Parisian in his tastes, he felt terribly bored inhis middle-class capital and sought every opportunity of going,incognito, to have a little fun in Paris. During each visit he neverfailed to call upon Susy d'Orsel, and by degrees, coming under the swayof her charms, he made her a sort of official mistress, an honor whichgreatly redounded to her glory and popularity.
He had installed her in a dainty little apartment in the Rue de Monceau.It was on the third floor and charmingly furnished. In fact, he was inthe habit of declaring that his Queen Hedwige, despite all her wealth,was unable to make her apartment half so gracious and comfortable.
Thus it was that Susy d'Orsel waited patiently for the arrival of herroyal lover, who had telephoned her he would be with her on the night ofDecember the thirty-first.
The official residence of the King while in Paris was the Royal PalaceHotel, and although in strict incognito, he rarely spent the whole nightout. But he intended to make the last night of the year an exception tothis rule. As became a gallant gentleman, he had himself seen to theordering of the supper, and a procession of waiters from the firstrestaurants of Paris had been busy all the afternoon preparing for thefeast.
Suddenly a discreet ring at the bell startled Susy d'Orsel.
"That's queer, I didn't expect the King until one o'clock!" sheexclaimed.
She opened the door and saw a young girl standing on the landing.
"Oh, it's you, Mademoiselle Pascal! What are you coming at this hourfor?"
"Excuse me, Madame, for troubling you, but I've brought your lacenegligee. It took me quite a time to finish, and I thought you'dprobably like it as soon as possible."
"Oh, I thought it had already come. I'm very glad you brought it. Therewould have been a fine row if it hadn't been ready for me to wear thisevening."
Susy d'Orsel took the dressmaker into her bedroom and turned on theelectric lights. The gown was then unwrapped and displayed. It was ofmousseline de soie, trimmed with English point.
Susy examined it with the eye of a connoisseur and then nodded her head.
"It's fine, my girl, you have the fingers of a fairy, but it must putyour eyes out."
"It is very hard, Madame, especially working by artificial light, and inwinter the days are so short and the work very heavy. That is why I cameto you at this late hour."
Susy smiled.
"Late hour! Why the evening is just beginning for me."
"Our lives are very different, Madame."
"That's right, I begin when you stop, and if your work is hard, mineisn't always agreeable."
The two women laughed and then Susy took off her wrapper and put on thenew negligee.
"My royal lover is coming this evening."
"Yes, I know," answered Marie Pascal. "Your table looks very pretty."
"You might make me a lace table cloth. We'll talk about it some othertime, not this evening; besides, I can't be too extravagant."
The dressmaker took her leave a few moments later and made her way withcare in the semi-obscurity down the three flights of stairs.
Marie Pascal was a young girl in the early twenties, fair-haired,blue-eyed and with a graceful figure. Modishly but neatly dressed, shehad a reputation in the neighborhood as a model of discretion andvirtue.
She worked ceaselessly and being clever with her fingers, she hadsucceeded in building up so good a trade in the rich and elegant Monceauquarter, that in the busy season she was obliged to hire one or twoworkwomen to help her.
As she was crossing the court to go to her own room, a voice called herfrom the porter's lodge.
"Marie Pascal, look here a moment."
A fat woman dressed in her best opened the door of her room which waslit by one flaring gas jet.
Marie Pascal, in spite of her natural kindliness, could scarcely repressa smile.
Madame Ceiron, the concierge, or, as she was popularly called, "MotherCitron," certainly presented a fantastic appearance.
She was large, shapeless, common, and good-natured. Behind her glasses,her eyes snapped with perpetual sharp humor. She had a mass of gray hairthat curled round her wrinkled face, which, with a last remnant ofcoquetry, she made up outrageously. Her hands and feet were enormous,disproportionate to her figure, although she was well above middleheight. She invariably wore mittens while doing the housework.
Mother Citron, however, did very little work; she left that to asubordinate who, for a modest wage, attended to her business and lefther free to go out morning, noon and night. She now questioned MariePascal with considerable curiosity, and the young girl explained herlate errand to deliver the gown to Susy d'Orsel.
"Come in and have a cup of coffee, Mam'zelle Pascal," urged the oldwoman, as she set out two cups and filled them from a coffee pot on thestove.
Marie Pascal at first refused, but Mother Citron was so insistent thatshe ended by accepting the invitation. Besides, she felt very gratefulto Madame Ceiron for having recommended her to the proprietor of thehouse, the Marquis de Serac, an old bachelor who lived on the firstfloor.
The Marquis had used his good offices to obtain for her an order forlaces from the King of Hesse-Weimar. Mother Citron showed a kindlyinterest in this enterprise.
"Well, did you see the King?"
Marie Pascal hesitated:
"I saw him and I didn't see him."
"Tell me all about it, my dear. Is the lover of our lady upstairs agood-looking man?"
"It's hard to say. So far as I could judge, he seemed to be veryhandsome. You see, it was like this. After waiting
in the lobby of theRoyal Palace Hotel for about an hour, I was shown into a largedrawing-room; a sort of footman in knee breeches took my laces into theadjoining room where the King was walking up and down. I just caught aglimpse of him from time to time."
"What did he do then?"
"I don't know. He must have liked my laces for he gave me a large order.He didn't seem to pay much attention to them; he picked out three of thesamples I sent in and what seemed queer, he also ordered some imitationsof them."
The concierge smiled knowingly.
"I expect the imitations were for his lawful wife, and the real ones forhis little friend. Men are all alike. Another cup of coffee?"
"Oh, no, thanks."
"Well, I won't insist; each one to his taste. The life Susy d'Orselleads wouldn't suit you. And the amount of champagne she gets through!"
"No, I shouldn't care much about that."
"All the same, there's something to be said for it. She has a first-rateposition since she got the King ... and I get first-rate tips! Taketo-night, for instance; I'll bet they'll be carrying on till pretty neardawn. It upsets my habits, but I can't complain. I'll probably get agood New Year's present in the morning."
"Well, as it's very late for me, I'll go up to bed."
"Go ahead, my dear, don't let me keep you."
Marie Pascal had reached the stairs when she turned back.
"Oh, Madame Ceiron, when can I thank the Marquis de Serac for hiskindness in introducing me to Frederick-Christian?"
"No hurry, my child, the Marquis has gone to the country to spend theNew Year's day with his relations and he won't be back before nextweek."
Marie Pascal climbed the stairs to her room on the sixth floor and theconcierge returned to her quarters and settled herself in an armchair.