France -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories
“Dear me, I was young then,” continued Gaga. “But never mind, I
remember it all. I saw her pass. They said she was disgusting in her
own house, but, driving in her carriage, she WAS just smart! And the
stunning tales about her! Dirty doings and money flung about like one
o’clock! I don’t wonder at all that she’s got a fine place. Why, she
used to clean out a man’s pockets as soon as look at him. Irma
d’Anglars still in the land of the living! Why, my little pets, she
must be near ninety.”
At this the ladies became suddenly serious. Ninety years old! The
deuce, there wasn’t one of them, as Lucy loudly declared, who would
live to that age. They were all done for. Besides, Nana said she didn’t
want to make old bones; it wouldn’t be amusing. They were drawing near
their destination, and the conversation was interrupted by the cracking
of whips as the drivers put their horses to their best paces. Yet amid
all the noise Lucy continued talking and, suddenly changing the
subject, urged Nana to come to town with them all to-morrow. The
exhibition was soon to close, and the ladies must really return to
Paris, where the season was surpassing their expectations. But Nana was
obstinate. She loathed Paris; she wouldn’t set foot there yet!
“Eh, darling, we’ll stay?” she said, giving Georges’s knees a squeeze,
as though Steiner were of no account.
The carriages had pulled up abruptly, and in some surprise the company
got out on some waste ground at the bottom of a small hill. With his
whip one of the drivers had to point them out the ruins of the old
Abbey of Chamont where they lay hidden among trees. It was a great
sell! The ladies voted them silly. Why, they were only a heap of old
stones with briers growing over them and part of a tumble-down tower.
It really wasn’t worth coming a couple of leagues to see that! Then the
driver pointed out to them the countryseat, the park of which stretched
away from the abbey, and he advised them to take a little path and
follow the walls surrounding it. They would thus make the tour of the
place while the carriages would go and await them in the village
square. It was a delightful walk, and the company agreed to the
proposition.
“Lord love me, Irma knows how to take care of herself!” said Gaga,
halting before a gate at the corner of the park wall abutting on the
highroad.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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