So saying, Florine led her into a small room; with fireplace and carpet, and made her sit down in a tapestried armchair by the side of a good fire. Georgette and Hebe had been dismissed, and Florine was left alone in care of the house.
When her guest was seated, Florine said to her with an air of interest: “Will you not take anything? A little orange flower-water and sugar, warm.”
“I thank you, mademoiselle,” said Mother Bunch, with emotion, so easily was her gratitude excited by the least mark of kindness; she felt, too, a pleasing surprise, that her poor garments had not been the cause of repugnance or disdain on the part of Florine.
“I thank you, mademoiselle,” said she, “but I only require a little rest, for I come from a great distance. If you will permit me—”
“Pray rest yourself as long as you like, mademoiselle; I am alone in this pavilion since the departure of my poor mistress,”—here Florine blushed and sighed;—“so, pray make yourself quite at home. Draw near the fire—you wilt be more comfortable—and, gracious! how wet your feet are!—place them upon this stool.”
The cordial reception given by Florine, her handsome face and agreeable manners, which were not those of an ordinary waiting-maid, forcibly struck Mother Bunch, who, notwithstanding her humble condition, was peculiarly susceptible to the influence of everything graceful and delicate. Yielding, therefore, to these attractions, the young sempstress, generally so timid and sensitive, felt herself almost at her ease with Florine.
“How obliging you are, mademoiselle!” said she in a grateful tone. “I am quite confused with your kindness.”
[Original]
“I wish I could do you some greater service than offer you a place at the fire, mademoiselle. Your appearance is so good and interesting.”