THE VEAU SAUT.

“Hurry up, Perrette! How about that sauce? Have you forgotten the parsley?”

And the proprietor of the Veau Saute tore about in the most distracted manner. Aube had dreamed of vast rooms and huge kitchens, but the obstinacy of the people already living in the same building could not be conquered, and as yet he had not obtained the space he desired. They resisted every offer and every threat he made. He could have borne it better had these refractory persons been tenants whose vicinity added eclat to his establishment. But it was not so. These tenants were a man known as Iron Jaws, a rope dancer called Fanfar, a girl named Caillette, and a clown with an odd name.

This Fanfar gave lessons in prestigiation, but the people who went up his private stairs were well dressed, and most of them looked like old soldiers.

While Aube was worrying about these matters and many more, a carriage drove up to the door of the restaurant, and three gentlemen got out. These were Frederic de Talizac, Fernando de Vellebri, and Arthur de Montferrand, the duelist, all strangely alike in their lack of moral sense and in their cynicism, neither of them hesitating to do anything, however evil, to gratify their passions. Room N was ready for these gentlemen. The waiter took their cloaks and hats. Arthur threw himself on a sofa, and announced that there was to be no heavy talk until the dessert came on.

“Bravo!” said Fernando. “But perhaps you would kindly define what you mean by heavy talk? As for you, Frederic, I think you had an interview with your father to-day?”

“Champagne!” shouted Frederic, flinging his glass at the door, an original manner of summoning a waiter, which he had invented.

“Yes,” he replied, “and the Marquis is resolved that the marriage shall take place in a fortnight as if I had not other fish to fry!”

“But it seems to me,” said Arthur, “that a union so desirable in every respect, a fortune so large ”

“Do you mean to insinuate, sir, that a fortune is essential?” asked Frederic, haughtily.

Here the Italian interfered, and smoothed down the Vicomte’s asperities.

At this moment a fresh, young voice rose from the lower room, which was crowded, and when the voice ceased there came loud applause.

“That is a charming voice!” said Arthur. “I would like to see this nightingale a little nearer.”

“And why not?” asked Talizac.

Fernando wished to oppose this idea, which might disarrange his carefully prepared plans, but the champagne had by this time affected the Vicomte.

“I say,” he persisted, angrily, “I do not see any objection. I for one should like to hear the girl sing up here before the adventure.”

“The adventure?” repeated Montferrand.

“A little surprise we have arranged for her that is all.”

Arthur looked bewildered, and then exclaimed:

“Ah! I see. Bravo! call the proprietor, and bid him send the singer to us.”

“Gentlemen! gentlemen!” said Fernando, “be careful what you do. No imprudences! Remember that you are not in the Palais Royal. The people down stairs won’t stand any nonsense!”

Frederic rang the bell furiously, and the waiter was sent for the proprietor. Aube presently appeared. He was very obsequious in his manner, for the party had ordered bottle after bottle of champagne.

“Who is that girl singing to the people in the cafe?” asked Frederic, abruptly.

“She is called the Marquise, sir a pretty little creature, and as good as she is pretty!”

“I dare say! Now send her up here, and tell the waiter to bring up three more bottles of your best champagne.”

Aube stood still, twisting his cap in his hands.

“Well?” said Frederic, “why don’t you go?”

“I wish to say, sir, that the girl is very respectable.”

“We don’t doubt it. We will pay her for her song three louis, five is that enough?”

Aube felt that he had no right to deprive the girl of this money, and it was more than probable that these young fellows were not as wild as they seemed. Fernando’s calm superciliousness reassured him in some degree.

“Are you going?” asked Frederic, somewhat rudely.

Aube reluctantly left the room.

The restaurant was filled with customers, all respectable people with the exception of those seated around a table in the further corner of the room they were doubtful in appearance. When Robeccal, in the discharge of his duties as “extra,” came to this table he lingered there, even drinking a glass of wine, first taking care that his employer could not see him.

Aube, greatly disturbed by the orders he had received, returned to the dining-room just as the Marquise was making her rounds to collect the money that was laid on the back of her guitar. Aube touched her shoulder.

“I want to speak to you, petite,” he said, as he drew her into a corner. “You are not rich, I fancy?”

“I should say not!” And Francine laughed. “What a queer thing to say!”

“I have a proposal to make.”

“And what may that be?”

Aube’s kindly face inspired the girl with no distrust. He hesitated.

“You know,” he said, “that I have no advice to give, but if you choose, you can make five louis.”

“A hundred francs! You are jesting!”

“And only by singing two or three songs.”

“But that would be better pay than the opera singers receive!”

“That may be!”

“But where am I to sing?”

“Here on the next floor.”

