“A muff!” cried Franceline, standing aghast before the old lady. “Dear Miss Merrywig, you don’t mean to say you want it on such a day as this! Why, it suffocates one to look at it.”
“Yes, my dear, just so. As you say, it suffocates one to look at it,” assented Miss Merrywig, “and I assure you I didn’t find it at all comfortable carrying it to-day; but I only bought it yesterday, and I wanted to let Angélique see it and hear her opinion on it, you see. I went in to Newford yesterday, and they were selling off at Whilton’s, the furrier’s, and this muff struck me as such a bargain that I thought I could not do better than take it. Now, what do you think I gave for it? Don’t you say anything, Angélique; I want to hear what mademoiselle will say herself. Now, just look well at it. Remember how hot the weather is; as you say, the sight of fur suffocates one, and that makes such a difference. My dear mother used to say—and she was a judge of fur, you know; she made a voyage to Sweden with my father in poor dear old Sir Hans Neville’s yacht, and that gave her such a knowledge of furs—you know Sweden is a great place for all sorts of furs—well, she used to say, ‘If you want the value of your money in fur, buy it in the summer.’ I only just mention that to show you. But you can see for yourself whether I got the full value in this one. You see it is lined with satin—and such splendid satin! As thick as a board, and so glossy! And it’s silk all through. I just ripped a bit here at the edge to see if it was a cotton back; but it’s all pure silk. The young man of the shop was so extremely polite, and so anxious I should understand that it was a bargain, he called my attention to the quality of the satin—which was really very kind of him; for of course that didn’t matter to him. But they are wonderfully civil at Whilton’s. I remember buying some swan’s-down to trim a dress when I was a girl and I was bridesmaid to Lady Arabella Wywillyn—they lived at the Grange then—and it was, I must say, a most excellent piece of swan’s-down, and cleaned like new. I asked the young man if he remembered it—I meant, of course, the marriage. Dear me, what a sensation it did make! But he did not, which was of course natural, as it was long before he was born; but I thought he might have heard the old people of the place speak of it. Well, now that you’ve examined it, tell me, what do you think I gave for it?”
Franceline was hovering on the brink of a guess, when Angélique, who had returned to her saucepans, suddenly reappeared at the window, and, spying Bessy’s red face staring with all its eyes at the chinchilla muff—which looked uncommonly like a live thing that might bite if the fancy took it, and was best considered from a respectful distance—called out: “What’s that child doing there?” Franceline, thankful for the timely rescue, began to pour out volubly in French the story of Farmer Griggs and the widow Bing.
“It’s a shame these sort of people should be allowed to terrify the poor people,” said Miss Merrywig when she had taken it all in. “I wonder the vicar does not do something. He ought to take steps to stop it; there’s no saying what may be the end of it. But dear Mr. Langrove is so kind and so very much afraid of annoying anybody!”
While Miss Merrywig was delivering this opinion Angélique was making good the bread-and-jam promise for Bessy, who stood watching the operation with distended eyes through the open window, and saw with satisfaction that the grenadier was laying on the jam very thick.
“Now, you’re not going to cry any more, and you’re going to be a good girl?” said Franceline before she let Bessy seize the tempting slice that Angélique held out to her.
Bessy promised unhesitatingly.
“Stop a minute,” said Franceline, as the child stretched up on tiptoe to clutch the prize. “You must not repeat to poor, sick mammy what that naughty boy said to you. Do you promise?” But the proximity of bread and jam was not potent enough to hurry Bessy into committing herself to this rash promise. What between the sudden vision of “devils and snakes a-blazin’ and a-burnin’” which the demand conjured up again, and what between the dread of seeing the bread and jam snatched away by the grenadier, who stood there, brown and terrible, waiting a signal from Franceline, her feelings were too much for her; there was a preparatory sigh and a sob, and down streamed the tears again.
“I’d better go home with her, and tell the poor woman myself,” said Franceline, appealing to Miss Merrywig.