able to judge of its habits and morals, and,
although furniture lies as well as faces, I was
rarely mistaken. In spite of the sumptuous and
decent appearance of this establishment, I felt at
once the disorganization that prevailed there, the
broken ties, the intrigue, the haste, the feverish
life, the private and hidden filth,—not sufficiently hidden, however, to prevent me from detecting the
odor, always the same! Moreover, in the first
looks exchanged between new and old servants
there is a sort of masonic sign, generally spontaneous and involuntary, which immediately informs you regarding the general spirit of the
establishment. As in all other professions, servants are very jealous of each other, and they
defend themselves ferociously against new-comers.
Even I, who am so easy in my ways, have suffered
from these jealousies and hatreds, especially on the
part of women who were enraged at my beauty.
But, for the contrary reason, men—I must do
them this justice—have always welcomed me
cordially.
In the look of the valet de chambre who had opened the door for me at the house of Mme. de Tarves I had clearly read these words: This is a queer box . . . with ups and downs . . . nothing like security . . . but plenty of fun, all the same. You can come in, my little one." So, in making my way to the dressing-room, I was
