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disgusting stuff and that Monsieur would not eat it.
Antoinette, said I, go and inform Stenson that as he looks
after my outside so do you look after my inside, and that I have
implicit confidence in both of you in your respective spheres of
action.
But does Monsieur like sorrel? Antoinette inquired, anxiously.
I adore it even, said I, and Antoinette made her exit in
triumph.
What a reverential care French women have for the insides of
their masters! At times it is pathetic. Before now, I have
thrown dainty morsels which I could not eat into the fire, so as
to avoid hurting Antoinette's feelings.
I came across her three years ago in a tiny hostelry in a tiny
town in the Loire district. She cooked the dinner and conversed
about it afterwards so touchingly that we soon became united in
bonds of the closest affection. Suddenly some money was stolen;
Antoinette, accused, was dismissed without notice. I had a
shrewd suspicion of the thiefa suspicion which was afterwards
completely justifiedand indignantly championed Antoinette's
cause.
But Antoinette, coming from a village some eighty miles away, was
a stranger and an alien. I was her only friend. It ended in my
inviting her to come to England, the land of the free and the
refuge of the downtrodden and oppressed, and become my
housekeeper. She accepted, with smiles and tears. And they were
great big smiles, that went into creases all over her fat red
face, forming runnels for the great big tears which dropped off
at unexpected angles. She was alone in the world. Her only son
had died during his military service in Madagascar. Although her
man was dead, the law would not regard her as a widow because she
had never been married, and therefore refused to exempt her only
son. _On ne peutetre Jeune qu'une fois, n'estce pas,
Monsieur?_ she said, in extenuation of her early fault.
And JeanMarie, she added, was as brave a fellow and as
devoted a son as if I had been married by the SaintPere
himself.
I waved my hand in deprecation and told her it did not matter in
the least. The della Scalas, supreme lords of Verona for many
generations, were every man jack of them so parented. Even
William the Conqueror
_Tiens_ cried Antoinette, consoled, and he became Emperor of
Germanyhe and Bismarck!
Antoinette's historical sense is rudimentary. I have not tried
since to develop it.
When I brought my victim of foreign tyranny to Lingfield Terrace,
Stenson, I believe, nearly fainted. He is the correctest of
English valets, and his only vice, I believe, is the accordion,

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