Page:The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter.djvu/240

At that moment there was a violent ring at the door of the rooms.

“Lucile, Lucile,” cried Seraphine to the waiting maid, “do not let anyone in, say I am not home yet.”

At the name of Lucile uttered twice, Rodolphe rose.

“I do not wish to incommode you in any way, madame,” said he. “Besides, I must take my leave, it is late and I live a long way off. Good-evening.”

“What! you are going?” exclaimed Seraphine, augmenting the fire of her glances. “Why, why should you go? I am free, you can stay.”

“Impossible,” replied Rodolphe, “I am expecting one of my relatives who is coming from Terra del Fuego this evening, and he would disinherit me if he did not find me waiting to receive him. Good-evening, madame.”

And he quitted the room hurriedly. The servant went to light him out. Rodolphe accidentally cast his eye on her. She was a delicate-looking girl, with slow movements; her extremely pale face offered a charming contrast to her dark and naturally curling hair, whilst her blue eyes resembled two sickly stars.

“Oh! phantom,” exclaimed Rodolphe, shrinking from one who bore the name and the face of his mistress. “Away, what would you with me?” And he rushed down the stairs.

“Why, madame,” said the lady’s maid, returning to her mistress’s room, “the young fellow is mad.”

“Say rather that he is a fool,” exclaimed the exasperated Seraphine. “Oh!” she continued, “this will teach me to show kindness. If only that brute of a Leon had the sense to drop in now!”

Leon was the gentleman whose love carried a whip.

Rodolphe ran home without waiting to take breath. Going upstairs he found his carroty-haired cat giving vent