ding out their hands to manoeuvre the exit of their mistress
from the carriole as she pulled herself up by the sides of the vehicle
and clung to the curtains. Mademoiselle then threw herself into their
arms; because for the last two years she dared not risk her weight
on the iron step, affixed to the frame of the carriage by a horrible
mechanism of clumsy bolts.

When Mademoiselle Cormon reached the level of the portico she looked
about her courtyard with an air of satisfaction.

"Come, come, Mariette, leave that gate alone; I want you."

"There's something in the wind," whispered Jacquelin, as Mariette passed
the carriole.

"Mariette, what provisions have you in the house?" asked Mademoiselle
Cormon, sitting down on the bench in the long antechamber like a person
overcome with fatigue.

"I haven't anything," replied Mariette, with her hands on her hips.
"Mademoiselle knows very well that during her absence Monsieur l'abbe
dines out every day. Yesterday I went to fetch him from Mademoiselle
Armande's."

"Where is he now?"

"Monsieur l'abbe? Why, at church; he won't be in before three o'clock."

"He thinks of nothing! he ought to have told you to go to market.
Mariette, go at once; and without wasting money, don't spare it; get all
there is that is good and delicate. Go to the diligence office and see
if you can send for pates; and I want shrimps from the Brillante. What
o'clock is it?"

"A quarter to nine."

"Good heavens! Mariette, don't stop to chatter. The person my uncle
expects may arrive at any moment. If we had to give him breakfast, where
should we be with nothing in the house?"

Mariette turned back to Penelope in a lather, and looked at Jacquelin
as if she would say, "Mademoiselle has put her hand on a husband _this_
time."

"Now, Josette," continued the old maid, "let us see where we had better
put Monsieur de Troisville to sleep."

With what joy she said the words, "Put Monsieur de Troisville"
(pronounced Treville) "to sleep." How many ideas in those few words! The
old maid was bathed in hope.

"Will you put him in the green chamber?"

"The bishop's room? No; that's too near mine," said Mademoiselle Cormon.
"All very well for monseigneur; he's a saintly man."

"Give him your uncle's room."

"Oh, that's so bare; it is actually indecent."

"Well, then, mademoiselle, why not arrange a bed in your boudoir? It is
easily done; and there's a fire-place. Moreau can certainly find in his
ware