ave to be in both places at once; up
here on the top of Saint-Hilaire and down there at Jouy-le-Vicomte."

The Cure had so much exhausted my aunt that no sooner had he gone than
she was obliged to send away Eulalie also.

"Here, my poor Eulalie," she said in a feeble voice, drawing a coin from
a small purse which lay ready to her hand. "This is just something so
that you shall not forget me in your prayers."

"Oh, but, Mme. Octave, I don't think I ought to; you know very well
that I don't come here for that!" So Eulalie would answer, with the
same hesitation and the same embarrassment, every Sunday, as though
each temptation were the first, and with a look of displeasure which
enlivened my aunt and never offended her, for if it so happened that
Eulalie, when she took the money, looked a little less sulky than usual,
my aunt would remark afterwards, "I cannot think what has come over
Eulalie; I gave her just the trifle I always give, and she did not look
at all pleased."

"I don't think she has very much to complain of, all the same,"
Francoise would sigh grimly, for she had a tendency to regard as petty
cash all that my aunt might give her for herself or her children, and as
treasure riotously squandered on a pampered and ungrateful darling the
little coins slipped, Sunday by Sunday, into Eulalie's hand, but so
discreetly passed that Francoise never managed to see them. It was
not that she wanted to have for herself the money my aunt bestowed
on Eulalie. She already enjoyed a sufficiency of all that my
aunt possessed, in the knowledge that the wealth of the mistress
automatically ennobled and glorified the maid in the eyes of the world;
and that she herself was conspicuous and worthy to be praised throughout
Combray, Jouy-le-Vicomte, and other cities of men, on account of my
aunt's many farms, her frequent and prolonged visits from the Cure, and
the astonishing number of bottles of Vichy water which she consumed.
Francoise was avaricious only for my aunt; had she had control over
my aunt's fortune (which would have more than satisfied her highest
ambition) she would have guarded it from the assaults of strangers with
a maternal ferocity. She would, however, have seen no great harm in what
my aunt, whom she knew to be incurably generous, allowed herself to give
away, had she given only to those who were already rich. Perhaps
she felt that such persons, not being actually in need of my aunt's
presents, could not be su