"So you are looking at the Seine," I said to her."See how it sparkles in the sun!""Yes," she replied, leaning over the windowbar, "it looks like a flowing of fire.But see how nice and cool it looks on the other side over there under the shadow of the willows! That little spot there pleases me better than all the rest.""Good!" I answered."I see that the river has a charm for you.How would you like, with Mademoiselle Prefere's permission, to make a trip to Saint-Cloud? We should certainly be in time to catch the steamboat just below the Pont-Royal."Jeanne was delighted with my suggestion, and Mademoiselle Prefere willing to make any sacrifice.But my housekeeper was not at all willing to let us go off so unconcernedly.She summoned me into the dining-room, whither I followed her in fear and trembling.
"Monsieur," she said to me as soon as we found ourselves alone, "you never think about anything, and it is always I who have to think about everything.Luckily for you I have a good memory."I did not think that it was a favourable moment for any attempt to dispel this wild illusion.She continued:
"So you were going off without saying a word to me about what this little lady likes to eat? At her age one does not know anything, one does not care about anything in particular, one eats like a bird.You yourself, Monsieur, are very difficult to please; but at least you know what is good: it is very different with these young people--they do not know anything about cooking.It is often the very best thing which they think the worst, and what is bad seems to them good, because their stomachs are not quite formed yet--so that one never knows just what to do for them.Tell me if the little lady would like a pigeon cooked with green peas, and whether she is fond of vanilla ice-cream.""My good Therese," I answered, "just do whatever you think best, and whatever that may be I am sure it will be very nice.Those ladies will be quite contented with our humble ordinary fare."Therese replied, very dryly, "Monsieur, I am asking you about the little lady: she must not leave this house without having enjoyed herself a little.As for that old frizzle-headed thing, if she doesn't like my dinner she can suck her thumbs.I don't care what she likes!"My mind being thus set at rest, I returned to the City of Books, where Mademoiselle Prefere was crocheting as calmly as if she were at home.I almost felt inclined myself to think she was.She did not take up much room, it is true, in the angle of the window.But she had chosen her chair and her footstool so well that those articles of furniture seemed to have been made expressly for her.
Jeanne, on the other hand, devoted her attention to the books and pictures--gazing at them in a kindly, expressive, half-sad way, as if she were bidding them an affectionate farewell.
"Here," I said to her, "amuse yourself with this book, which I am sure you cannot help liking, because it is full of beautiful engravings." And I threw open before her Vecellio's collection of costume-designs--not the commonplace edition, by your leave, so meagrely reproduced by modern artists, but in truth a magnificent and venerable copy of that editio princeps which is noble as those noble dames who figure upon its yellowed leaves, made beautiful by time.
While turning over the engravings with artless curiousity, Jeanne said to me, "We were talking about taking a walk; but this is a great journey you are making me take.And I would like to travel very, very far away!""In that case, Mademoiselle," I said to her, "you must arrange yourself as comfortably as possible for travelling.But you are now sitting on one corner of your chair, so that the chair is standing upon only one leg, and that Vecellio must tire your knees.Sit down comfortably; put your chair on its four feet, and put your book on the table."She obeyed me with a laugh.
I watched her.She cried out suddenly, "Oh, come look at this beautiful costume!" (It was that of the wife of a Doge of Venice.) "How noble it is! What magnificent ideas it gives one of that life! Oh, I must tell you--I adore luxury!""You must not express such thoughts as those, Mademoiselle," said the schoolmistress, lifting up her little shapeless nose from her work.
"Nevertheless, it was a very innocent utterance," I replied."There are splendid souls in whom the love of splendid things is natural and inborn."The little shapeless nose went down again.
"Mademoiselle Prefere likes luxury too," said Jeanne; "she cuts out paper trimmings and shades for the lamps.It is economical luxury;but it is luxury all the same."
Having returned to the subject of Venice, we were just about to make the acquaintance of a certain patrician lady attired in an embroidered dalmatic, when I heard the bell ring.I thought it was some peddler with his basket; but the gate of the City of Books opened, and...Well, Master Sylvestre Bonnard, you were wishing awhile ago that the grace of your protegee might be observed by some other eyes than old withered ones behind spectacles.Your wishes have been fulfilled in a most unexpected manner, and a voice cries out to you as to the imprudent Theseus, "Craignez, Seigneur, craignez que le Ciel rigoureux Ne vous Haisse assez pour exaucer vos voeux!
Souvent dans sa colere il recoit nos victimes, Ses presents sont souvent la peine de nos crimes."["Beware my lord! Beware lest stern Heaven hate you enough to hear your prayers!
Often 'tis in wrath that Heaven receives our sacrifices:
its gifts are often the punishment of our crimes."]
The gate of the City of Books had opened, and a handsome young man made his appearance, ushered in by Therese.That good old soul only knows how to open the door for people and to shut it behind them;she has no idea whatever of the tact requisite for the waiting-room and for the parlour.It is not in her nature either to make any announcements or to make anybody wait.She either throws people out on the lobby, or simply pitches them at your head.
