Mme. Paulhat-Durand smiled amiably and affectedly. Never had I seen such a smile on her face.
"I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle Célestine, there are no bad places."
"Indeed, I know it well. There are only bad masters."
"No, only bad servants. See, I offer you all the best houses; it is not my fault, if you do not stay in them."
She looked at me in a way that was almost friendly.
"Especially as you are very intelligent. You have a pretty face, a pretty figure, charming hands not at all ruined by work, and eyes that are not in your pockets. Good fortune might easily come to you. One does not know what good fortune could come to you ... with conduct."
"With misconduct, you mean."
"That depends on how you look at it. For my part, I call it conduct."
She was melting. Little by little, her mask of dignity fell. I was now confronted simply with the former chambermaid, expert at all rascalities. Now she had the piggish eye, the fat and flabby movements, the sort of ritual lapping of the mouth characteristic of the procuress, and which I had observed on the lips of "Madame Rebecca Ranvet, Millinery." She repeated:
"For my part, I call it conduct."