The oldest one, Rose Raquenot, washes so little that her underclothes are grey by the end of the three days she wears them.
Yesterday, they hid my nightdress so I had to stay in the wash-room, absolutely naked. Luckily Mademoiselle Griset came along!
Then we make fun of one of them who’s so plump she had to powder herself all over with starch so as not to chafe herself.
Oh, and I’d forgotten Poisson who wears a nightcap that makes her look like an old woman and who won’t undress till we’ve left the wash-room.
Oh, believe me, we have heaps of fun!’
The wash-room was scantily furnished with a big zinc-covered table on which stood a row of eight basins, eight tablets of soap, pairs of towels and eight sponges.
All these objects were exactly alike: the linen was marked in indelible ink.
It was all very neatly kept.
I inquired:
‘Do you have baths?’
‘Yes … and that’s something else that’s frightfully funny!
In the new wash-house they heat up a huge wine-vat full of water … as big as a room.
We all get undressed and we cram ourselves into it to soap ourselves.’
‘Quite naked?’
‘Of course – how’d we manage to soap ourselves otherwise?
Rose Raquenot didn’t want to strip, of course, because she’s too thin.
If you could only see her,’ added Luce, lowering her voice. ‘She’s got practically nothing on her bones, and it’s absolutely flat on her chest, like a boy!
But Jousse is just the reverse. She’s like a wet-nurse, they are as big as that!
And the one who wears an old woman’s nightcap – you know, Poisson – she’s got hair all over her like a bear, and she’s got blue thighs.’
‘What do you mean, blue?’
‘Yes, really blue. Like when it’s freezing and your skin’s blue with cold.’
‘It must be most engaging!’
‘Oh, no, it certainly isn’t. If I were a boy, I wouldn’t be a bit keen on having a bath with her!’
‘But mightn’t it have more effect on her, having a bath with a boy?’
We giggled. But I started at the sound of the voice and the footsteps of Mademoiselle Sergent in the corridor.
So as not to be caught, I hid myself under the canopy reserved for the unique occupation of Mademoiselle Griset.
Then, when the danger had passed, I escaped and dashed downstairs, calling out ‘Good-bye’ under my breath.
Next morning, how good my dear countryside looked!
How gaily my pretty Montigny was sunning itself in this warm, precocious spring!
Last Sunday and Thursday, I’d already ranged through the delicious woods, full of violets, with my co-First Communicant, my gentle Claire. She told me all about her flirtations … ever since the weather had turned mild her ‘follower’ arranged for them to meet in the evening at the corner of the Fir Plantation.
Who knows if she won’t end up by going too far!
But it’s not that which attracts her. Provided someone pours out choice words she doesn’t quite understand, provided someone kisses her and goes down on his knees, and everything happens like it does in books … well, she’s perfectly satisfied.
In the classroom, I found little Luce collapsed over a table, sobbing fit to choke herself.
I raised her head by main force and saw that her eyes were swollen as big as eggs, she’d dabbed them so much.
‘Oh! Really! You look far from beautiful like that!
What’s the matter, little thing?
What are you blubbing about?’
‘She … she … b-beat me!’
‘Do you mean, your sister?’
‘Yee-es!’
‘What had you done to her?’
She dried her eyes a little and began to tell her story.
‘You see, I hadn’t understood my problems, so I hadn’t done them.
That put her in a temper, so she said I was a dolt, that it wasn’t worth while our parents’ paying my fees, that she was disgusted with me, and so on and so on … So I answered back:
“Oh, you bore me stiff.”
Then she beat me, she slapped my face.
She’s a beastly, horrible scold.
I loathe her.’
There was a fresh deluge.
‘My poor Luce, you’re a goose.