"Célestine … you … you … black … my shoes … very well … very … very … well … Never … have … my … shoes … been blacked … like that."
Then I expected the button trick. But no! Monsieur gasped and slobbered as if he had eaten a pear that was too big and juicy.
Then he whistled for his dog, and started off.
But here is something stronger.
Yesterday Madame had gone to market,—for she does her own marketing. Monsieur had been out since dawn, with his gun and his dog. He came back early, having killed three thrushes, and immediately went up to his dressing-room to take a tub and dress, as usual. Oh, for that matter, Monsieur is very clean, and he is not afraid of water. I thought it a favorable opportunity to try something that might at last put him at his ease with me. Leaving my work, I started for the dressing-room, and for a few seconds I stood there listening, with my ear glued to the door. Monsieur was walking back and forth in his room. He was whistling and singing:
Et allez done, Mam'zelle Suzon! …
Et ron, ronron … petit patapon …
A habit that he has of mingling a number of refrains when singing.
I heard chairs moving about, cupboards opening