“Let’s drop Coriolanus, cousin, and give Madame Fourcy a chair.”
As she spoke, Virginie rose from the table, seized Mère Fourcy’s arms and led her to a chair. As the peasant woman continued to resist, Virginie pushed her backward and ended by taking her by the shoulders and forcing her to the floor beside the chair. The good woman fell almost under the table, while Virginie, thinking that she was seated, resumed her own place. But when she found that she could not see her, she said:
“I am afraid that I have given you rather a low chair, but, at all events, you’ll be more comfortable than if you were standing.”
“That’th a very nithe theat you’ve got!” said Cézarine, as she assisted Mère Fourcy to rise. “Why, did you fall? Thee what cometh of holding back! Did you hurt yourself?”
“You’re very kind, madame—just a little bit, on the hip.”
“That can’t help doing you good; it thtirth up the blood. Take a theat, pray.”
Mère Fourcy did not wait to be urged any more; and when tranquillity was restored, Denise said once more:
“And Monsieur Auguste, madame?”
“Oh, yes! to be sure! I haven’t told you how he came to be ruined. The first reason why I haven’t is that I don’t know anything about it; but still, it’s easy enough to guess: the fellow acted like a goose, gambling, spending a lot, and paying his mistresses. I’ve said to him twenty times: ‘Auguste, you’re driving too hard!’ Yes, I’ve told him so very often, but I always used the familiar thou, because I knew him when he was such a little fellow!”
“I should have said the young gentleman was about your age,” said Mère Fourcy.