Chapter 38

Before Cowperwood reappeared, Tollifer breezed in. Handing his top hat and stick to Williams, he marched briskly over to Aileen’s bedroom door and knocked.

“Hello! ” she called out to him. “Mr. Cowperwood is here; he’s dressing. I’ll be with you in a second.”

“Righto! The others should be here any moment now.”

As he spoke, he heard a slight noise and turned just in time to note Cowperwood’s entrance into the reception room by another door. The two gave each other a swift glance of recognition. Tollifer conscious of his obligation, stepped quickly and cordially forward. But Cowperwood anticipated his address by saying: “Well, we meet again. How are you enjoying Paris? ”

“Oh, very much, ” said Tollifer. “This season is particularly gay. I’ve been running into all sorts of people. And the weather has been perfect. You know Paris in the spring. I find it the gayest and most refreshing time.”

“I hear we are to be the guests of my wife this evening.”

“Yes, along with some others. I’m afraid I’m a little early.”

“Suppose we have something to drink! ”

They were off on a casual conversation regarding London and Paris, both doing their best to ignore the relationship between them, and both succeeding. Aileen entered and greeted Tollifer. And then Ibrihim arriving, and ignoring Cowperwood as he would a sheepherder of his own land, proceeded to pay his compliments to Aileen.

Cowperwood was at first a little astonished, then amused. The gleaming eyes of the Arab intrigued him. “Interesting, ” he said to himself. “This fellow Tollifer is actually creating something here. And this robed Bedouin covets my wife. This should be a fine evening! ”

Next entered Marigold Brainerd. Her personality pleased him, and the appreciation appeared to be mutual. But this rapprochement was soon interrupted by the arrival of the serene and exotic Rezstadt, swathed in a cream white shawl, the long silken fringe trailing over one arm and about her feet. Cowperwood looked with approval on her olive-tinted face, framed so attractively by sleek black hair and a pair of heavy jet earrings which hung almost to her shoulders.

Observing him, and impressed, as were most women, Madame Rezstadt readily comprehended Aileen’s plight. This was not a man for any one woman. One must sip only and be content with that. Aileen should be brought to comprehend that truth.

But Tollifer was impatiently urging that it was time to leave, and obeying his insistence they departed for Orsignat’s.

A private dining room that was half-balcony commanded, through open French windows, a full view of Notre Dame and the green square before it. But all, as they entered, commented on the seeming lack of preparation for their dinner party, for there was only a plain wooden table completely bare. Tollifer, entering last, exclaimed:

“Why, what the devil does this mean? I don’t understand. There’s something wrong here. They’re surely expecting us. Wait, I’ll go and see, ” and turning swiftly, he disappeared.

“I really can’t understand this, ” said Aileen. “I thought we had everything arranged.” And she frowned and pouted and looked her irritated best.

“We’ve probably been shown to the wrong room, ” said Cowperwood.

“They do not expect, what? ” the sheik was saying to Marigold, when the door of an adjoining serving room suddenly opened, and in dashed Harlequin, enormously concerned. This was Pantaloon himself, tall and gawky, his garb the usual star-and-moon sewn slip, cornucopia atop his head, his ears yellowed with grease paint, his eyesockets green, his cheeks cerise, ruffs and bangles about his wrists and neck, tufts of hair protruding from under his horn hat, immense white gloves on his hands, long, flail-like shoes on his feet. Looking about with a kind of lunatic anguish and despair, he exclaimed:

“Ah, Mon Dieu! Sacré -bleu! Ah, ladies and gentlemen! This is... indeed, this is... ah, no linen! No silver! No chairs! Pardon! Pardon! Something must be done about this! Pardon, mesdames and messieurs, something must have gone wrong. Something must be done! Ah! ” and clapping his long hands and gazing toward the door, as though troops of servants must immediately respond to his bidding, he waited, without response. Then once more clapping, he waited, one ear cocked toward the door. After which, no sound ensuing, he turned to his audience, who, now comprehending, retreated to the walls to give Harlequin his stage.

Finger to his lips, he tiptoed to the door and listened. Still no sound. After stooping down and peering through the keyhole, his head cocked now this way, now that, he looked back at them, and, with an amazing grimace, again put his finger to his lips and glued one eye to the keyhole. Finally he jumped back, falling flat as he did so, then jumped up and backed away, while the door flew open for a half-dozen waiters bearing linen, dishes, silver, glasses, trays—an orderly and businesslike procession—who proceeded to spread the table, ignoring him completely while he leaped and clattered about, exclaiming:

“So! So! You come, do you? You pigs! You loafers! Put down the plates! Put down the plates, I say! ” This to the man who was already swiftly and dexterously laying the plates. And to the waiter who was placing the silver: “Lay the silver, I tell you! And see that you make no noise! Swine! ” After which he picked up a knife and re-laid it in exactly the same position. To the waiter who was arranging the glasses, he exclaimed: “No, no, no! Dunce! Will you never learn? See! ” and taking up the glasses replaced them precisely as they had been. Then stepping aside to survey them, he knelt down and squinted, then moved one small liqueur glass a thousandth of an inch.

Of course, during all this folderol, everyone, with the exception of Ibrihim—who simply stared queerly at all this—smiled or laughed by turns, especially when Harlequin proceeded to follow closely upon the heels of the headwaiter, actually stepping on them at times, while the waiter pretended not to see him. As he went out, Harlequin followed him, looking back as he shouted: “Bah! Conspiracy! Bah! ”

“A good show! ” remarked Cowperwood to Madame Rezstadt.

“That is Grelizan, of the Trocadero, the cleverest clown in Europe, ” she said.

“No! ” exclaimed Marigold, whose estimate of his humor was rapidly heightened by the news of his fame.

At first fearful, but now elated by the success of this adventure, Aileen beamed with pleasure. Since Cowperwood chose to praise her ingenuity, and that of Tollifer, there was nothing Grelizan could do now that did not seem amusing to her, though he did produce a momentary chill when he stumbled and fell while bearing a large silver tureen filled with what appeared to be bright red tomato soup. The brilliant orange confetti was deftly hurled into the air and fell all over the guests, to the accompaniment of gasps, screams and laughter.

Again he hurried back to the pantry, this time to bring no more than a single croû ton held in a pair of sugar tongs, and again and again to follow the incoming waiters with exaggerated supervision, while they scrupulously served the courses.

Imitation ices were served last. Beneath the surface of each was a frail inflated balloon, which, when pierced with a fork, revealed, in Cowperwood’s case, the key to the city of London; in Aileen’s, a bowing and smiling figure of Monsieur Richard, scissors in hand; for Madame Rezstadt, a small world globe, with a dotted line touching all of the places she had traveled to; for Ibrihim, a tiny horse with a sheik astride; for Tollifer, a small roulette wheel, with the indicator at zero; for Marigold, a handful of toy figures of men: a soldier, a king, a dandy, an artist, a musician. There was much laughter over these, and after the coffee, Grelizan bowed himself out, to the applause of all, Cowperwood and Madame Rezstadt calling: “Bravo! Bravo! ”

“Delightful! ” she exclaimed. “I shall write him a note.”

Afterward, at Le Grand Guignol which began at midnight, they saw the celebrated Laloute impersonate the celebrities of the day. Later Tollifer suggested Sabinal’s. And by dawn they were all fully satisfied that this night in Paris had been wonderful.