- end_line
- 2321
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:05.590Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 2245
- text
- flowing tones. As he ended, he made a sort of conciliatory half bow
towards Israel.
Charmed with his condescending affability, Israel, without another
word, suffered him to march from the room, bottles and all. Not till
the first impression of the venerable envoy’s suavity had left him, did
Israel begin to surmise the mild superiority of successful strategy
which lurked beneath this highly ingratiating air.
“Ah,” pondered Israel, sitting gloomily before the rifled mantel, with
the empty tumbler and teaspoon in his hand, “it’s sad business to have
a Doctor Franklin lodging in the next room. I wonder if he sees to all
the boarders this way. How the O-t-a-r-d merchants must hate him, and
the pastry-cooks too. I wish I had a good pie to pass the time. I
wonder if they ever make pumpkin pies in Paris? So I’ve got to stay in
this room all the time. Somehow I’m bound to be a prisoner, one way or
another. Never mind, I’m an ambassador; that’s satisfaction. Hark! The
Doctor again.—Come in.”
No venerable doctor, but in tripped a young French lass, bloom on her
cheek, pink ribbons in her cap, liveliness in all her air, grace in the
very tips of her elbows. The most bewitching little chambermaid in
Paris. All art, but the picture of artlessness.
“Monsieur! pardon!”
“Oh, I pardon ye freely,” said Israel. “Come to call on the
Ambassador?”
“Monsieur, is de—de—” but, breaking down at the very threshold in her
English, she poured out a long ribbon of sparkling French, the purpose
of which was to convey a profusion of fine compliments to the stranger,
with many tender inquiries as to whether he was comfortably roomed, and
whether there might not be something, however trifling, wanting to his
complete accommodation. But Israel understood nothing, at the time, but
the exceeding grace, and trim, bewitching figure of the girl.
She stood eyeing him for a few moments more, with a look of pretty
theatrical despair, and, after vaguely lingering a while, with another
shower of incomprehensible compliments and apologies, tripped like a
fairy from the chamber. Directly she was gone Israel pondered upon a
singular glance of the girl. It seemed to him that he had, by his
reception, in some way, unaccountably disappointed his beautiful
visitor. It struck him very strangely that she had entered all
sweetness and friendliness, but had retired as if slighted, with a sort
of disdainful and sarcastic levity, all the more stinging from its
apparent politeness.
Not long had she disappeared, when a noise in the passage apprised him
that, in her hurried retreat, the girl must have stumbled against
something. The next moment he heard a chair scraping in the adjacent
apartment, and there was another knock at the door.
It was the man of wisdom this time.
“My honest friend, did you not have a visitor, just now?”
“Yes, Doctor, a very pretty girl called upon me.”
“Well, I just stopped in to tell you of another strange custom of
Paris. That girl is the chambermaid, but she does not confine herself
altogether to one vocation. You must beware of the chambermaids of
Paris, my honest friend. Shall I tell the girl, from you, that,
unwilling to give her the fatigue of going up and down so many flights
of stairs, you will for the future waive her visits of ceremony?”
“Why, Doctor Franklin, she is a very sweet little girl.”
“I know it, my honest friend; the sweeter the more dangerous. Arsenic
is sweeter than sugar. I know you are a very sensible young man, not to
be taken in by an artful Ammonite, and so I think I had better convey
your message to the girl forthwith.”
So saying, the sage withdrew, leaving Israel once more gloomily seated
before the rifled mantel, whose mirror was not again to reflect the
form of the charming chambermaid.
- title
- Chunk 3