"Have the honor to escort these ladies to their apartments."
"What! you give us a man for lady’s maid!" cried Cornélie, shrugging her shoulders. "Why, that is ridiculous. Do you expect that this fellow is going to lace us and arrange our hair and dress us?"
"Oh! a thousand pardons! I am absurd!—François, go and call Mademoiselle Cheval."
"Who on earth is Mademoiselle Cheval?" said the widow, with a horrified air. "Mon Dieu! I shall never dare to entrust my head to that woman!"
"Oh! you will be pleased with her; she is my cook, but she is a girl who has all sorts of talent; she will lace you tight."
"Oh! the idea! it’s an outrage! To give us a cook for lady’s maid!" said Cornélie. "Our hair will smell of soup!—I tell you, monsieur, that I will not allow your cook to come near me."
"Why, monseigneur," said Férulus, "you have just the person these ladies need; Jeannette, who came to the château to do everything, and whose hair is as curly as a negro’s."
"That is true! I am so confused, so happy, that I did not think of her. Send for Jeannette."
"At all events," said Madame de Hautmont, "she has a human name."
Jeannette appeared; as François had told her that they were going to give her something to do, she brought her foot-warmer under her arm.