Dinner was not until seven, so Jean and I went out for a walk; as Hippolyte advised us to try and find a chemist and buy some flea powder. "Je trouverai ça plus prudent," he said. Jean is getting quite natural with me now, and isn't so awfully polite. The chemist took us for a honeymoon couple (as, of course, if I had been French I could not have gone for a walk with Jean alone). He—the chemist—was so sympathetic, he had only one packet of powder left, he said, as so much was required by the voyageurs and inhabitants that he was out of it (that did not sound a pleasant prospect for our night)—"Mais, madame" (that's me), "n'est pas assez grasse pour les attirer," he added by way of consolation.
It was spitting with rain when we got back, and they all made such a fuss for fear I had got wet, and they would not for worlds stir out of doors to see the church or anything, which I heard is very picturesque. We had such an amusing dinner, the food was wonderful, considering the place, but a horrible cloth and pewter forks and spoons. There were two officiers at another table (only infantry), and they were so interested in our party.
Close Quarters
"Antoine" sat next to me, and in a pause in the general conversation he said to me (it is the first time he has addressed me directly), "Il fait mauvais temps, mademoiselle." I have heard him saying all kinds of drôle things to the others, so it shows he can be quite intelligent. It is just because I am not married I suppose, so I said that is what English people always spoke about—the weather—and I wanted to hear something different in France. He seemed perfectly shocked, and hardly spoke to me after that, but the Vicomte, who was listening, began at once to say flattering things across the table. They all make compliments upon my French, and are very gay and kind, but I wish they did not eat so badly. The Comte and the Marquise, who are cousins, and of the very oldest noblesse, are the worst—one daren't look sometimes. The Comtesse is a little better, but then her family is only Empire, and Jean and Héloise are fairly decent.
I could bear most of it, if it wasn't for the peppermint glasses at the end, which the men have. The whole party are very French, not a bit like the people we see at Cannes, who have been much with the English. It is a different thing altogether. When dinner was over the rain stopped, and after a lot of talk—as to whether the ground would be too damp or not—we at last ventured for a walk down to the bridge and back. Then we returned and commenced a general powdering of the beds, beginning with the de Tournelles' apartment; next we went to the Marquise's—she had such an exquisite nightgown laid out, it was made of pink chiffon. When we got to my room they made all kinds of sympathies for me having such a small and stuffy place. The powder was all gone before we could sprinkle the Baronne's bed. Agnès was not quite so uppish undressing me as usual. Perhaps she realised this part of her France was not so good as England.
Next morning when I got down—we had arranged to have our premier déjeûner all together, not in our rooms, as we were to make such an early start—"Antoine" and Héloise were already there. The Vicomte and the Baronne came in soon after; he at once began: "Comme Mlle. est ravissante le soir! un petit ange à son déshabillé! Une si éblouissante chevelure!"
A Conjugal Experiment
The wretch had been watching me from the opposite gallery, wasn't it odious of him, Mamma? No Englishman would have done such a thing. I was angry, but Héloise said it was no use, that I must get accustomed to "les habitudes de voyage," and that she did not suppose he had really looked, it was only to tease me. But I believe he had—anyway from that moment de la Trémors has been always talking to me. Presently while we were eating our rolls, the garçon, a Parisian (who was also the ostler), came in and said: Would Madame—indicating the Baronne—come up to "Mademoiselle," who wished to speak to her? We could not think who he could mean, as I was the only "Mademoiselle" of the party. The Baronne told him so. "Mais non!" he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of upstairs, "La demoiselle dans la chambre de Monsieur."
"Mais que dites vous mon brave homme!" screamed the Baronne and Héloise together. The man was quite annoyed.
"Je dis ce que je dis et je m'en fiche pas mal! la petite demoiselle blonde, dans la chambre de Monsieur le Comte de Tournelle."