e Royale--when one has been in a fair way to own the Grand and
Petit-Charolais--when one has almost had the Chateau of
Clichy-la-Garenne for a country house--and when it took two servants to
carry the silver platter on which the joint was served at your
grandmother's--do you know that it takes no small amount of
philosophy"--and mademoiselle with difficulty raised a hand to her
shoulder--"to see yourself end like this, in this devilish nest of
rheumatism, where, in spite of all the list in the world, you can't keep
out of draughts.--That's it, stir up the fire a little."

She put out her feet toward Germinie, who was kneeling in front of the
fireplace, and laughingly placed them under her nose: "Do you know that
that takes no small amount of philosophy--to wear stockings out at heel!
Simpleton! I'm not scolding you; I know well enough that you can't do
everything. So you might as well have a woman come to do the mending.
That's not very much to do. Why don't you speak to that little girl that
came here last year? She had a face that I remember."

"Oh! she's black as a mole, mademoiselle."

"Bah! I knew it. In the first place you never think well of anybody.
That isn't true, you say? Why, wasn't she a niece of Mere Jupillon's? We
might take her for one or two days a week."

"That hussy shall never set foot here."

"Nonsense, more fables! You're a most astonishing creature, to adore
people and then not want to see them again. What has she done to you?"

"She's a lost creature, I tell you!"

"Bah! what does my linen care for that?"

"But, mademoiselle."

"All right! find me someone else then. I don't care about her
particularly. But find me someone."

"Oh! the women that come in like that don't do any work. I'll mend your
clothes. You don't need any one."

"You!--Oh! if we have to rely on your needle!" said mademoiselle
jocosely; "and then, will Mere Jupillon ever give you the time?"

"Madame Jupillon? Oh! for all the dust I shall ever leave in her house
again!"

"Hoity-toity! What's that? She too! so she's on your black books, is
she? Oho! hurry up and make another acquaintance, or else, _bon Dieu de
Dieu_! we shall have some bad days here!"

XXVIII

The winter of that year should certainly have assured Mademoiselle de
Varandeuil a share of paradise hereafter. She had to undergo the reflex
action of her maid's chagrin, her nervous irritability, the vengeance of
her embittered, contradictory mood