A Versailles Christmas-Tide | Page 5

one
could have told where Yvette had dined by the bowl of powdered sugar,
just as one could have located the man with the fierce moustaches and
the fur coat by the presence of his pepper-mill, or the place of
"Madame" from her prodigal habit of rending a quarter-yard of the
crusty French bread in twain and consuming only the soft inside.
From the ignorance of our cursory acquaintance we had judged the
French a sociable nation. Our stay at Versailles speedily convinced us
of the fallacy of that belief. Nothing could have impressed us so
forcibly as did the frigid silence that characterised the company. Many
of them had fed there daily for years, yet within the walls of the sunny
dining-room none exchanged even a salutation. This unexpected
taciturnity in a people whom we had been taught to regard as lively and
voluble made us almost ashamed of our own garrulity, and when, in the
presence of the silent company, we were tempted to exchange remarks,
we found ourselves doing it in hushed voices as though we were in
church.
A clearer knowledge, however, showed us that though some unspoken
convention rendered the hotel guests oblivious of each other's presence
while indoors, beyond the hotel walls they might hold communion.
Two retired military men, both wearing the red ribbon of the Legion of
Honour, as indeed did most of our habitués, sat at adjacent tables. One,
tall and thin, was a Colonel; the other, little and neat, a Colonel also. To
the casual gaze they appeared complete strangers, and we had

consumed many meals in their society before observing that whenever
the tall Colonel had sucked the last cerise from his glass of eau-de-vie,
and begun to fold his napkin--a formidable task, for the serviettes fully
deserved the designation later bestowed on them by the Boy, of "young
table-cloths"--the little Colonel made haste to fold his also. Both rose
from their chairs at the same instant, and the twain, having received
their hats from the attentive Iorson, vanished, still mute, into the
darkness together.
[Illustration: The Two Colonels]
Once, to our consternation, the little Colonel replaced his napkin in its
ring without waiting for the signal from the tall Colonel. But our
apprehension that they, in their dealings in that mysterious outer world
which twice daily they sought together, might have fallen into a
difference of opinion was dispelled by the little Colonel, who had risen,
stepping to his friend and holding out his hand. This the tall Colonel
without withdrawing his eyes from Le Journal des Débats which he
was reading, silently pressed. Then, still without a word spoken or a
look exchanged, the little Colonel passed out alone.
[Illustration: The Young and Brave]
The average age of the Ogams was seventy. True, there was Dunois the
Young and Brave, who could not have been more than forty-five. What
his name really was we knew not, but something in his comparatively
juvenile appearance among the chevaliers suggested the appellation
which for lack of a better we retained. Dunois' youth might only be
comparative, but his bravery was indubitable; for who among the
Ogams but he was daring enough to tackle the pâté-de-foie-gras, or the
abattis, a stew composed of the gizzards and livers of fowls? And who
but Dunois would have been so reckless as to follow baked mussels and
crépinettes with rognons frits?
Dunois, too, revealed intrepid leanings toward strange liquors.
Sometimes--it was usually at déjeûner when he had dined out on the
previous evening--he would demand the wine-list of Iorson, and
rejecting the vin blanc or vin rouge which, being compris, contented

the others, would order himself something of a choice brand. One of his
favourite papers was Le Rire, and Henri, Iorson's youthful assistant,
regarded him with admiration.
[Illustration: Malcontent]
A less attractive presence in the dining-room was Madame. Madame,
who was an elderly dame of elephantine girth, had resided in the hotel
for half a dozen years, during which period her sole exercise had been
taken in slowly descending from her chamber in the upper regions for
her meals, and then, leisurely assimilation completed, in yet more
slowly ascending. Madame's allotted seat was placed in close proximity
to the hot-air register; and though Madame was usually one of the first
to enter the dining-room, she was generally the last to leave. Madame's
appetite was as animated as her body was lethargic. She always drank
her half-bottle of red wine to the dregs, and she invariably concluded
with a greengage in brandy. So it was small marvel that, when at last
she left her chair to "tortoise" upstairs, her complexion should be two
shades darker than when she descended.
Five dishes, irrespective of hors d'oeuvres at luncheon, and potage at
dinner, were allowed each guest, and