“Oh, yes, indeed, madame. Money! You
give me money! Why, I have almost as much as
you. Do you know what is left to you will all
your jumble of mortgages and borrowing, and interests
unpaid which are mounting up every year? Do you
know? No, is it not so? Well, then, I can
promise you that you have not even ten thousand francs
income. Not ten thousand, do you understand?
But I will settle all that for you, and very quickly.”
She had begun talking loud again, carried away in
her indignation at these interests left unpaid, at
this threatening ruin. And as a faint, tender
smile passed over the face of her mistress, she cried
in a tone of annoyance: “You must not laugh,
madame, for without money we are nothing but laborers.”
Jeanne took hold of her hands and kept them in her
own; then she said slowly, still full of the idea
that haunted her: “Oh, I have had no luck.
Everything has gone against me. Fate has a grudge
against my life.”
But Rosalie shook her head: “You must not
say that, madame. You married badly, that’s
all. One should not marry like that, anyway,
without knowing anything about one’s intended.”
And they went on talking about themselves just as
two old friends might have done.
The sun rose while they were still talking.
* * * *
*
A NEW HOME
In a week’s time Rosalie had taken absolute
control of everything and everyone in the chateau.
Jeanne was quite resigned and obeyed passively.
Weak and dragging her feet as she walked, as little
mother had formerly done, she went out walking leaning
on Rosalie’s arm, the latter lecturing her and
consoling her with abrupt and tender words as they
walked slowly along, treating her mistress as though
she were a sick child.
They always talked of bygone days, Jeanne with tears
in her throat, and Rosalie in the quiet tone of a
phlegmatic peasant. The servant kept referring
to the subject of unpaid interests; and at last requested
Jeanne to give her up all the business papers that
Jeanne, in her ignorance of money matters, was hiding
from her, out of consideration for her son.
After that, for a week, Rosalie went to Fecamp every
day to have matters explained to her by a lawyer whom
she knew.
One evening, after having put her mistress to bed,
she sat down by the bedside and said abruptly:
“Now that you are settled quietly, madame, we
will have a chat.” And she told her exactly
how matters stood.
When everything was settled, there would be about
seven thousand francs of income left, no more.
“We cannot help it, my girl,” said Jeanne.
“I feel that I shall not make old bones, and
there will be quite enough for me.”
But Rosalie was annoyed: “For you, madame,
it might be; but M. Paul—will you leave
nothing for him?”
