“Marie, I precipitate myself at your feet, and beg you to bring me a poule au riz.”
“Oh, but give me one moment, monsieur,” said the maid.
“Do not pay any attention to that gentleman. His morals are detestable, and he only seeks to lead you from the narrow path of virtue.”
Arthur protested that on the contrary the passion of hunger occupied at that moment his heart to the exclusion of all others.
“Marie, you no longer love me,” cried Warren. “There was a time when you did not look so coldly upon me when I ordered a bottle of white wine.”
The rest of the party took up his complaint, and all besought her not to show too hard a heart to the bald and rubicund painter.
“Mais si, je vous aime, Monsieur Warren,” she cried, laughing, “Je vous aime tous, tous.”
She ran downstairs, amid the shouts of men and women, to give her orders.
“The other day the Chien Noir was the scene of a tragedy,” said Susie. “Marie broke off relations with her lover, who is a waiter at Lavenue’s, and would have no reconciliation. He waited till he had a free evening, and then came to the next room and ordered dinner. Of course, she was obliged to wait on him, and as she brought him each dish he expostulated with her, and they mingled their tears.”
“She wept in floods,” interrupted a youth, with neatly brushed hair and a fat nose. “She wept all over our food, and we ate it salt with tears. We
