Moreover, Madame Baudoin was a genuine type of concierge: talkative, inquisitive, gossiping, scandal-loving, incautious, not evil-minded at bottom, but capable of setting the whole quarter at odds with remarks made without ill-intent. Her husband often scolded her for it; but “what’s bred in the bone will come out in the flesh!”
At the jingling of the bell, and the somersault performed by her husband, Hildegarde, bewildered, and realizing that she had not time to replace the bottle of brandy in the cupboard, hastily put it on the floor between her feet, and then sat down, thus having her dear bottle in the place where the open air tradeswomen put their foot-warmers.
“Didn’t someone ring?” said Baudoin, rubbing his eyes.
“Yes, my dear, yes, someone certainly did!” replied his wife, without moving from her chair.
“Well, then, draw the cord, Hildegarde; you’re right near it.”
“You can draw it much easier yourself, my dear; you have only to put out your arm and lean forward a bit.”
“Look here, why won’t you pull the cord, when you’re right beside it? What sort of way is that to behave?”
“Why—why, you see I pulled it just now when the tenant of the first floor came in, so it’s your turn.”
“Ah! so this is a new idea you’ve got into your head! Madame is afraid that she will pull the cord oftener than I, who have just come in, all tired and out of breath after running about Paris all day! What a lazy hussy!”
“Mon Dieu! is it possible for a man to be as ugly as this to his wife! to be so unwilling to do anything for her! Ah! Monsieur Baudoin, how you have changed!”