The Comte, listening attentively, perceived near the stable his entire
domestic staff reclining happily on the arm of Andoche, the
Sapeur-Pompier, the hero of a dozen fires.
"No, there are no longer any servants!" he exclaimed, with a bitterness
that caused a stir in the pack; then angrily he shouted with all his
forces: "Francine! Hey, there, Francine! Come here at once!"
The indisputable fact was that Francine had asked for her wages. Such a
demand, indelicate in its simplest form, had been further aggravated by
a respectful but clear ultimatum. It was pay, or do the cooking, and if
the first was impossible, the second was both impossible and
distasteful.
The enemy duly arrived, dimpled and plump, an honest thirty-five, a
solid widow, who stopped at the top of the stairs with the distant
respect which the Comte de Bonzag inspired even in his creditors.
"Francine, I have thought much," said the Comte, with a conciliatory
look. "You were a little exaggerated, but you were in your rights."
"Ah, Monsieur le Comte, six months is long when one has a child who must
be--"
"We will not refer again to our disagreement," the Comte said,
interrupting her sternly.
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