"And we are ten to start with, that makes eighteen. We can do with twenty; will you invite the Dubuissons, grandmamma? I should so like to have Jeanne."
"I am perfectly willing. I will write to them."
"It isn't worth while. I shall have to go to Pont-sur-Loire to get things in, and I can invite them."
"My poor dear child! you are going to the town through this heat?"
"We must see about the things for this dinner. To-day is Tuesday—and then I want to speak to Mère Rafut, and see if she can come to work. I have no dresses to put on, and there will be the races, and some dances."
"Oh!" said the marchioness, evidently annoyed, "you are going to have that frightful old woman again."
"Why, grandmamma, she's a very nice, straightforward sort of woman, and then she works so well."
"That may be; but her appearance is terribly against her."
"Yes, grandmamma, that is so, she is not beautiful—Mère Rafut is old and poor, and old age and poverty do not improve the appearance; but it is so convenient for me to have her; and she is so happy to come here, and be well-paid, and well-fed, and well-treated, after being accustomed to her actresses, who either pay her badly or not at all."
By this time Bijou was standing just behind Madame de Bracieux's arm-chair. She added in a coaxing way, as she threw her pretty pink arms around the old lady's neck: