Madame Franchimeau stopped in the midst of her tears, and exclaimed – "Ah! des ananas – mon ami (to her husband) – maman – papa – voyez – voyez – des ananas.14 Ah! my poorest Alphonse, great was his love for these – what you call them – apple de pine. He was just paring his apple de pine, when the detestable negroes rushed in and overset the table. Ah! quel scène – une véritable tragédie!15Pardonnez, Madame Colavering, I prefer a slice from the largest part of the fruit. – Ah! my amiable Alphonse – his blood flew all over my robe, which was of spotted Japan muslin. I wore that day a long sash of a broad ribbon of the colour of Aurore, fringed at both of its ends. When I was running away, he grasped it so hard that it came untied, and I left it in his hand. – May I beg the favour of some more sugar? —Mon ami, you always prefer the pine-apple bathed in Champagne."
"Yes," replied Franchimeau, "it does me no good, unless each slice is soaked in some wine of fine quality." But Mrs. Clavering acknowledging that she had no Champagne in the house, Franchimeau gruffly replied, that "he supposed Madeira might do."
Madame then continued her story and her pine-apple. "Ah! mon bien-aimé Alphonse,"16 said she, "he had fourteen wounds – I will take another slice, if you please, Madame Colavering. There – there – a little more sugar. Bien obligé17– a little more still. Maman, vous ne mangez pas de bon appetit. Ah! je comprens – vous voulez de la crème avec votre anana.18– Madame Colavering, will you do mamma the favour to have some cream brought for her? and I shall not refuse some for myself. Ah! mon Alphonse– the object of my first grand passion! He exhibited in dying some contortions that were hideous —absolument effroyable19– they are always present before my eyes – Madame Colavering, I would prefer those two under slices; they are the best penetrated with the sugar, and also well steeped in the jus."20
The cream was procured, and the two Madames did it ample justice. Presently the youngest of the French ladies opened her eyes very wide, and exclaimed to her father, "Mon cher papa, vous n' avez pas déjà fini?"21 "My good friend, Madame Colavering, you know, of course, that my papa cannot eat much fruit, unless it is accompanied by some biscuit– for instance, the cake you call sponge."
"I was not aware of that," replied Mrs. Clavering.
"Est-il possible?"22 exclaimed the whole French family, looking at each other.
Mrs. Clavering then recollecting that there was some sponge-cake in the house, sent one of the children for it, and when it was brought, their French visiters all ate heartily of it; and she heard the vieille maman23 saying to the vieux papa,24 "Eh, mon ami, ce petit collation vient fort à-propos, comme notre déjeûner était seulement un mauvais salade."25
The collation over, Mrs. Clavering, by way of giving her guests an opportunity of saying something that would please Uncle Philip, patted old Neptune on the head, and asked them if they had ever seen a finer dog?
"I will show you a finer," replied Madame Franchimeau; "see, I have brought with me my interesting Bijou" – and she called in an ugly little pug that had been scrambling about the cabin door ever since their arrival, and whose only qualification was that of painfully sitting up on his hind legs, and shaking his fore-paws in the fashion that is called begging. His mistress, with much importunity, prevailed on him to perform this elegant feat, and she then rewarded him with a saucer-full of cream, sugar, and sponge-cake. He was waspish and snappish, and snarled at Jane Clavering when she attempted to play with him; upon which Neptune, with one blow of his huge forefoot, brought the pug to the ground, and then stood motionless, looking up in Uncle Philip's face, with his paw on the neck of the sprawling animal, who kicked and yelped most piteously. This interference of the old Newfoundlander gave great offence to the French family, who all exclaimed, "Quelle horreur! Quelle abomination! En effet c'est trop!"26
Uncle Philip could not help laughing; but Sam called off Neptune from Bijou, and set the fallen pug on his legs again, for which compassionate act he was complimented by the French ladies on his bonté de cœur,27 and honoured at parting, with the title of le doux Sammi.28
"I'll never return this visit," said Uncle Philip, after the French guests had taken their leave.
"Oh! but you must," replied Mrs. Clavering; "it was intended expressly for you – you must return it, in common civility."
"But," persisted Uncle Philip, "I wish them to understand that I don't intend to treat them with common civility. A pack of selfish, ridiculous, impudent fools. No, no. I am not so prejudiced as to believe that all French people are as bad as these – many of them, no doubt, if we could only find where they are, may be quite as clever as the first lieutenant of that frigate; but, to their shame be it spoken, the best of them seldom visit America, and our country is overrun with ignorant, vulgar impostors, who, unable to get their bread at home, come here full of lies and pretensions, and to them and their quackery must our children be intrusted, in the hope of acquiring a smattering of French jabber, and at the risk of losing everything else."
"Don't you think Uncle Philip always talks best when he's in a passion?" observed Dick to Sam.
After Mrs. Clavering had returned to the house, Dick informed his uncle that, a few days before, she had made a dinner for the whole French family; and Captain Kentledge congratulated himself and Sam on their not arriving sooner from their voyage. Dick had privately told his brother that the behaviour of the guests, on this occasion, had not given much satisfaction. Mrs. Clavering, it seems, had hired, to dress the dinner, a mulatto woman that professed great knowledge of French cookery, having lived at one of the best hotels in New York. But Monsieur Franchimeau had sneered at all the French dishes as soon as he tasted them, and pretended not to know their names, or for what they were intended; Monsieur Ravigote had shrugged and sighed, and the ladies had declined touching them at all, dining entirely on what (as Dick expressed it) they called roast beef de mutton and natural potatoes.29
It was not only his regard for the children that made Mrs. Clavering's French mania a source of great annoyance to Uncle Philip, but he soon found that much of the domestic comfort of the family was destroyed by this unaccountable freak, as he considered it. Mrs. Clavering was not young enough to be a very apt scholar, and so much of her time was occupied by learning her very long lessons, and writing her very long exercises, that her household duties were neglected in consequence. As in a provincial town it is difficult to obtain servants who can go on well without considerable attention from the mistress, the house was not kept in as nice order as formerly; the meals were at irregular hours, and no longer well prepared; the children's comfort was forgotten, their pleasures were not thought of, and the little girls grieved that no sweetmeats were to be made that season; their mother telling them that she had now no time to attend to such things. The children's story-books were taken from them, because they were now to read nothing but Telemaque; they were stopped short in the midst of their talk, and told to parlez Français.30 Even the parrots heard so much of it that, in a short time, they prated nothing but French.
Uncle Philip had