"Hide these; read them when you are alone. They are very curious." And he chucked me under the chin, saying with a slight clack of his tongue: "Ah! she is a queer little one,--yes, indeed, a very queer little one!" When Monsieur had gone, I looked at the newspapers that he had left with me. They were the "Fin de Siècle," the "Rigolo," the "Petites Femmes de Paris." Dirty sheets, indeed! Oh! the _bourgeois!_ What an eternal farce! I have seen many of them, and of the most different kinds. They are all alike. For instance, I was once a domestic in the house of a republican deputy. He spent his time in railing at the priests. A blower, indeed! you should have seen him. He would not hear a word about religion, or the pope, or the good sisters. If people had listened to him, they would have overturned all the churches and blown up all the convents. Well, on Sunday he went to mass, secretly, in far-away parishes. At the slightest ailment he sent for the priests, and all his children were brought up by the Jesuits. He would never consent to meet his brother after the latter's refusal to marry in church. All hypocrites, all cowards, all disgusting, each in his own way. Madame de Tarves was also in the charity line: she too presided over religious committees and benevolent societies, and organized charity sales. That is to say, she was never at home, and things in the house went on as they could. Very often Madame returned late, coming from the devil knows where. Oh! I know these returns; they directly acquainted me with the sort of works in which Madame was engaged, and with the queer capers that were cut in her committees. But she was nice with me. Never an abrupt word, never a reproach. On the contrary, she treated me familiarly, almost like a comrade; and so far did she carry this that sometimes, she forgetting her dignity and I my respect, we talked nonsense together and said _risqués_ things. She gave me advice as to the arrangement of my little affairs, encouraged my coquettish tastes, deluged me with glycerine and _peau d'Espagne_, covered my arms with cold cream, and sprinkled me with powder. And during these operations she was continually saying: "You see, Mary, a woman must be well groomed. Her skin must be white and soft. You have a pretty face; you must learn how to set it off. You have a very fine bust; you must give it its full value. Your legs are superb; you must be able to show them. It is more suitable." I was content. Yet within I still was not free from anxiety and obscure suspicions. I could not forget the surprising stories that they told me in the servants' hall. There, when I praised Madame and enumerated her kindnesses toward me, the cook said: