Chapter 4 - Page 2

"They don't come for my beaux yeux--for mine," said M. Pigeonneau,
sadly. "Perhaps it's for yours, young man. Je vous recommande la
mere."

I reflected a moment. "They came on account of Mr. Ruck--because at
hotels he's so restless."

M. Pigeonneau gave me a knowing nod. "Of course he is, with such a
wife as that--a femme superbe. Madame Ruck is preserved in
perfection--a miraculous fraicheur. I like those large, fair, quiet
women; they are often, dans l'intimite, the most agreeable. I'll
warrant you that at heart Madame Ruck is a finished coquette."

"I rather doubt it," I said.

"You suppose her cold? Ne vous y fiez pas!"

"It is a matter in which I have nothing at stake."

"You young Americans are droll," said M. Pigeonneau; "you never have
anything at stake! But the little one, for example; I'll warrant you
she's not cold. She is admirably made."

"She is very pretty."

"'She is very pretty!' Vous dites cela d'un ton! When you pay
compliments to Mademoiselle Ruck, I hope that's not the way you do
it."

"I don't pay compliments to Mademoiselle Ruck."

"Ah, decidedly," said M. Pigeonneau, "you young Americans are droll!"

I should have suspected that these two ladies would not especially
commend themselves to Madame Beaurepas; that as a maitresse de salon,
which she in some degree aspired to be, she would have found them
wanting in a certain flexibility of deportment. But I should have
gone quite wrong; Madame Beaurepas had no fault at all to find with
her new pensionnaires. "I have no observation whatever to make about
them," she said to me one evening. "I see nothing in those ladies
which is at all deplace. They don't complain of anything; they don't
meddle; they take what's given them; they leave me tranquil. The
Americans are often like that. Often, but not always," Madame
Beaurepas pursued. "We are to have a specimen to-morrow of a very
different sort."

"An American?" I inquired.

"Two Americaines--a mother and a daughter. There are Americans and
Americans: when you are difficiles, you are more so than any one,
and when you have pretensions--ah, per exemple, it's serious. I
foresee that with this little lady everything will be serious,
beginning with her cafe au lait. She has been staying at the Pension
Chamousset--my concurrent, you know, farther up the street; but she
is coming away because the coffee is bad. She holds to her coffee,
it appears. I don't know what liquid Madame Chamousset may have
invented, but we will do the best we can for her.