to restrain her wrath; and without knowing whether she would
help or hinder Max's plans, she burst forth upon the poor bachelor. When
Jean-Jacques incurred the anger of his mistress, the little attentions
and vulgar fondlings which were all his joy were suddenly suppressed.
Flore sent her master, as the children say, into disgrace. No more
tender glances, no more of the caressing little words in various tones
with which she decked her conversation,--"my kitten," "my old darling,"
"my bibi," "my rat," etc. A "you," cold and sharp and ironically
respectful, cut like the blade of a knife through the heart of the
miserable old bachelor. The "you" was a declaration of war. Instead
of helping the poor man with his toilet, handing him what he wanted,
forestalling his wishes, looking at him with the sort of admiration
which all women know how to express, and which, in some cases, the
coarser it is the better it pleases,--saying, for instance, "You look as
fresh as a rose!" or, "What health you have!" "How handsome you are,
my old Jean!"--in short, instead of entertaining him with the lively
chatter and broad jokes in which he delighted, Flore left him to dress
alone. If he called her, she answered from the foot of the staircase,
"I can't do everything at once; how can I look after your breakfast and
wait upon you up there? Are not you big enough to dress your own self?"

"Oh, dear! what have I done to displease her?" the old man asked himself
that morning, as he got one of these rebuffs after calling for his
shaving-water.

"Vedie, take up the hot water," cried Flore.

"Vedie!" exclaimed the poor man, stupefied with fear of the anger that
was crushing him. "Vedie, what is the matter with Madame this morning?"

Flore Brazier required her master and Vedie and Kouski and Max to call
her Madame.

"She seems to have heard something about you which isn't to your
credit," answered Vedie, assuming an air of deep concern. "You are doing
wrong, monsieur. I'm only a poor servant-woman, and you may say I have
no right to poke my nose into your affairs; but I do say you may search
through all the women in the world, like that king in holy Scripture,
and you won't find the equal of Madame. You ought to kiss the ground she
steps on. Goodness! if you make her unhappy, you'll only spoil your own
life. There she is, poor thing, with her eyes full of tears."

Vedie left the poor man utterly cast down; he dropped into an armchair
and gazed