Soap Info

Next Soap (45) | Previous Soap (43)

from this sort of thing, said Pasquale.
And he fished from the side of his chair, and held up by the tip
of a monstrous heel, the most audacious, highinstepped, red
satin slipper I ever saw.
I eyed the thing with profound disgust. I would have given a
hundred pounds for it to have vanished. In its red satin essence
it was reprehensible, and in its feminine assertion it was
compromising. How did it come there? I conjectured that
Carlotta must have been trespassing in the drawingroom and
dropped it, Cinderellalike, in her flight, when she heard me
enter the house before dinner.
Pasquale held it up and regarded me quizzically. I pretend to no
austerity of morals; but a burglar unjustly accused of theft
suffers acuter qualms of indignation than if he were a virtuous
person. I regretted not having asked Pasquale to dinner at the
club. I particularly did not intend to explain Carlotta to
Pasquale. In fact, I see no reason at all for me to proclaim her
to my acquaintance. She is merely an accident of my
establishment.
I rose and rang the bell.
That slipper, said I, does not belong to me, and it certainly
ought not to be here.
Pasquale surrendered it to my outstretched hand.
It must fit a remarkably pretty foot, said he.
I assure you, my dear Pasquale, I replied dryly, I have never
looked at the foot that it may fit. Nor had I. A row of pink
toes is not a foot.
Stenson, said I, when my man appeared, take this to Miss
Carlotta and say with my compliments she should not have left it
in the drawingroom.
Stenson, thinking I had rung for whisky, had brought up decanter
and glasses. As he set the tray upon the small table, I noticed
Pasquale look with some curiosity at my man's impassive face.
But he said nothing more about the slipper. I poured out his
whisky and soda. He drank a deep draught, curled up his
swaggering moustache and suddenly broke into one of his
disconcerting peals of laughter.
I haven't told you of the Gr„fin von Wentzel; I don't know what
put her into my head. There has been nothing like it since the
world began. Mind youa real live aristocratic Gr„fin with a
hundred quarterings!
He proceeded to relate a most scandalous, but highly amusing
story. An amazing, incredible tale; but it seemed familiar.
That, said I, at last, is incident for incident a scene out of
_L'Histoire Comique de Francion._
Never heard of it, said Pasquale, flashing.
It was the first French novel of manners published about 1620

Next Soap (45) | Previous Soap (43)

Soap Index