I am not, I am thankful to think, one of those men who like to behave
absurdly with domestic servants, especially with other people's
servants.
I had never liked this girl, she had always struck me as being
hypocritical and designing, and though now she looked extremely pretty,
judged by a certain standard, I could not dispel from my thoughts the
picture of the demure maid with downcast eyes, whom a casual observer
probably would not have looked at twice.
Her manner was the reverse of demure, nor were her eyes downcast. They
struck me as being the most brazen eyes I had seen for a long time as
they gazed unflinchingly up into my own. Much as I knew, I disliked
her, I could not, at that moment, help noticing those strangely dark
eyes of hers, now so full of laughter and wickedness; also the singular
evenness of the small white teeth; the natural redness of the full lips;
the clear, olive complexion, and the thick mantle of long, blue-black
hair. Yet I did not admire her in the least. Oh, no. If her
appearance struck me as remarkable and not wholly unpleasing, it was
only for a brief instant.
"Have you left Lady Thorold's service?" I asked, loud enough for others
to hear. I thought that, at any rate, would be a nasty snub. Instead,
she laughed immoderately. So, to my surprise, did her friends who had
overheard my question.
"Ah, monsieur, but you are too _drole_!" she exclaimed, as she stopped
laughing. "I was not in Lady Thorold's service, or in la Baronne de
Coudron's or in anybody else's. I have never been in service. I--in
service? _I_? Pah!"
She made a gesture of contempt.
"I don't understand," I said.
"I was Lady Thorold's friend, her very intimate friend, and la Baronne
de Coudron's too, and--and other people's. I am no _servant_, I assure
you! m'sieur."