Mademoiselle Marie and Mademoiselle Louise wished to be extremely elegant in the company in which they found themselves; but it must be admitted that they laughed rather loud, and talked excessively. However, their account of the way in which they slipped past the entresol was very amusing, and the two young men roared with laughter; and then the fun began. But at the very moment that two corks flew out with a loud report, the door came open with a bang, and Madame Schmid stalked in. [Illustration] Not Banquo’s ghost made a greater sensation at a party than this stout Alsatian. Fontaine, following his usual tactics, ran behind the screen. Madame Schmid, with one rapid glance at the table and the champagne, uttered but one word, “Thieves!” and made a dash for Fontaine, whom she collared and dragged out. “Oh, you pretty boy,” she screamed, “this is your poverty,--champagne and oysters and giving parties, when you can’t pay your wash-bill! I used to feel sorry for you when you were so poor; but now I know you are rolling in money, with twenty million francs left you in America, and owing a poor woman two hundred francs for washing,--that is, you and that slick-tongued Marsac yonder!” Marsac was not “yonder,” but directly behind Madame Schmid, and holding a big tumbler of champagne in one hand, while with the other he deftly seized her round the waist, and began pouring the champagne down her throat. At the same time he was talking her down in vigorous tones, shouting,-- “My dear girl, you really oughtn’t to come here. It will ruin our reputations to have a handsome young thing like you found in our apartment.” Madame Schmid, sputtering, protesting, but obliged to drink the champagne, willy-nilly, was still able to make a good deal of noise. “Oh, you hypocrite! you can’t honeyfuggle me--” Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle, the champagne flowed down her throat. “Honeyfuggle _you_? Oh, you bewitching creature, _you_ honeyfuggle _me_! Another glass, Fontaine.” Another tumbler followed the first, Madame Schmid trying to say, “Stop hugging me, you impudent--” The young ladies enjoyed this excessively; and before the second glass was wholly disposed of, Madame Schmid was struggling with the emotions produced by the champagne, Marsac’s flattery, and wrath at her unpaid bill, but being a thrifty Alsatian, the last was by no means forgotten. Suddenly, amid all the laughing, choking, joking, and commotion, a voice was heard calling at the foot of the stairs,-- “Monsieur Marsac! Monsieur Fontaine! open the door and help me up these confounded narrow stairs! I am not built for such Alpine work as this.” “Great heavens! it is old Duval!” exclaimed Fontaine, who had dropped limp into a chair at the first sound of this voice.