“You here, mademoiselle?”
She drew back a little, seeing that he was displeased, and lifted her eyes to his face with the expression that always unconsciously touched him. It was quite true that a few months ago she would have shrunk from finding herself among people alone, but since her stay at the Roulleaus, madame had impressed upon her that she was no longer in a position to hold such ideas; she made her useful in this as in every other respect, and Thérèse had been a little proud of overcoming the dislike which all French education and habits implant so strongly that it becomes second nature. She had been passing through the Place, and had paused for a moment at the entrance to the market, to look at the throng within. There the sunlight had betrayed her to M. Deshoulières. The idea of concealing herself from him, or from any one else, would never have entered her head, but now she wished heartily that he had not perceived her. When he went on to ask what had become of her attendant, poor Thérèse coloured crimson with vexation.
“I have no bonne, monsieur,” she answered as composedly as she could. “In my position I do not expect one.”
It was M. Deshoulières’ turn to colour. He walked up to fat Madame Lemaire, who was standing near, and brought her back with a kind of ceremonious formality. “There has been a mistake about mademoiselle’s servant,” he said, hurriedly; “will you do me the kindness to permit her to remain under your protection?” Then he went a little aside from them, and stood watching the proceedings.
The women looked very grave and determined, only Mme. Mathurine was a little pale. She was the most unpopular of her number among the country people, and a good many of them, without any real suspicion of her honesty, were not sorry to inflict a touch of humiliation. Old Nannon, in her wrath, said openly that she had lined her pockets with the price of the corn, and then accused the boy of bringing short measure. Others, who had not the old woman’s personal interest in the matter, would not venture so far, they shook their heads, and shrugged their shoulders. The majority inclined to the belief that the boy had been tampered with, and had sold the grain before he reached the market; but Mme. Mathurine, who was proud and self-reliant, saw only the shakes and shrugs. She was obliged to appear composed and indifferent, but in her heart a fierce indignation was burning. She had made a little mistake in not having at once called one of the other saleswomen to witness the reality of the short measure, and even to have made a mistake was very bitter to her pride. She folded her arms and looked round upon the faces about her with the air of a queen.
“There is no more to be done, messieurs and mesdames,” she said. “The business is concluded. Monsieur Gohon will communicate with the corporation, if he desires it.”
“And our Jean-Marie?” asked Nannon, pressing up and looking warlike.
Madame Mathurine deigned no other answer than a withering glance. Her companions gathered round her; they made a little compact phalanx and moved towards the doors. Old Nannon followed, dragging her reluctant nephew, and pouring out a torrent of words,—
“I appeal to the commissary,—to the mayor,” she cried, thrusting herself before Mme. Mathurine. M. Deshoulières began to think the old woman’s rage would lead her to a personal attack upon her enemy, and the other saleswomen thought so too, for the eldest of the group, perceiving him, came quickly up and said in a low voice,—
“Pray, monsieur, use your influence to prevent scandal.”