[18]Mademoiselle Bouchard stated the case to him, carefully giving Monsieur Paul’s bogus reasons.

[18]

“The Rue Bassano is a very gay and noisy place, Pierre, as you know, with a great many theatres and restaurants about, and much passing to and fro. It will be a change from the Rue Clarisse.”

“Mademoiselle, I know it,” Pierre replied, showing the whites of his eyes. “I would much rather remain in this decent, quiet street.”

Mademoiselle turned to Élise with an I-told-you-so air, and said, “No doubt you would, Pierre—a man of your excellent character.”

“Yes, Mademoiselle. The theatres and music halls must be very objectionable—and the restaurants. I suppose the waiters would laugh at me when I went to fetch Monsieur’s dinner of boiled mutton and rice.”

“Yes; but if it were your duty to go with Monsieur?”

[19]“Duty, Mademoiselle, has ever been a sacred word with me. Though but a servant, I have always revered my duty,” replied the virtuous Pierre. He backed and filled for some time longer, as servants commonly do—and as some of their masters and mistresses do sometimes—but finally, in response to Mademoiselle Bouchard’s pleading that he would not desert Monsieur Bouchard at this critical moment in his career, consented to brave the dangers of the gay Rue Bassano. But when Mademoiselle hinted at the horrid possibility that Monsieur Bouchard might be beguiled into sowing a late crop of wild oats, suddenly a grin flashed for a moment on Pierre’s stolid countenance—flashed and disappeared so instantly that Mademoiselle Bouchard was not sure he grinned at all. If he did, however, it must have been at the notion that the staid, the correct Monsieur Bouchard could ever sow wild oats. Mademoiselle Céleste blushed faintly[20] at the thought that she reckoned such a thing possible.

[19]

[20]

Pierre then backed out of the door, wiping two imaginary tears from his eyes. Once outside with the door shut, this miscreant did a very strange thing. He stood on one leg, whirled around with the greatest agility for his years, and softly whispered, “Houp-là!”

[21]That very day came the moving. The van arrived, and Monsieur Bouchard’s books, papers and clothes were put into it by Pierre, who seemed to be in the deepest dejection. Mademoiselle gave him 

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