"If my friend had only been like the little boulangère," continued the Comtesse mournfully, "I would have said nothing. But no, she was greedy and wicked, and could not content herself except by stealing my nice cake." She trilled and bubbled with laughter. The other woman's thought, if interpreted, might have read much the same as Wolfe Tone's brief reflections on the subject of Madame de Vervanne's countrywomen:
"A fine morality, split me!"
At the same time it was impossible not to feel a touch of admiration for a woman who could turn her tragedy into laughter. Val was wistfully inclined to wish that she could achieve the same state of philosophy herself.
Meanwhile the Comtesse, very pleased with her little tale, and the thought that she had shocked the "women made of wood," as she secretly described all Englishwomen, walked ahead, for the path had narrowed, her skirt held high to avoid the brambles, revealing the famous Greek feet encased in high-heeled suède shoes, with a pair of boy's socks falling round her ankles. She affected these at the seaside, under the impression that she was being truly Arcadian. Suddenly she burst into a little song. Her voice was dainty and pretty, her specialty innocent nursery rhymes with a tang to the tail of them. She never sang anything that was not of eighteenth-century origin. All of her songs were about shepherdesses and boulangères--sometimes a curé would be introduced into the last verse, but his presence there rarely imported holiness.
When the kettle was singing over the fire of wood branches, and the band sat scattered at ease among golden clumps of gorse and purple heather, she trilled them one of the least frisky in her vocabulary:
"Philis plus avare que tendre,
Ne gagnant rien à refuser,
Un jour exigea de Sylvandre
Trente moutons pour un baiser!
"Le lendemain nouvelle affaire!
Pour le berger, le troc fut bon
Car il obtint de la bergère,
Trente baisers pour un mouton!
"Le lendemain Philis plus tendre,
Craignant de déplaire au berger,
Fut trop heureuse de lui rendre
Trente moutons pour un baiser!
"Le lendemain Philis peu sage
Aurait donné moutons et chien
Pour un baiser que le volage
A Lisette donnait pour rien."
After this contribution to the general well-being the Comtesse embraced Bran, who wriggled desperately to get away, for as he had secretly confided to his mother, he did not care for her smell. She said she would let him go if he would sing them a song, so Bran, in spite of his shyness, paid the price with two of his little impromptu anthems, chanting and rolling his eyes at them like a Zulu:
"Mary, Queen of Scots,
Went to sea
In a soft boat,
A boat as soft as cream."
"Bobyian went to church
But he had no money
So he took two sous out of the plate."
They all applauded and hugged him.
"Sapristi! You have the voice of an angel, mon ami," said Sacha.