Lippincotts Magazine, August 1873 | Page 4

This computation chilled my hopes. What family remains ten years in a
spot--above all, a spot on that fluctuating periphery of Paris, where the
mighty capital, year after year, bursts belt after belt? Where might they
have gone? Francine!--Francine must be twenty-two. Married, of
course. Her husband, no doubt, has dragged her off to some other
department. Her parents have followed. March, volunteer, and
disentangle yourself from these profitless speculations!
Ten minutes farther on, in the shade of the fort at Noisy-le-Sec, I saw a
red gable and the sign of a tavern. As a tourist I have a passion for a
cabaret: in practice, I find Véfours to unite perhaps a greater number of
advantages.
[Illustration: LOVE LEFT ALONE.]
Some soldiers of the Fortieth were drinking and laughing in a corner. I
took a table not far off, and drew my cold victuals out of my box of
japanned tin, which they doubtless took for a new form of canteen. The
red-fisted garçon, without waiting for orders, set up before me, like
ten-pins, a castor in wood with two enormous bottles, and a litre of that
rinsing of the vats which, under the name "wine of the country," is so
distressingly similar in every neighborhood. Resigned to anything, I
was about drawing out my slice of ham, the chicken seeming to me just
there somewhat too proud a bird and out of harmony with the local
color, when my glance met two gray eyes regarding my own in the
highest state of expansion. The lashes, the brows, the hair and the

necklace of short beard were all very thick and quite gray. The face
they garnished was that of the tavern-keeper.
[Illustration: "FOND OF CHICKEN."]
"Why, it is you, after all, Father Joliet!" I said, after a rapid inspection
of his figure.
[Illustration: THE WIFE.]
"Ah, it is Monsieur Flemming, the Américain-flamand!" cried the host,
striking one hand into the other at the imminent risk of breaking his
pipe. In a trice he trundled off my bottle of rinsings, and replaced it by
one of claret with an orange seal, set another glass, and posted himself
in front of me.
I asked the waiter for two plates, and with a slight blush evoked the
chicken from my box. The soldiers of the Fortieth opened a battery of
staring and hungry eyes.
"And how came you here?" asked I of Joliet.
"It is I who am at the head of the hotel," he replied, proudly pointing
out the dimensions of the place by spreading his hands. "My old
establishment has sunk into the fosses of the fort: it was a transaction
between the government and myself."
"And was the transaction a good one for you?"
"Not so bad, not so bad," said he, winking his honest gray eyes with a
world of simple cunning. "It cannot be so very bad, since I owe nothing
on the hotel, and the cellar is full, and I am selling wholesale and
retail."
The vanity which a minute since had expanded his hands now got into
his legs, and set them upright under his body. He stood upon them, his
eyes proudly lowered upon the seal of the claret. A pang of envy
actually crossed my mind. I, simple _rentier_, with my two little
establishments pressing more closely upon my resources with every
year's increase of house-rates, how could I look at this glorious small
freeholder without comparisons?
"So, then, Father Joliet," said I, "you are rich?"
"At least I depend no longer on my horse, and that thanks to you and
the government."
"To me! What do you mean?"
"Why, have you forgotten the two chickens?"
[Illustration: THE LONE CRUSADE.]

At the allusion to the chickens we caught each other's eye, and laughed
like a pair of augurs. But the mysterious fowls shall be explained to the
reader.
[Illustration: TENDER CHARITY.]
[Illustration: NECESSITY KNOWING LAW.]
I need not explain that I have cast my lot with the Colonial Americans
of Paris, and taken their color. It is a sweet and luxurious mode of life.
The cooks send round our dinners quite hot, or we have faultless
servants, recommended from one colonist to another: these capital
creatures sometimes become so thoroughly translated into American
that I have known them shift around from flat to flat in colonized
households of the second and third stories without ever touching
French soil for the best part of a lifetime. At our receptions,
dancing-teas and so on we pass our time in not giving offence. Federals
and Confederates, rich cotton-spinners from Rhode Island and farmers
from thousand-acre granges in the West, are obliged to mingle and
please each other. Naturally, we can have no more political opinions
than a looking-glass. We entertain just such views as Galignani gives
us every