Then she again plunged her arms into the butter, which buried them up to the elbows. Previously softened in warm water, it covered Madame Lecœur’s parchment-like skin as with an oily film, and threw the big purple veins that streaked her flesh into strong relief. La Sarriette was quite disgusted by the sight of those hideous arms working so frantically amidst the melting mass. However, she could recall the time when her own pretty little hands had manipulated the butter for whole afternoons at a time. It had even been a sort of almond-paste to her, a cosmetic which had kept her skin white and her nails delicately pink; and even now her slender fingers retained the suppleness it had endowed them with.
“I don’t think that butter of yours will be very good, aunt,” she continued, after a pause. “Some of the sorts seem much too strong.”
“I’m quite aware of that,” replied Madame Lecœur, between a couple of groans. “But what can I do? I must use everything up. There are some folks who insist upon having butter cheap, and so cheap butter must be made for them. Oh! it’s always quite good enough for those who buy it.”
La Sarriette reflected that she would hardly care to eat butter which had been worked by her aunt’s arms. Then she glanced at a little jar full of a sort of reddish dye. “Your colouring is too pale,” she said.
This colouring-matter—“raucourt,” as the Parisians call it is used to give the butter a fine yellow tint. The butter women imagine that its composition is known only to themselves, and keep it very secret. However, it is merely made from anotta;[*] though a composition of carrots and marigold is at times substituted for it.
[*] Anotta, which is obtained from the pulp surrounding the seeds of the Bixa Orellana, is used for a good many purposes besides the colouring of butter and cheese. It frequently enters into the composition of chocolate, and is employed to dye nankeen. Police court proceedings have also shown that it is well known to the London milkmen, who are in the habit of adding water to their merchandise. —Translator.
“Come, do be quick!” La Sarriette now exclaimed, for she was getting impatient, and was, moreover, no longer accustomed to the malodorous atmosphere of the cellar. “Mademoiselle Saget will be going. I fancy she’s got something very important to tell you abut my uncle Gavard.”
On hearing this, Madame Lecœur abruptly ceased working. She at once abandoned both butter and dye, and did not even wait to wipe her arms. With a slight tap of her hand she settled her cap on her head again, and made her way up the steps, at her niece’s heels, anxiously repeating: “Do you really think that she’ll have gone away?”
She was reassured, however, on catching sight of Mademoiselle Saget amidst the cheeses. The old maid had taken good care not to go away before Madame Lecœur’s arrival. The three women seated themselves at the far end of the stall, crowding closely together, and their faces almost touching one another. Mademoiselle Saget remained silent for two long minutes, and then, seeing that the others were burning with curiosity, she began, in her shrill voice: “You know that Florent! Well, I can tell you now where he comes from.”
For another moment she kept them in suspense; and then, in a deep, melodramatic voice, she said: “He comes from the galleys!”