“Hallo! ambassador, are you never coming?” shouted Montferrand from the top of the stairs.

Francine started.

“They are young men, are they not?”

“Yes, but you need not be alarmed they are only a little gay.”

A hundred francs was a good deal of money. She could buy an easy chair for the poor invalid, and give her a little treat.

“Well?” asked Aube, who would have been glad had she refused.

“I accept,” she answered, “but you must not go far away. You must be near in case I should call.”

“All right. No harm shall come to you in my house, let me tell you.”

The girl went toward the stairs.

“What does that mean?” said one of the men at the table at the end of the room. “The linnet seems to be going of her own free will!”

“Silence!” said Robeccal, passing the table. “Watch and be ready!”

Meanwhile the people in the restaurant began to grumble at Francine’s departure. She looked back from the stairs.

“Have a little patience,” she said, with her lovely smile, “when I come back very shortly, I will sing you my best songs.”

She followed Aube to N. The proprietor was astonished to see that the door was open, and that one of the gentlemen had vanished.

Arthur and Fernando were there. Francine had seen the Italian before in the street, but Arthur was entirely unknown to her.

“I hope, Mademoiselle, you will sing us something,” said Montferrand, politely.

Our readers will notice that this young man’s instincts were not bad, and when removed from Frederic’s influence, they resumed their ascendancy. The girl’s gentle manner, her refined, pure face commended his respect.

Aube, now quite reassured, hastened back to his duties below.

Francine began a prelude to a simple song, when suddenly she stopped, her guitar slipped from her hands. She saw Frederic de Talizac gliding into the room.

“Go on, ma belle” he said, “surely you are not afraid of me!” And he tried to take her by the waist.

“No,” she replied, “I shall sing no more.”

Frederic, though very tipsy, threw himself in front of the door.

“Yes, you will sing, and for each one of your sweet notes I will give you a kiss.”

The girl drew back from his extended arms, and turning to the two men who stood looking on, she cried, with infinite contempt:

“Cowards! will neither of you interfere to prevent a woman from being insulted?”

Arthur’s heart was stirred by this appeal.

“You are right,” he replied. “Come, Frederic, no more of this!”

“Are you talking to me?” hiccoughed Frederic. “Take her from me if you dare!” And he put his arm around her.

“Help!” cried Francine. “Help!”

At the same moment, Frederic received a tremendous blow from Montferrand.

The Vicomte snatched a knife from the table, and the two men engaged in a hand to hand contest.

Francine was so terrified that she could not move.

Why had not Aube heard this noise? We will return to the lower floor.

Robeccal was disgusted when he saw Francine go up-stairs. He felt that the ground was cut from under his feet, and that he was to lose the reward he had been promised. He stole partly up the stairs and listened. He went on, and when the quarrel burst out and he saw the knife in the hand of the Vicomte, he rushed down the stairs, and summoned the men at the table, who were on the watch for a signal from him.

Aube had heard Francine’s cry and ran to her aid, but two of the men summoned by Robeccal stood before the door.

“Let me pass!” cried Aube.

“Softly, good sir,” was the reply. “Don’t meddle in what does not concern you.”

Furious at being thus braved in his own establishment, Aube thrust the men aside, but was driven back by repeated blows.

He turned to his customers.

“Gentlemen!” he cried, “they are insulting a poor girl up-stairs. Help me to save her; it is the Marquise the singer!”

A number of men started up at this appeal.

The two bandits stood on the stairs with knives in their hands, and feet and hands ready to repel any one who attempted to ascend the stairs.

“Help! Murder!” shouted Aube.

Women screamed, and clung to the arms of their husbands to prevent them from taking part in the contest. Others, less courageous, threw bottles and glasses at the scoundrels who promptly returned them.

In the meantime, Arthur had thrown Frederic on the floor. Fernando endeavored to separate them, but they were no more amenable to reason than if they had been wild beasts.

Pale and trembling, Francine leaned against the wall. Robeccal went to her.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, “this is not my fault. Why did you come up here?”

“Why did I?” she repeated in agony.

“I got you into this trouble unintentionally, and now I must get you out!”

She did not distrust him, she was too good for that.

“Follow me!” said Robeccal. “I know a way into the street. No one will see you.”

Arthur and Frederic were still fighting; the tumult below had not decreased.

Robeccal took the girl’s hand, and led her to the door which opened into the private apartments of Aube. They passed through these until they reached another flight of stairs. Down these the girl ran, closely followed by Robeccal. They went out through a narrow alley. Suddenly, Francine heard a whistle, and she was seized, a handkerchief over her head stifled her cries, and she felt that she was being carried away by vigorous arms.

“Well done!” said Robeccal, “and now for La Roulante!”