When Madame Roc, that was the cook’s name, went to her mistress to ask for money, she would throw herself back on her couch and hold a phial of smelling salts to her nose, crying: “Oh! Madame Roc, have you come to talk about money again? Leave me in peace, I beg you. I have an attack of vapors already, and you will give me an attack of hysteria.” “But, madame, for dinner----” “Don’t bother me about dinner; do what you choose; I give you _carte blanche_!” “_Carte blanche_ isn’t money, and they all want money; I can’t say to the butcher: ‘I have _carte blanche_ to pay for your fillet.’” “Mon Dieu! how you tire me! how you make my head ache!” “But, madame, if I shouldn’t get any dinner for you, would you like that?” “Heavens! how you annoy me, how intolerable you are! Go away, I tell you again, and leave me!” This little scene, which is of frequent occurrence in Paris, will give an idea of the sort of person that the Baronne de Grangeville was. When the cook had been dismissed, matters arranged themselves better with the lady’s maid; she, being accustomed to flatter her mistresses in order to obtain a dress or a scarf, knew a thousand tricks to deceive creditors, to put them off the scent and send them away; and that was just the sort of lady’s maid that Madame de Grangeville needed. However, everything has an end, the patience of creditors no less than the confidence of dealers. Discovering a little late that she was likely to find herself in a very critical situation, after squandering a part of her principal, she sold what little she had left, and with the proceeds took it into her head to gamble on the Bourse. That was as good a way as another; it was a matter of luck, and she could still dream of wealth; for people who are devoid of order, it is a masterstroke to be able to rely on chance. One morning, Madame de Grangeville, who had just risen and taken her chocolate _à la vanille_, told Lizida, her maid, to go out and buy a newspaper which had the quotations of railroad and manufacturing stocks. The maid hastened to obey her mistress; the latter looked at herself in a mirror, as she tried on a very fashionable cap which she had worn only three times, but which did not rejuvenate her as much as she wished. “Here is the paper, madame,” said Lizida, eyeing her mistress’s cap, which she coveted; “I inquired about the Mouzaias; hasn’t madame some Mouzaia stocks?” “Yes, I have twenty shares; my last hope is in that.” “What are the Mouzaias, madame? a sugar factory?” “Alas! no, it isn’t sugar. I believe it’s a copper mine in Algeria; I don’t know exactly, but it doesn’t make any difference; a friend of mine doubled her money six months ago by buying shares in it; and I hope to double mine; but thus far I haven’t had any luck.--Do you think my cap is becoming, Lizida?” “Mon Dieu, madame, it’s strange--but if you want my opinion----” “To be sure, when I ask for it.”