“Is it possible?” I said, much touched by the little story. “And the ladies of Bonneroi, are they hard to please?”
Delle Josephine, who had spoken with the customary vim and gesture of the French while—telling her tale, resumed her quilling and said, with a shrug of one shoulder,
“They do not know much, and dat is true.” I laughed at the ironical tone.
“And you—you provide the modes?”
“I haf been to Quêbec” she said quietly.
“Twenty years ago,” I thought, but had too much respect for the queer little soul to say it aloud.
“I see amongst other things,” I went on, “a most—remarkable—a very pretty, I should say—hat in your window. The red one, you know, with the bird of paradise.”
Delle Josephine looked up quickly. “Dat is not for sale, monsieur.”
“No? Why, I had some idea of perhaps purchasing it for a friend of mine. Did you make that hat yourself?”
She nodded with a sort of conscious pride. Yet it was not for sale! I wondered why. The strange scene of the foregoing evening came into my mind, and I began to understand this singular—case of monomania. It must be that having lived so many years in almost solitary confinement, one might say, her mind had slightly given away, and she found her only excitement and relaxation in posing before the glass in that extraordinary manner. I hardly knew whether it would be an act of kindness to remove the hat; she talked quite rationally and cheerfully, and remembering the innate vanity of the French as a nation, I concluded to let the matter rest That night I heard no talking in the sitting-room. I slept profoundly, and woke up later than usual We were not dug out yet, though two snow-boys with their shovels were doing their best to unearth us. I waited some time for Delle Josephine to appear with the tray; but she too was late, evidently, for at ten o'clock she had not come. I dressed and went down stairs. As I passed the sitting-room I saw her tricked out as before in the hat and the antimacassar seated on the ottoman in front of the looking-glass. Heavens, she looked more frightful than ever! I made up my mind to speak to her at, once, and see if I could not stop such hideous mummery. But when I advanced I perceived that indeed I had come too late. The figure on the ottoman was rigid in death. How it ever held itself up at all I could never think, for I gave a loud cry, and rushing from the room knocked against the open door and fell down senseless.