"No, Francine."
"Not M'sieur le Cure? Who, then?"
"It is for you, Francine. Sit down."
"I? I, M'sieur le Comte?"
"Sit down. I wish it."
Francine took three steps backward and so as to command the exit,
stopped and stared at her master, with mingled amazement and distrust.
"My dear Francine," continued the Comte, "I am tired of eating alone. It
is bad for the digestion. And I am bored. I have need of society. So sit
down."
"M'sieur orders it?"
"I ask it as a favor, Francine."
Francine, with open eyes, advanced doubtfully, seating herself nicely on
the chair, more astonished than complimented, and more alarmed than
pleased.
"Ah, that is nicer!" said the Comte, with an approving nod. "How have I
endured it all these years! Francine, you may help yourself to the
wine."
The astonished maid-of-all-work, who had swallowed a spoon of soup with
great discomfort, sprang up, all in a tremble, stammering with defiant
virtue:
"M'sieur le Comte does not forget that I am an honest woman!"
"No, my dear Francine; I am certain of it.
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