"'Oh! monsieur, we folks don't go changing about like that. People have
been used to seeing me here, on this same spot, for thirty years; and if
they should miss me, especially on a Sunday, they'd say: "Why, where in
the world's old Mère Giroux? She must be sick, or dead."--And it would
hurt my trade if folks thought that; because, you see, monsieur, I have
regular customers, although you might not think so. They're folks from
Paris, who always buy stuff of me for their young ones, when they come
to Sceaux. And it don't pay to put our customers out; we can't afford to
lose regular ones when we have any, just to make a few more sous one
day; and I have some, as I tell you.'
"I was about to leave Mère Giroux, who was so proud of having regular
customers, when I saw three girls coming along, arm in arm, hopping
rather than walking. Two of them had the costume and general aspect of
the peasant girls of the neighborhood; they were dressed very
coquettishly, in white gowns, silk aprons, little caps trimmed with lace
and bows of ribbon, and even gloves, messieurs; yes, it's not a rare
thing nowadays, in the outskirts of Paris, on a holiday, to see gloved
peasant girls. They don't use musk as yet, thank God! but with time and
railroads, I feel sure that the women of nature will soon perfume
themselves like cultivated women; and, to tell the truth, it will be an
agreeable change, for they don't smell very sweet as a rule. I ask
Nature's pardon, but it's the truth.
"My two peasants, then, had paid much attention to their costume; but,
for all that, under their fine clothes they were genuine rustics. One
could see that by their arms and feet, by their manners, by their loud
laughter, and by the red blotches with which their faces were covered.
Moreover, those same faces, while they were not ugly, were not specially
attractive, except for their extreme freshness. So that my eyes did not
rest long on those young women; but it was not so with the third member
of their party, although her dress was almost a counterpart of her
companions'.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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