The Diary of a Chambermaid Read Online Free PDF Page B

modest, I answered simply: ‘Yes, sir, I am.’
    Then he stammered: ‘So you managed to get here all right? That’s good, very good.’
    He would have liked to continue the conversation, but, being neither eloquent nor resourceful, could think of nothing to say. I was highly amused by his embarrassment. After a short silence he managed to bring out: ‘So you come from Paris?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Good, good.’
    Then, growing bolder: ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘Célestine, sir.’
    To hide his embarrassment he began rubbing his hands together, and then went on:
    ‘Célestine? And very nice too, so long as my wife doesn’t insist upon changing it—it’s one of her manias.’
    To which I replied in a respectful and submissive tone: ‘That is for Madame to decide, sir.’
    ‘Yes, of course, of course. But it’s such a pretty name.’
    I almost burst out laughing. He began walking about the room, then, suddenly flinging himself into a chair and stretching out his legs, he looked at me as though to excuse himself and, in an almost pleading voice, asked: ‘Well, Célestine—I shall always go on calling you Célestine—would you help me to pull off my boots? You wouldn’t mind, would you?’
    ‘Of course not, sir.’
    ‘They are very awkward, you see … difficult to get off.’
    With a movement that I did my best to make graceful and supple, even provoking, I knelt down in front of him, and while I was helping him pull off his boots, which were soaking wet and covered with mud, I was perfectly aware that he was delightedly smelling the back of my neck and that his eyes were following the outline of my bust and as much of me as he could see through my dress with growing interest. Suddenly he muttered:
    ‘Bless me, Célestine, but you smell jolly nice.’
    Without looking up, I said as artlessly as I could: ‘What, me, sir?’
    ‘Why, of course you. Damn it all, it’s certainly not my feet!’
    ‘Oh sir.’ And I managed to put into this ‘oh sir’ at once a protest on behalf of his feet, and a kind of friendly rebuke for his familiarity—friendly to the point of encouragement. I think he understood, for once again, in a voice that trembled slightly, he repeated:
    ‘Yes, Célestine, you smell jolly good, jolly good.’
    Oh, so the big fellow was coming on a bit. I pretended to be slightly shocked by his insistence, and remained silent. Timid as he is, and knowing nothing of feminine wiles, he was upset, afraid lest he had gone too far, and hurriedly changed the subject, he said: ‘I hope you’re settling down here, Célestine?’
    What an idea—‘settling down’ indeed, when I’ve scarcely been in the place a couple of hours. I had to bite my lip to stop laughing. The old boy’s got some funny ways … really he’s a bit stupid. But that’s nothing to worry about. I don’t dislike him. Even his vulgarity has a kind of strength, and there’s a masculine smell about him, warm and penetrating like the scent of a wild animal, that I find rather attractive.
    When we had finished taking off his boots, in order to leave him with a good impression of me I asked him in my turn: ‘So you are fond of shooting, sir? Did you have a good day’s sport?’
    ‘I never have any sport, Célestine,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘I only carry a gun as an excuse for walking—anything to get out of this house, where I’m bored to death.’
    ‘So you find it boring, sir.’
    Then, after a pause, he gallantly corrected himself:
    ‘That is to say, I used to be bored, but now … at last… well …’
    And with a stupidly touching smile, he continued:
    ‘Célestine! Do you mind fetching me my slippers? I’m sorry, but …’
    ‘That’s what I’m here for, sir.’
    ‘Yes, I suppose it is. You’ll find them under the staircase, in the little closet on the left.’
    By now I felt that he was ready to eat out of my hand. He’s not one of the cunning ones, but the kind that surrendered at the first blow.