"
When, by way of precaution, she had glanced down the passage and they had
both seated themselves at table, they warmed and spoke out their minds,
soon reaching a stage of easy impudence and saying everything as if quite
unconscious how abominable it was. While sipping her wine Celeste asked
for news of the village, and La Couteau spoke the brutal truth, between
two biscuits. It was at the Vimeux' house that the servant's last child,
born in La Rouche's den, had died a fortnight after arriving at
Rougemont, and the Vimeux, who were more or less her cousins, had sent
her their friendly remembrances and the news that they were about to
marry off their daughter. Then, at La Gavette's, the old grandfather, who
looked after the nurslings while the family was at work in the fields,
had fallen into the fire with a baby in his arms. Fortunately they had
been pulled out of it, and only the little one had been roasted. La
Cauchois, though at heart she wasn't downcast, now had some fears that
she might be worried, because four little ones had gone off from her
house all in a body, a window being forgetfully left open at night-time.
They were all four little Parisians, it seemed--two foundlings and two
that had come from Madame Bourdieu's.
Pages:
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283