time of
life she hadn't laid by a sou but was still always working to minister
to men's pleasures, especially those very young men, whose grandmother
she might well be, it was truly because she considered a good match of
far greater importance than mere savings. And with that she leaned over
La Faloise, who reddened under the huge, naked, plastered shoulder with
which she well-nigh crushed him.

"You know," she murmured, "if she fails it won't be my fault. But
they're so strange when they're young!"

There was a considerable bustle round the table, and the waiters
became very active. After the third course the entrees had made their
appearance; they consisted of pullets a la marechale, fillets of sole
with shallot sauce and escalopes of Strasbourg pate. The manager, who
till then had been having Meursault served, now offered Chambertin and
Leoville. Amid the slight hubbub which the change of plates involved
Georges, who was growing momentarily more astonished, asked Daguenet if
all the ladies present were similarly provided with children, and the
other, who was amused by this question, gave him some further details.
Lucy Stewart was the daughter of a man of English origin who greased the
wheels of the trains at the Gare du Nord; she was thirty-nine years
old and had the face of a horse but was adorable withal and, though
consumptive, never died. In fact, she was the smartest woman there and
represented three princes and a duke. Caroline Hequet, born at Bordeaux,
daughter of a little clerk long since dead of shame, was lucky enough to
be possessed of a mother with a head on her shoulders, who, after having
cursed her, had made it up again at the end of a year of reflection,
being minded, at any rate, to save a fortune for her daughter. The
latter was twenty-five years old and very passionless and was held to be
one of the finest women it is possible to enjoy. Her price never varied.
The mother, a model of orderliness, kept the accounts and noted down
receipts and expenditures with severe precision. She managed the whole
household from some small lodging two stories above her daughter's,
where, moreover, she had established a workroom for dressmaking and
plain sewing. As to Blanche de Sivry, whose real name was Jacqueline
Bandu, she hailed from a village near Amiens. Magnificent in person,
stupid and untruthful in character, she gave herself out as the
granddaughter of a general and never owned to her thirty-two summers