Mme. Paulhat-Durand was distributing some cards
among the compartments of a drawer. The lady
had come from Fontainebleau in search of a servant. She may have been fifty years old. In
appearance a rich and rough bourgeoise, dressed
soberly, provincial in her austerity. The maid,
puny and sickly, with a complexion that had been
made livid by poor food and lack of food, had
nevertheless a sympathetic face, which, under
more fortunate circumstances, would perhaps have
been pretty. She was very clean and trim ina
black skirt. A black jersey moulded her thin
form, and on her head she wore a linen cap, prettily set back, revealing her brow and her curly
brown hair.
After a detailed, sustained, offensive, aggressive examination, the lady at last made up her mind to speak.
"Then," said she, "you offer yourself as . . . what? As a chambermaid?"
"Yes, Madame."
"You do not look like one. What is your name?"
"Jeanne Le Godec."
"What did you say? "
"Jeanne Le Godec, Madame."
The lady shrugged her shoulders.
"Jeanne," she exclaimed. "That is not a servant’s name; that is a name for a young girl.
