Cité Chatter

Halting opposite one of the finest and oldest of all these gateways, his especial favourite, labelled 'Hotel de la Rochemarte' in letters of faded gold over a ducal coronet and a huge escutcheon of stone, he began to descant upon its architectural beauties and noble proportions to l'Zouzou.

'Parbleu!' said l'Zouzou, 'connu, farceur! why, I was born there, on the 6th of March 1834, at 5.30 in the morning. Lucky day for France-- hein?'

'Born there? what do you mean--in the porter's lodge?'

At this juncture the two great gates rolled back, a liveried Suisse appeared, and an open carriage and pair came out, and in it were two elderly ladies and a younger one.

To Little Billee's indignation, the two incorrigible warriors made the military salute, and the three ladies bowed stiffly and gravely.

And then (to Little Billee's horror this time) one of them happened to look back, and Zouzou actually kissed his hand to her.

'Do you know that lady?' asked Little Billee, very sternly.

'Pat bleu! si je la connais! Why, it's my mother! Isn't she nice? She's rather cross with me just now.'

'Your mother!

Why, what do you mean? What on earth would your mother be doing in that big carriage and at that big house?'

'Parbleu, farceur!

She lives there!'

'Lives there? Why, who and what is she, your mother?'

'The Duchesse de la Rochemartel, parbleu! and that's my sister; and that's my aunt, Princesse de Chevagne-Bauffremont! She's the "patronne" of that chic equipage. She's a millionaire, my aunt Chevagne!'

'Well--I-never! What's your name, then?'

'Oh, my name! Hang it--let me see! Well--Gontran--Xavier--Francois-- Marie--Joseph d'Amaury de Brissac de Roncesvaulx de la Rochemartel- Boissegur, at your service!' 'Quite correct!' said Dodor; Tenfant ditvrai!' 'Well--I--never! And what's your name, Dodor?' 'Oh! I'm only a humble individual, and answer to the one-horse name of Theodore Rigolot de Lafarce. But Zouzou's an awful swell, you know--his brother's the Duke!'

Little Billee was no snob. But he was a respectably-brought-up young Briton of the higher middle class, and these revelations, which he could not but believe, astounded him so that he could hardly speak. Much as he flattered himself that he scorned the bloated aristocracy, titles are titles--even French tides!--and when it comes to dukes and princesses who live in houses like the Hotel de la Rochemartel...!

It's enough to take a respectably-brought-up young Briton's breath away.

When he saw Taffy that evening, he exclaimed: 'I say, Zouzou's mother's a duchess!'

'Yes--the Duchesse de la Rochemartel-Boissegur.'

'You never told me!'

'You never asked me. It's one of the greatest names in France. They're very poor, I believe.'

'Poor! You should see the house they live in!'

'I've been there, to dinner; and the dinner wasn't very good. They let a great part of it, and live mostly in the country. The Duke is Zouzou's brother; very unlike Zouzou; he's consumptive and unmarried, and the most respectable man in Paris. Zouzou will be the Duke some day.'

'And Dodor--he's a swell, too, I suppose--he says he's de something or other!'

'Yes--Rigolot de Lafarce. I've no doubt he descends from the Crusaders too; the name seems to favour it, anyhow; and such lots of them do in this country. His mother was English, and bore the worthy name of Brown. He was at school in England; that's why he speaks English so well--and behaves so badly, perhaps! He's got a very beautiful sister, married to a man in the 60th Rifles--Jack Reeve, a son of Lord Reevely's; a selfish sort of chap. I don't suppose he gets on very well with his brother-in-law. Poor Dodor! His sister's about the only living thing he cares for--except Zouzou.'