"I am afraid; I am afraid of you, Joseph. Why am I afraid of you?"
He held me cradled in his arms. And, disdaining to justify himself, happy perhaps at increasing my terrors, he said to me, in a paternal tone:
"Well, well, since that is the case, I will talk with you again about it to-morrow." _____
A Rouen newspaper is circulating in town, in which there is an article that is creating a scandal among the pious.
It is a true story, very droll, and somewhat risque, which happened lately at Port-Lancon, a pretty place situated three leagues from here. And it gains in piquancy from the fact that everybody knows the personages.
Here again is something for people to talk about, for a few days. The newspaper was brought to Marianne yesterday, and at night, after dinner, I read the famous article aloud.
At the first phrases Joseph rose, with much dignity, very severe and even a little angry. He declared that he does not like dirty stories, and that he cannot sit and listen to attacks on religion.
"You are not behaving well in reading that, Celestine; you are not behaving well." And he went off to bed. _____
To-day, November 10, it took us all day to clean the silver service.
That is an event in the house,—a traditional epoch, like the preserve-canning season.
The Lanlaires possess a magnificent silver service, containing old pieces, rare and very beautiful.
It comes from Madame's father, who took it, some say on deposit, others say as security for money lent to a neighboring member of the nobility.
Young people for military service were not all that this blusterer bought.
Everything was fish that came to his net, and one swindle more or less made no difference to him.
If the grocer is to be believed, the story of this silver service is one of the most doubtful, or one of the clearest, as you choose to look at it.
It is said that Madame's father got his money back, and then, thanks to some circumstance the nature of which I do not know, succeeded in keeping the silver service in the bargain.
An astonishing piece of sharp practice!
Of course, the Lanlaires never use it.
It remains locked up at the back of a closet in the servants' hall, in three great boxes lined with red velvet and fastened to the wall by solid iron clamps.
Every year, on the tenth of November, it is taken from the boxes, and cleaned under Madame's supervision.
And it is never seen again until the following year. Oh! Madame's eyes in presence of her silver service,—her silver service in our hands!
Never have I seen in a woman's eyes such aggressive cupidity.
Are they not curious,—these people who hide everything, who bury their silver, their jewels, all their wealth, all their happiness, and who, being able to live in luxury and joy, persist in living a life of ennui bordering on deprivation?
The work done, the silver service locked up for a year in its boxes, and Madame having gone away after satisfying herself that none of it has stuck to our fingers, Joseph said to me, with a queer air:
"That is a very beautiful silver service, you know, Celestine. Especially 'the cruet of Louis XVI.' Ah! sacristi! and how heavy it is!
The whole business is worth perhaps twenty-five thousand francs, Celestine; perhaps more. One does not know what it is worth."
And, looking at me steadily and heavily, piercing the very depths of my soul, he asked:
"Will you come with me to the little cafe?" _____
What relation can there be between Madame's silver service and the little cafe at Cherbourg?
Really, I don't know why, but Joseph's slightest words make me tremble. _____
XII
November 12.
I have said that I would speak of M. Xavier.
The memory of this boy pursues me, runs continually through my head.
Among so many faces his is one of those that come back most frequently to my mind.
Sometimes with regret, sometimes with anger.
All the same, he was prettily droll and prettily vicious, M. Xavier, with his irregular features and his blonde and brazen face. Ah! the little rascal! Really one may say of him that he belonged to his epoch.
One day I was engaged as chambermaid by Mme. de Tarves, in the Rue de Varennes.
A nickel-plated establishment, an elegant retinue, and handsome wages. A hundred francs a month, with washing, and wine, and everything, included.
The morning that I arrived at the house, in a highly satisfied state of mind, Madame had me shown into her dressing-room.
An astonishing room, hung with cream silk, and Madame, a tall woman, extremely made up, her skin too white, her lips too red, her hair too blonde, but nevertheless pretty, rustling,—with an imposing presence, and style! So much was not to be gainsaid.
I already possessed a very keen eye. Even from rapidly passing through a Parisian interior, I was able to judge of its habits and morals, and, although furniture lies as well as faces, I was rarely mistaken.
In spite of the sumptuous and decent appearance of this establishment, I felt at once the disorganization that prevailed there, the broken ties, the intrigue, the haste, the feverish life, the private and hidden filth,—not sufficiently hidden, however, to prevent me from detecting the odor, always the same!
Moreover, in the first looks exchanged between new and old servants there is a sort of masonic sign, generally spontaneous and involuntary, which immediately informs you regarding the general spirit of the establishment.
As in all other professions, servants are very jealous of each other, and they defend themselves ferociously against new-comers.
Even I, who am so easy in my ways, have suffered from these jealousies and hatreds, especially on the part of women who were enraged at my beauty.
But, for the contrary reason, men—I must do them this justice—have always welcomed me cordially.
In the look of the valet de chambre who had opened the door for me at the house of Mme. de Tarves I had clearly read these words:
"This is a queer box ... with ups and downs ... nothing like security ... but plenty of fun, all the same.
You can come in, my little one."