“Then wake her up.”
The good woman went her way, and two minutes later, the girl came in with little on but her chemise. She had not had time to put in her false eye, and her expression was so amusing that I went off into a roar of laughter.
“I was sleeping soundly,” she began, “and my mother woke me up all of a sudden, and told me to come and wait on you, or else you would leave, and my father would think we had been in mischief.”
“I will stay, if you will continue to wait on me.”
“I should like to come very much, but we mustn’t laugh any more, as the abbé has complained of us.”
“Oh! it is the abbé, is it?”
“Of course it is. Our jests and laughter irritate his passions.”
“The rascal! We will punish him rarely. If we laughed last night, we will laugh ten times louder tonight.”
Thereupon we began a thousand tricks, accompanied by shouts and shrieks of laughter, purposely calculated to drive the little priest desperate. When the fun was at its height, the door opened and the mother came in.
I had Margarita’s night-cap on my head, and Margarita’s face was adorned with two huge moustaches, which I had stuck on with ink. Her mother had probably anticipated taking us in the fact, but when she came in she was obliged to re-echo our shouts of mirth.