Poor man! It was touching to hear him speak of
his Parisian habits, and of his experience; he whose
destiny it was to be always a beginner.
“Now, that is understood, is it not? I
engage you as secretary. You will have a fixed
salary which we will settle directly, and I shall provide
you with the opportunity to make your fortune rapidly.”
And while de Gery, raised suddenly above all the anxieties
of a newcomer, of one who solicits a favour, of a
neophyte, did not move for fear of awaking from a
dream:
“Now,” said the Nabob to him in a gentle
voice, “sit down there, next me, and let us
talk a little about mamma.”
I had just finished my frugal morning repast and,
as my habit was, placed the remains of my modest provisions
in the board-room safe with a secret lock, which has
served me as a store-cupboard during four years, almost,
that I have been at the Territorial. Suddenly
the governor walks into the offices, with his face
all red and eyes inflamed, as though after a night’s
feasting, draws in his breath noisily, and in rude
terms says to me, with his Italian accent:
“But this place stinks, Moussiou Passajon.”
The place did not stink, if you like the word.
Only—shall I say it?—I had ordered
a few onions to garnish a knuckle of veal which Mme.
Seraphine had sent down to me, she being the cook on
the second floor, whose accounts I write out for her
every evening. I tried to explain the matter
to the governor, but he had flown into a temper, saying
that to his mind there was no sense in poisoning the
atmosphere of an office in that way, and that it was
not worth while to maintain premises at a rent of
twelve thousand francs, with eight windows fronting
full on the Boulevard Malesherbes, in order to roast
onions in them. I don’t know what he did
not say to me in his passion. For my own part,
naturally I got angry at hearing myself addressed
in that insolent manner. It is surely the least
a man can do to be polite with people in his service
whom he does not pay. What the deuce! So
I answered him that it was annoying, in truth, but
that if the Territorial Bank paid me what it owed
me, namely, four years’ arrears of salary, plus
seven thousand francs personal advances made by me
to the governor for expenses of cabs, newspapers,
cigars, and American grogs on board days, I would go
and eat decently at the nearest cookshop, and should
not be reduced to cooking, in the room where our board
was accustomed to sit, a wretched stew, for which
I had to thank the public compassion of female cooks.
Take that!
