The proper duties of a woman! Now could she know anything about them in such a connexion? It was just an absorbing new game to her, I supposed, as her hameau, with its laiterie and moulin and ferme, had been to Marie Antoinette. But a wilful woman must have her way; and so, with a laugh and shrug, I went and left her alone.
And now a surprising thing happened: Fifine, at déjeuner, came up to time with a quite well-cooked little repast. How she had managed it I could not tell, bred as she must have been, if not in luxury, in all that prescriptive ineptitude associated with a class wholly untrained in the principles of self-help. Possibly, it occurred to me, the penurious Marquis held unaccustomed views on household economy; and at that I left it. The young lady, meanwhile, hung, I could see, on my verdict.
“You are a wonder, Fifine,” I said.
She started at the term, and drew back.
“Did I not tell you,” she said, “I would not be called that?”
“I am sorry. It slipped out unawares.”
“Well,” she said, relenting in a moment, “it is at least better than the ‘arlequins,’ is it not?”
“As much better as this time is than that.”
She leaned her elbows on the table and her chin on her closed knuckles, and sat regarding me.
“Were you a very bad man in those days?” she said presently.