"What! you have done nothing? What do you do all day long, then? I do not pay you to be idle from morning till night." I reply rather curtly, for this injustice fills me with rebellion: "Why, Madame has been interrupting me all day." "I have been interrupting you, I? In the first place, I forbid you to answer me. I want no remarks, do you understand? I know what I am talking about." And she goes away, slamming the door, and grumbling as if she would never stop. In the corridors, in the kitchen, in the garden, her shrill voice can be heard for hours. Oh! how tiresome she is! Really one knows not how to take her. What can she have in her body that keeps her always in such a state of irritation? And how quickly I would drop her, if I were sure of finding a place directly! Just now I was suffering even more than usual. I felt so sharp a pain that it seemed as if a beast were tearing the interior of my body with its teeth and claws. Already, in the morning, on rising, I had fainted because of loss of blood. How have I had the courage to keep up, and drag myself about, and do my work? I do not know. Occasionally, on the stairs, I was obliged to stop, and cling to the banister, in order to get my breath and keep from falling. I was green, with cold sweats that wet my hair. It was enough to make one scream, but I am good at bearing pain, and it is a matter of pride with me never to complain in presence of my masters. Madame surprised me at a moment when I thought that I was about to faint. Everything was revolving about me,--the banister, the stairs, and the walls. "What is the matter with you?" she said to me, rudely. "Nothing." And I tried to straighten up. "If there is nothing the matter with you," rejoined Madame, "why these manners? I do not like to see funereal faces. You have a very disagreeable way of doing your work." In spite of my pain, I could have boxed her ears. Amid these trials, I am always thinking of my former places. To-day it is my place in the Rue Lincoln that I most regret. There I was second chambermaid, and had, so to speak, nothing to do. We passed the day in the linen-room, a magnificent linen-room, with a red felt carpet, and lined from ceiling to floor with great mahogany cupboards, with gilded locks. And we laughed, and we amused ourselves in talking nonsense, in reading, in mimicking Madame's receptions, all under the eye of an English governess, who made tea for us,--the good tea that Madame bought in England for her little morning breakfasts. Sometimes, from the servants' hall, the butler--one who was up to date--brought us cakes, caviare on toast, slices of ham, and a heap of good things. I remember that one afternoon they obliged me to put on a very swell costume belonging to Monsieur,--to Coco, as we called him among ourselves. Naturally we played at all sorts of _risqués_ games; we even went very far in our fun-making. Ah! that was a place!