"
The cabinet counsellor glided away with a sarcastic smile to the back
gate. There stood his wife, weeping piteously and wringing her hands.
M. Lombard, who had hitherto only smiled, now laughed outright. "Truly,"
he said, "it is really worth while to make a scene in consequence of
this demonstration of the people! My dear, I should think our family
ought to know how to manage them! Your father has shaved those stupid
fiends enough, and my father pulled the wool over their eyes,[9] and, as
good children of our parents, we ought to do so too."
[Footnote 9: Lombard's father was a hair-dresser, and his wife's father
a barber. Lombard liked to jest about his descent, particularly at the
dinner-table of some prince or minister. He always alluded to his father
in the following terms: "_Feu mon pere de poudreuse memoire!_"]
"Oh, Lombard, just listen," wailed his wife, "they are knocking at the
door with heavy clubs; we must perish if they succeed in forcing it open
and entering the house. They will assassinate you, for you have heard
their imprecations against you."
"_Ma chere_," said Lombard, composedly, "this is not the first time that
I discover that the people despise and persecute me. I knew it long ago.
These blockheads will never forgive me for being a Frenchman, and for
having, consequently, a predilection for France and her heroic emperor.
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