Here I committed an unpardonable piece of folly. I ought to have set out on my campaign against the old shoe—that was elementary. It appeared to me, wrongly, that I had made a supreme concession to prudence—that an elastic boot has many titles to be considered merely an elastic boot, and not a buried man—not even a buried body; and that, to a generous heart a pretty girl is more important than all knickknacks.
I reviewed all these reasons, with the result that I turned towards the château.
The bedroom of my Aunt Lidivine now served as a lumber-room. One would have said it was the wardrobe of a lady of fortune. Several wicker lay-figures covered with extremely elegant toilettes, formed a crowd of armless and headless coquettes. The mantelpiece and tables were like a dressmaker’s show-cases, where feathers and ribbons go to make up those tiny or huge contraptions, which only become pretty hats once they are on the head. A battalion of dress shoes were fitted on their trees, and a thousand feminine trifles were heaped up everywhere, in the midst of a delicate and suggestive aroma, which was the one Emma loved.
Poor dear Aunt! I should have preferred your room to have been still further profaned, and that Mlle. Bourdichet had made it hers, rather than to hear laughter in the next one—that of your husband; for this left one no illusions.
On my appearance, Emma and Barbe seemed stupefied. The girl immediately understood, and began to laugh. She was lunching in bed, and with a turn of the wrist, she twisted her flaming Bacchante hair into a knot.
I saw the outline of her arm through the sleeve, and she did not think of closing her nightdress.
A table covered with bottles and brushes had been pushed against the bed.
Barbe, who was serving her mistress, cut huge slices out of a ham. My first thought was that Barbe would be much in my way.