“I can’t stand it any longer! I am dying!” murmured Athalie in an expiring voice; and she fell over upon Auguste, who was seated next her.
“My wife has fainted!” cried La Thomassinière, overjoyed by an incident which might divert the attention of the company; and he sprang to his feet and rushed toward his wife, who was already surrounded by several people.
“Oho! is that your wife, that bleating little minx?” exclaimed Mère Thomas. “She’s ate too much, my boy; she’s got the indigestion, sure enough. Just give her a drink of brandy—that’ll settle her stomach.”
Someone gave Athalie smelling salts; she was taken into the fresh air; but she was careful not to recover consciousness. Mère Thomas pushed away two petites-maîtresses who were aiding her daughter-in-law, saying:
“Look out, my little darlings, you’re stifling the child. Bless me! if you want to bring her to right off, I know what’ll do it; two or three slaps on the backsides—that’ll bring a woman to in short order; it never fails.”
The ladies exchanged glances and moved away from Madame Thomas, saying to one another:
“This is shocking! it is getting to be unbearable.”
“She amuses me immensely, my dear.”
“For my part, she makes me blush; whenever she opens her mouth I tremble for fear that some disgusting remark will come out.”
“She has begun well.”