Say what you will, the time has come when a divorce gives a person a certain position."
"It has at least the merit of abolishing adultery," chuckled Charrigaud.
"Adultery is now very old-fashioned. Nobody but friend Bourget now believes in adultery,—Christian adultery,—and in English furniture."
To which Mme. Charrigaud replied, in a tone of nervous vexation:
"How you tire me, with your maliciously wicked remarks!
You will see, you will see that, because of them, we shall never be able to establish a desirable salon."
And she added:
"If you really wish to become a man of society, you must learn first either to be an imbecile or to hold your tongue."
They made, unmade, and remade a list of guests, which, after laborious combinations, was finally settled upon as follows:
The Countess Fergus, divorced, and her friend, the economist and deputy, Joseph Brigard.
The Baroness Henri Gogsthein, divorced, and her friend, the poet, Theo Crampp.
The Baroness Otto Butzinghen, and her friend, the Viscount Lahyrais, clubman, sportsman, gambler, and trickster.
Mme. de Rambure, divorced, and her friend, Mme. Tiercelet, suing for divorce.
Sir Harry Kimberly, symbolist musician, and his young friend, Lucien Sartorys, as beautiful as a woman, as supple as a peau de Suede glove, as slender and blonde as a cigar.
The two academicians, Joseph Dupont de la Brie, collector of obscene coins, and Isidore Durand de la Marne, author of gallant memoirs in private and severe student of Chinese at the Institute.
The portrait-painter, Jacques Rigaud.
The psychological novelist, Maurice Fernancourt.
The society reporter, Poult d'Essoy.
The invitations were sent out, and, thanks to the mediation of influential persons, all were accepted.
The Countess Fergus alone hesitated:
"The Charrigauds?" said she.
"Is theirs really a proper house?
Has he not been engaged in all sorts of pursuits on Montmartre, in the past?
Do they not say that he sold obscene photographs, for which he had posed, with an artificial bust?
And are there not some disagreeable stories afloat regarding her?
Did she not have some rather vulgar experiences before her marriage?
Is it not said that she has been a model,—that she has posed for the altogether?
What a horror!
A woman who stripped before men who are not even her lovers?"
Finally she accepted the invitation, on being assured that Mme. Charrigaud had posed only for the head, that Charrigaud, who was very vindictive, would be quite capable of disgracing her in one of his books, and that Kimberly would come to this dinner.
Oh! if Kimberly had promised to come! Kimberly, such a perfect gentleman, and so delicate and so charming, really charming!
The Charrigauds were informed of these negotiations and these scruples.
Far from taking offence, they congratulated themselves that they had successfully conducted the former and overcome the latter.
It was now a matter only of watching themselves, and, as Mme. Charrigaud said, of behaving themselves like real society people.
This dinner, so marvelously prepared and planned, so skilfully negotiated, was really their first manifestation in the new avatar of their elegant destiny, of their social ambitions.
It must, then, be an astonishing affair.
For a week beforehand everything was topsy-turvy in the house.
It was necessary that the apartments should be made to look like new, and that there should be no hitch.
They tried various lighting arrangements and table decorations, that they might not be embarrassed at the last moment.
Over these matters M. and Mme. Charrigaud quarreled like porters, for they had not the same ideas, and their ?sthetic views differed on all points, she inclining to sentimental arrangements, he preferring the severe and "artistic."
"It is idiotic," cried Charrigaud. "They will think that they are in a grisette's apartments. Ah! what a laughing-stock we shall be!"
"You had better not talk," replied Mme. Charrigaud, her nervousness reaching the point of paroxysm. "You are still what you used to be, a dirty tavern bum.
And besides, I have enough of it; my back is broken with it."
"Well, that's it; let us have a divorce, my little wolf, let us have a divorce.
By that means we at least shall complete the series, and cast no reflection on our guests."
They perceived also that there would not be enough silverware, glassware, and plates.
They must rent some, and also rent some chairs, for they had only fifteen, and even these were not perfect.
Finally, the menu was ordered of one of the grand caterers of the Boulevard.
"Let everything be ultra-stylish," ordered Mme. Charrigaud, "and let no one be able to recognize the dishes that are served.
Shrimp hash, goose-liver cutlets, game that looks like ham, ham that looks like cake, truffles in whipped cream, and mashed potatoes in branches,—cherries in squares and peaches twisted into spirals. In short, have everything as stylish as possible."