t up, just as a farmer wonders about
the mists at dawn.

Mademoiselle Cormon had ended, as it was natural she should end, in
contemplating herself only in the infinite pettinesses of her life.
Herself and God, her confessor and the weekly wash, her preserves and
the church services, and her uncle to care for, absorbed her feeble
intellect. To her the atoms of life were magnified by an optic peculiar
to persons who are selfish by nature or self-absorbed by some accident.
Her perfect health gave alarming meaning to the least little derangement
of her digestive organs. She lived under the iron rod of the medical
science of our forefathers, and took yearly four precautionary doses,
strong enough to have killed Penelope, though they seemed to rejuvenate
her mistress. If Josette, when dressing her, chanced to discover a
little pimple on the still satiny shoulders of mademoiselle, it became
the subject of endless inquiries as to the various alimentary articles
of the preceding week. And what a triumph when Josette reminded her
mistress of a certain hare that was rather "high," and had doubtless
raised that accursed pimple! With what joy they said to each other: "No
doubt, no doubt, it _was_ the hare!"

"Mariette over-seasoned it," said mademoiselle. "I am always telling
her to do so lightly for my uncle and for me; but Mariette has no more
memory than--"

"The hare," said Josette.

"Just so," replied Mademoiselle; "she has no more memory than a hare,--a
very just remark."

Four times a year, at the beginning of each season, Mademoiselle Cormon
went to pass a certain number of days on her estate of Prebaudet. It
was now the middle of May, the period at which she wished to see how her
apple-trees had "snowed," a saying of that region which expressed the
effect produced beneath the trees by the falling of their blossoms. When
the circular deposit of these fallen petals resembled a layer of snow
the owner of the trees might hope for an abundant supply of cider.
While she thus gauged her vats, Mademoiselle Cormon also attended to the
repairs which the winter necessitated; she ordered the digging of her
flower-beds and her vegetable garden, from which she supplied her table.
Every season had its own business. Mademoiselle always gave a dinner of
farewell to her intimate friends the day before her departure, although
she was certain to see them again within three weeks. It was always
a piece of news which echoed through Alencon