Pride: One of the Seven Cardinal Sins

"Why, no, M. Bouffard. I can't say that any of them do," replied Madame Moufflon, "that is, except the new tenant on the third floor."

"Well, what about him?" inquired M. Bouffard, anxiously.

"When he came here, three months ago, he was as pompous as a lord, but in proportion as rent day approaches, he is becoming polite, distressingly polite to me."

"I shall have to watch the fellow closely, then, Madame Moufflon, that is a very bad sign. Ah, what a pity it is that that handsome young fellow who paid my pianist's rent didn't take to those rooms on the third floor. He wouldn't have – "

M. Bouffard never finished the sentence, for there came two or three such violent knocks at the porte-cochère that Madame Moufflon and her employer both bounded out of their chairs.

"Well, well, who is it that knocks as I, the owner of the house, would not think of knocking?" exclaimed M. Bouffard. "Let me see who this ill-mannered fellow is," added M. Bouffard, stepping to the door, as the portress pulled the rope.

"The doors, please!" cried a stentorian voice, thus announcing that both doors of the porte-cochère must be opened to admit a carriage.

M. Bouffard and the portress, amazed at this unheard-of demand, stood as if petrified on seeing a tall powdered footman, attired in a bright blue livery trimmed with silver braid, emerge from the shadow.

"Open both doors, quick!" said this liveried giant, authoritatively.

M. Bouffard was so overcome that he bowed low to the lackey.

"Will you never get the doors open? This is outrageous! The prince is waiting – "

"The prince!" gasped M. Bouffard, with another even more profound bow to the footman.

Just then another no less imperious blow of the knocker resounded.

Madame Moufflon drew the cord with an automatic movement exactly as before, and again a voice cried from under the archway:

"Both doors, please!"

And another footman, clad in green and gold livery this time, stepped up to the door of the porter's lodge, at which an acquaintance must have been standing, for he exclaimed:

"What, Lorrain, is that you? I just saw your master's carriage. What's the matter here? Why don't they open the doors? Are the porter and portress asleep?"

"One would think they had glass eyes. Look at them, they don't move."

"And it is madame la duchesse they're keeping waiting. She never gets impatient, oh, no!"

"Madame la duchesse!" repeated M. Bouffard, more and more astounded, but still motionless.

"Mille tonnerres! will you open the doors sometime to-night?" demanded one of the footmen.

"But who do you wish to see?" asked M. Bouffard, awakening from his stupor.

"Mlle. Herminie," said the tallest lackey, with an evident respect for the person his master was about to visit.

"Yes, Mlle. Herminie," replied the other.

"The small door to the left, under the archway," said the portress, more and more amazed. "I'll open the doors at once."

"A prince and a duchess, visiting my pianist!" gasped M. Bouffard.

Soon came another knocking, much more gentle this time, and another footman in brown livery, with blue trimmings, came to complete the assemblage of lackeys, exclaiming:

"Is everybody stone-deaf here? The doors, why don't you open the doors, I say?"

M. Bouffard, desperate now, resolved to play a heroic part, so, while the portress was tidying herself up a little so as to usher in Herminie's aristocratic visitors, the ex-grocer rushed out to open the double doors of the porte-cochère. This menial task performed, he had barely time to draw back close to the wall to prevent himself from being crushed by the broad breasts of two superb gray horses attached to an elegant dark blue coupé that dashed in, and, skilfully guided by a tall coachman, stopped short at a sign from one of the footmen, who had stationed himself at Herminie's door.

A hunchback and a stout man, both dressed in black, alighted from this handsome equipage, and Madame Moufflon made haste to announce to M. Bouffard's pianist:

"M. le Prince Duc de Haut-Martel."

"M. Leroi, notary."

The first carriage had hardly left the door before a handsome landau drove up.

Two ladies and a young man descended from this vehicle, and Madame Moufflon, who thought she must be dreaming, announced to M. Bouffard's pianist:

"Madame la Duchesse de Senneterre."

"Mlle. Berthe de Senneterre."

"M. le Duc de Senneterre."

An elegant brougham having followed these carriages, another guest alighted, and Madame Moufflon announced:

"M. le Baron de la Rochaiguë."

A few minutes afterwards the portress ushered into Mlle. Herminie's apartment the following less pretentious personages:

"Commander Bernard."

"M. Olivier Raymond."

"Mlle. Ernestine Vert-Puis."

"Madame Laîné."

These last two persons had come in a modest cab.

These duties performed, Madame Moufflon rejoined her employer, who was pacing vehemently to and fro, under the porte-cochère, – his forehead covered with big drops of sweat, so intense was his excitement, – saying to himself:

"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! What can these great lords and ladies be doing in my pianist's room? What do you suppose all this means, Mother Moufflon?"

"I don't know what to think, – my brain fairly whirls. I see stars, and I'm so afraid of a stroke of apoplexy, I'm going to put my head under the water spigot to cool it off."

"I have it!" suddenly exclaimed the ex-grocer, triumphantly. "My pianist is giving a concert."

"I don't think so, for the last time I looked in I saw the ladies had laid their wraps on the piano, which was closed, and the entire company was standing in a row, while a notary – "