"Everything was changing," she would cry; "she did not know her own
servants; the fact was she spoiled them!" On one occasion Josette gave
her the "Journee du Chretien" instead of the "Quinzaine de Paques."
The whole town heard of this
disaster the same evening. Mademoiselle
had been forced to leave the church and return home; and her sudden
departure, up
setting the chairs, made people suppose a
catastrophe had
happened. She was
therefore obliged to explain the facts to her
friends.
"Josette," she said
gently, "such a thing must never happen again."
Mademoiselle Cormon was, without being aware of it, made happier by
such little quarrels, which served as cathartics to
relieve her
bitterness. The soul has its needs, and, like the body, its
gymnastics. These uncertainties of
temper were accepted by Josette and
Jacquelin as changes in the weather are accepted by husbandmen. Those
worthy souls remark, "It is fine to-day," or "It rains," without
arraigning the heavens. And so when they met in the morning the
servants would wonder in what humor
mademoiselle would get up, just as
a farmer wonders about the mists at dawn.
Mademoiselle Cormon had ended, as it was natural she should end, in
contemplating herself only in the
infinite pettinesses of her life.
Herself and God, her confessor and the
weekly wash, her preserves and
the church services, and her uncle to care for, absorbed her feeble
intellect. To her the atoms of life were magnified by an optic
peculiar to persons who are
selfish by nature or self-absorbed by some
accident. Her perfect health gave alarming meaning to the least little
derangement of her
digestive organs. She lived under the iron rod of
the
medical science of our forefathers, and took
yearly four
precautionary doses, strong enough to have killed Penelope, though
they seemed to rejuvenate her
mistress. If Josette, when dressing her,
chanced to discover a little pimple on the still satiny shoulders of
mademoiselle, it became the subject of endless inquiries as to the
various alimentary articles of the
preceding week. And what a triumph
when Josette reminded her
mistress of a certain hare that was rather
"high," and had
doubtless raised that
accursed pimple! With what joy
they said to each other: "No doubt, no doubt, it WAS the hare!"
"Mariette over-seasoned it," said
mademoiselle. "I am always telling
her to do so
lightly for my uncle and for me; but Mariette has no more
memory than--"
"The hare," said Josette.
"Just so," replied Mademoiselle; "she has no more memory than a hare,
--a very just remark."
Four times a year, at the
beginning of each season, Mademoiselle
Cormon went to pass a certain number of days on her
estate of
Prebaudet. It was now the middle of May, the period at which she
wished to see how her apple-trees had "snowed," a
saying of that
region which expressed the effect produced beneath the trees by the
falling of their blossoms. When the
circulardeposit of these fallen
petals resembled a layer of snow the owner of the trees might hope for
an
abundant supply of cider. While she thus gauged her vats,
Mademoiselle Cormon also attended to the repairs which the winter
necessitated; she ordered the digging of her flower-beds and her
vegetable garden, from which she supplied her table. Every season had
its own business. Mademoiselle always gave a dinner of
farewell to her
intimate friends the day before her
departure, although she was
certain to see them again within three weeks. It was always a piece of
news which echoed through Alencon when Mademoiselle Cormon departed.
All her visitors, especially those who had missed a visit, came to bid
her good-bye; the salon was thronged, and every one said
farewell as
though she were starting for Calcutta. The next day the shopkeepers
would stand at their doors to see the old carriole pass, and they
seemed to be telling one another some news by repeating from shop to
shop:--
"So Mademoiselle Cormon is going to Prebaudet!"
Some said: "HER bread is baked."
"Hey! my lad," replied the next man. "She's a
worthy woman; if money