Man and Maid

Yes--Burton says she will see me and will send me one of her Red Cross

cars to fetch me, then I can keep my leg up.

I rather incline to a treatise upon altruism and the philosophical

subjects. I fear if I wrote a novel it would be saturated by my ugly

spirit, and I should hate people to read it. I must get that part of me

off in my journal, but a book about--Altruism?

I must have a stenographer of course, a short-hand typist, if I do begin

this thing. There are some English ones here no doubt. I do not wish to

write in French--Maurice must find me a suitable one.--I won't have

anything young and attractive. In my idiotic state she might get the

better of me! The idea of some steady employment quite bucks me up.

* * * * *

I felt rather jarred when I arrived at the Hotel Courville--the paving

across the river is bad; but I found my way to the Duchesse's own

sitting room on the first floor--the only room apparently left not a

ward--and somehow the smell of carbolic had not penetrated here. It was

too hot, and only a little window was open.

How wonderfully beautiful these eighteenth century rooms are! What grace

and charm in the panelling--what dignity in the proportions! This one,

like all rooms of women of the Duchesse's age, is too full--crammed

almost, with gems of art, and then among them, here and there, a

shocking black satin stuffed and buttoned armchair, with a bit of

woolwork down its centre, and some fringe! And her writing table!--the

famous one given by Louis XV to the ancestress, who refused his

favours--A mass of letters and papers, and reports, a bottle of creosote

and a feather! A servant in black, verging upon ninety, brought in the

tea, and said Madame la Duchesse would be there immediately--and she

came.

Her twinkling eyes kindly as ever "Good day Nicholas," she said and

kissed me on both cheeks, "Thou art thy mother's child--Va!--And I

thank thee for the fifty thousand francs for my blessés--I say no

more--Va!--."

Her scissors got caught in her pocket, not the purple jersey this time,

and she played with them for a minute.

"Thou art come for something--out with it!"

"Shall I write a book?, that's it. Maurice thinks it might divert

me--What do you think?"

"One must consider," and she began pouring out the tea, "paper is

scarce--I doubt, my son, if what you would inscribe upon it would

justify the waste--but still--as a soulagement--an asperine so to

speak--perhaps--yes. On what subject?"