Page 155 - swanns-way

‘There, Françoise, what did I tell you? How it’s coming
down! But I think I heard the bell at the garden gate: go
along and see who can be outside in this weather.’
Françoise went and returned. ‘It’s Mme. Amédée’ (my
grandmother). ‘She said she was going for a walk. It’s rain-
ing hard, all the same.’
‘I’m not at all surprised,’ said my aunt, looking up to-
wards the sky. ‘I’ve always said that she was not in the least
like other people. Well, I’m glad it’s she and not myself who’s
outside in all this.’
‘Mme. Amédée is always the exact opposite of the rest,’
said Françoise, not unkindly, refraining until she should be
alone with the other servants from stating her belief that my
grandmother was ‘a bit off her head.’
‘There’s Benediction over! Eulalie will never come now,’
sighed my aunt. ‘It will be the weather that’s frightened her
away.’
‘But it’s not five o’clock yet, Mme. Octave, it’s only half-
past four.’
‘Only half-past four! And here am I, obliged to draw back
the small curtains, just to get a tiny streak of daylight. At
half-past four! Only a week before the Rogation-days. Ah,
my poor Françoise, the dear Lord must be sorely vexed with
us. The world is going too far in these days. As my poor Oc-
tave used to say, we have forgotten God too often, and He is
taking vengeance upon us.’
A bright flush animated my aunt’s cheeks; it was Eulalie.
As ill luck would have it, scarcely had she been admitted to
the presence when Françoise reappeared and, with a smile

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