“Whose?” queried the ex-bootblack, looking up with an insolent expression.
“I ask you where the young lady is, who has been in this house since last night?”
The boy thrust his tongue into his cheek,--a street Arab’s trick when he proposes to lie--and answered:
“Oh, yes; the young foreign lady, who was kidnapped, and who slept here--_tu tu tu r’lu tu_--she’s upstairs, on the first floor, in the finest apartment in the house, where she’s sighing and having a stupid time--_tu tu tu r’lu tu!_”
Chérubin asked no further questions; he went upstairs--there was but one flight--and stopped at a door, the key of which was on the outside. His heart beat very fast at the thought that he was about to stand in the presence of the young Pole who had consented so readily to leave her husband and go with him; but he remembered how pretty she was, and he decided to knock.
“Come in,” cried a voice, “the key’s in the door.”
Chérubin recognized Madame de Globeska’s accent; he opened the door and found himself face to face with the young woman.
Chichette Chichemann wore a very simple costume, into which a few odds and ends of lace, flowers and fur had been introduced, in an attempt to set it off; but they produced the contrary effect in the eyes of a good judge. But Chérubin was not as yet an expert in such matters; moreover, a man in love pays no heed to such details. What impressed him at once was Chichette’s pretty face, over which was perched the same velvet toque that she wore at the Cirque; and as he entered the room she greeted him with a pleasant smile, crying:
“Ah! here you are; that’s very lucky! for I was beginning to be awfully bored, all alone here!”
Encouraged by this greeting, Chérubin seated himself beside the young woman, and said to her in a very tender tone:
“Ah! madame, then you will pardon what my excessive love has led me to undertake? You have consented to trust my honor, to fly from him who--from him who--that is, from that gentleman who looked so ugly and who assuredly is not worthy to--to----”
Chérubin had never said so much at one time; he stopped, for he did not know how to finish his sentence. But Chichette gave him no time; she instantly replied:
“Yes, yes! I’ve fled from my tyrant. But let’s talk about something else.”