CHAPTER VIII.

renchwomanshehadbeenhandsome—atleastshetoldmeso,andIstrovetobelievehershewasnowugly,asonlycontinentaloldwomencanbeperhaps,though,herstyleofdressmadeherlookuglierthanshereallywas.Indoorsshewouldgoaboutwithoutcap,hergreyhairstrangelydishevelledthen,whenathome,sheseldomworeagown—onlyashabbycottoncamisoleshoes,too,werestrangerstoherfeet,andinlieuofthemshesportedroomyslippers,troddendownattheheels.Ontheotherhand,wheneveritwasherpleasuretoappearabroad,asonSundaysandfete-days,shewouldputonsomeverybrilliant-coloureddress,usuallyofthintexture,asilkbonnetwithawreathofflowers,andaveryfineshawl.Shewasnot,inthemain,anill-naturedoldwoman,butanincessantandmostindiscreettalkershekeptchieflyinandaboutthekitchen,andseemedrathertoavoidherson’saugustpresenceofhim,indeed,sheevidentlystoodinawe.Whenhereprovedher,hisreproofswerebitterandunsparingbutheseldomgavehimselfthattrouble. MadamePelethadherownsociety,herowncircleofchosenvisitors,whom,however,Iseldomsaw,asshegenerallyentertainedtheminwhatshecalledher“cabinet,”asmalldenofaplaceadjoiningthekitchen,anddescendingintoitbyoneortwosteps.Onthesesteps,by-the-by,IhavenotunfrequentlyseenMadamePeletseatedwithatrencheronherknee,engagedinthethreefoldemploymentofeatingherdinner,gossipingwithherfavouriteservant,thehousemaid,andscoldingherantagonist,thecooksheneverdined,andseldomindeedtookanymealwithhersonandastoshowingherfaceattheboys’table,thatwasquiteoutofthequestion.ThesedetailswillsoundveryoddinEnglishears,butBelgiumisnotEngland,anditswaysarenotourways. MadamePelet’shabitsoflife,then,beingtakenintoconsideration,Iwasagooddealsurprisedwhen,oneThursdayevening(Thursdaywasalwaysahalf-holiday),asIwassittingallaloneinmyapartment,correctingahugepileofEnglishandLatinexercises,aservanttappedatthedoor,and,onitsbeingopened,presentedMadamePelet’scompliments,andshewouldbehappytoseemetotakemy“gouter”(amealwhichanswerstoourEnglish“tea”)withherinthedining-room. “Plait-il?”saidI,forIthoughtImusthavemisunderstood,themessageandinvitationweresounusualthesamewordswererepeated.Iaccepted,ofcourse,andasIdescendedthestairs,Iwonderedwhatwhimhadenteredtheoldlady’sbrainhersonwasout—gonetopasstheeveningattheSalleoftheGrandeHarmonieorsomeotherclubofwhichhewasamember.JustasIlaidmyhandonthehandleofthedining-roomdoor,aqueerideaglancedacrossmymind. “Surelyshe’snotgoingtomakelovetome,”saidI.“I’veheardofoldFrenchwomendoingoddthingsinth