“Oh! yes, I had such colics, and not at all funny, I can tell you!” This put a stop to the quarrel. Valérie and Berthe’s new servants, a big camel and a little jade, as they were termed, looked curiously at Adèle’s pale face. Victoire and Julie also wished to see her, and stretched their necks, and leant their heads back. They all had an idea that there was something wrong, for it was unnatural to have such gripes and yell out as she did.
“Perhaps you’ve had something which didn’t agree with you,” said Lisa.
The others burst out laughing, another rush of foul language overflowed, whilst the wretched creature, awfully frightened, stammered:
“Hold your tongues, with your nasty words! I’m quite ill enough as it is. You don’t want to finish me off, do you?”
No, of course not. She was as stupid as stupid could be, and dirty enough to disgust a whole neighborhood; but they all held too closely together to bring her into any trouble. And they naturally turned to abusing their masters and mistresses; they criticised the party of the previous evening with looks of profound repugnance.
“So they’ve all made it up again now?” asked Victoire as she sipped her glass of syrup and brandy.
Hippolyte, who was wiping madame’s dress, replied:
“They’ve no more heart than my shoes. When they’ve spat in one another’s faces, they wash themselves with it, to make one believe they’re clean.”
“They must manage to agree somehow or other,” said Lisa.
“Otherwise it wouldn’t take long before our turn came.”