“C’etait un petit bon homme luron C’etait un petit bon homme Qui al lait a Montbron …”
He squealed: “Look at this one. He’ll never go to Montbron. Come on mon petit bon homme He grinned at Genevieve.
“We’re going to have a feast of snails. The
rain has brought them out. Get a basket and come and help. “
“Where?” asked Genevieve.
“Oh, Jeanne will give you one.”
Genevieve ran off to the back of the house and round to the kitchen where Jeanne was busy preparing some pot-au-feu; and I thought how she changed when she came to this house.
Yves rocked on his haunches.
“You must come and join in the feast. Miss Dallas,” he said.
“Not for two weeks,” shrilled Margot.
“We keep them for two weeks and then they’re served with garlic and parsley.” Yves smoothed his hand over his stomach reminiscently.
“Delicious!”
Then he began to hum his escargot song to himself while Genevieve came back with a basket and I went into the house to talk to Madame Bastide.
Two weeks later when the snails the children had collected were ready to be eaten, Genevieve and I were invited to the Maison Bastide. Their habit of making a celebration out of simple occasions was an endearing one and was for the benefit of the children. I thought what an excellent idea it was because Genevieve was always happier at such times and when she was happier her conduct improved. She really seemed as if she wanted to please.
But as we rode over we met Claude, who appeared to be coming from the vineyards. I saw her before she saw us; her face was flushed and there was an air of absorption about her; I was struck afresh by her beauty.
However, when she saw us her expression changed.
She asked where we were going and I told her we had been invited to the Bastides’.
When she rode on Genevieve said: “I believe she would have liked to forbid us to go. She thinks she is mistress here but she’s only Philippe’s wife. She behaves as though . “
Her eyes narrowed, and I thought: She is less innocent than we have believed. She knows of the relationship between this woman and her father.
I said nothing and we rode on until we came to the Maison Bastide.
Yves and Margot were waiting for us and greeted us vociferously.
It was the first time I had tasted snails, and they all laughed at my reluctance. I am sure they were delicious, but I could not eat them with the same enthusiasm as the rest of the party.
The children talked of snails and how they asked their saints to send the rain to bring them out, while Genevieve listened eagerly to all they said. She was shouting as loudly as the others and joining in when they sang the escargot song.
Jeane Pierre came in the middle of it. I had seen less of him lately for he had been so busy in the vineyards. He greeted me with his usual gallantry, and I noticed with some alarm the change in Genevieve when he entered. She seemed to throw off her childishness, and it was apparent to me that she listened eagerly to everything he said.
“Come and sit next to me, Jean Pierre,” she cried, and without hesitation he drew a chair to the table and wedged it in between her and Margot.
They talked of snails, and Jean Pierre sang to them in his rich tenor voice while Genevieve watched him, a dreamy expression in her eyes.
Jean Pierre caught my glance and immediately turned his attention to me. Genevieve burst out: “We’ve got beetles in the chateau. I wouldn’t mind if they were snails. Do snails ever come indoors? Do they ever tap with their shells?”
She was making a desperate bid for his attention and she had it.
“Beetles in the chateau?” he asked.
“Yes, they tap. Miss and I went down to see in the night, didn’t we, miss? Right down into the dungeons we went. I was scared. Miss wasn’t.
Nothing would scare you, miss, would it? “
“Certainly not beetles,” I said.
“But we didn’t know it was beetles till Papa told you.”
“Beetles in the chateau,” repeated Jean Pierre.
“Death watch? That’s set Monsieur Ie Comte in a panic, I’ll swear.”
“I have never seen him in a panic and he certainly was not over this.”
“Oh, miss,” cried Genevieve, ‘wasn’t it awful. down there in the dungeon and we only had the candle. I was certain someone was there . watching us. I felt it, miss. I did really. ” The children were listening with round-eyed attention, and Genevieve could not resist the temptation to focus the interest on herself.
“I heard a noise .. ” she went on.
“I knew there was a ghost down there. Someone who had been kept a prisoner and had died and whose soul couldn’t rest…”
I could see that she was getting too excited. There was a rising hysteria in her. I caught Jean Pierre’s eyes, and he nodded.
“Well,” he cried, ‘who is going to dance the “March of the Escargots”
It is only fitting that having feasted off them we should dance in their honour. Come, Mademoiselle Genevieve. We will lead the dance.”
Genevieve sprang up with alacrity, her face flushed, her eyes shining, and putting her hand in that of Jean Pierre she danced round the room.
We left the Maison Bastide about four o’clock. As we entered the chateau one of the maids came running to me and told me that Madame de la Talle wished to see me in her boudoir as soon as possible.
I did not wait to change but went to her in my riding-habit.
I knocked on her bedroom door and heard her voice rather muffled bidding me enter. I did so. There was no sign of her in the elaborately-furnished room with its fourposter bed hung with peacock-blue silk hangings.
I noticed an open door, and through it she called to me:
“In here, Mademoiselle Lawson.”
Her boudoir was a room about half the size of her bedroom. It was fitted with a large mirror, hip-bath, dressing-table, chairs and sofa, and contained an overpowering smell of scent. She herself was reclining on the sofa wrapped in a pale blue silk robe, her yellow hair falling about her shoulders. I hated admitting it to myself but she looked very beautiful and seductive.
She regarded one bare foot which was thrust out from the blue robe.
“Oh, Mademoiselle Lawson, you’ve just come in. You’ve been to the Bastides’?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Of course,” she went on, ‘we have no objection to your friendship with the Bastides. “
I looked puzzled and she added with a smile: “Certainly not. They make our wine; you clean our pictures.”
“I don’t see the connection.”
“I am sure you will. Mademoiselle Lawson, if you con sider it. I am thinking of Genevieve. I am sure Monsieur Ie Comte would not wish her to be on terms of such … intimate friendship with … his servants.” I was about to protest when she went on quickly, and there was almost a gentle note in her voice as though she were trying to make this as easy as possible for me: “Perhaps we protect our young girls more here than you do in England. We feel it unwise to allow them to mix too freely with those not in their social class. It could in some circumstances lead to … complications. I am sure you understand.”
“Are you suggesting that I should prevent Genevieve’s calling at the Bastides’ house?”
“You do agree that it is unwise?”
“I think you give me credit for carrying more weight than I do. I am sure I could not prevent her doing what she wished. I can only ask her to come to you so that you can make your wishes known to her.”
“But you accompany her to these people. It is due to your influence .”
“I am sure I could not stop her. I will tell her you wish to speak to her.”
And with that, I left her.
I had retired to my room that night and was in bed but not asleep when the disturbance started.