"Yes, monseigneur, I will warm you," said Jeannette with a curtsy.
"Monseigneur," continued Férulus, "Agar performed that service for Abraham, Ruth for Boaz, Bathsheba for David, and I do not see why Jeannette should not perform it for your lordship."
"I don't see either," said Robineau, "and I highly approve the creation of this position in my château.--Well, my friends, be zealous and active, and above all things see to it that to-morrow you work with redoubled zest and do not get drunk."
As he said this, Robineau walked away with his two friends. The servants returned to their work, and Monsieur Férulus went to Jeannette and whispered in her ear:
"What, monsieur, already? in such warm weather as this? it's early in September."
"That proves nothing; it may be hot and still be damp."
"But, monsieur, I can't find any warming pan."
"Never mind, my dear girl, at your age the centre of gravity should be warm enough to take the place of one."
"What's the centre of gravity, monsieur?"
"What, monsieur,--you want me to warm your bed with my----"
"Even so, my dear; that is the way beds were always warmed in ancient times, for in ancient times there were no warming pans."
"Oh! by the way, Jeannette, you will be careful to leave the warming pan in the bed, so that I shall find it there when I retire."
Jeannette opened her eyes and curtsied, while Monsieur Férulus walked away playing with his corkscrew.
While everybody at the Château of La Roche-Noire was engrossed by the great festivity which was to take place on the morrow, the most profound tranquillity reigned about Isaure's dwelling. When the young men had left her, the little goatherd had taken her flock onto the mountain. On the way, she often turned her eyes toward the White House; she seemed to gaze inquiringly at it; then she went on, and from time to time a faint sigh escaped from her breast. Isaure had unconsciously become pensive since she began to receive the visits of Alfred and Edouard; she frequently thought of the two young men. Alone in her cottage, or among the mountains, Isaure had abundance of time to think; and when love makes her heart beat fast, the busiest woman finds leisure to think of the man she loves, or rather she thinks of him all the time. Even in the midst of society and of the restraints to which it subjects us, the image of the person we love follows us everywhere. It is our veritable sylph, or guardian angel.
