“Martha, Martha!” cried Felicie, “come quickly; mamma wants you.”
The old duenna ran in from the kitchen, and as soon as she saw the livid hue of the dusky skin usually high-colored, she cried out in Spanish,—
“Body of Christ! madame is dying!”
Then she rushed precipitately back, told Josette to heat water for a footbath, and returned to the parlor.
“Don’t alarm Monsieur Claes; say nothing to him, Martha,” said her mistress. “My poor dear girls,” she added, pressing Marguerite and Felicie to her heart with a despairing action; “I wish I could live long enough to see you married and happy. Martha,” she continued, “tell Lemulquinier to go to Monsieur de Solis and ask him in my name to come here.”
The shock of this attack extended to the kitchen. Josette and Martha, both devoted to Madame Claes and her daughters, felt the blow in their own affections. Martha’s dreadful announcement,—“Madame is dying; monsieur must have killed her; get ready a mustard-bath,”—forced certain exclamations from Josette, which she launched at Lemulquinier. He, cold and impassive, went on eating at the corner of a table before one of the windows of the kitchen, where all was kept as clean as the boudoir of a fine lady.
“I knew how it would end,” said Josette, glancing at the valet and mounting a stool to take down a copper kettle that shone like gold. “There’s no mother could stand quietly by and see a father amusing himself by chopping up a fortune like his into sausage-meat.”
Josette, whose head was covered by a round cap with crimped borders, which made it look like a German nut-cracker, cast a sour look at Lemulquinier, which the greenish tinge of her prominent little eyes made almost venomous. The old valet shrugged his shoulders with a motion worthy of Mirobeau when irritated; then he filled his large mouth with bread and butter sprinkled with chopped onion.
“Instead of thwarting monsieur, madame ought to give him more money,” he said; “and then we should soon be rich enough to swim in gold. There’s not the thickness of a farthing between us and—”
“Well, you’ve got twenty thousand francs laid by; why don’t you give ‘em to monsieur? he’s your master, and if you are so sure of his doings—”