sweeping out the yard, another was the living image of the Count's
servant when he followed his master on his walks, carrying under
his arm a shawl or a sunshade. An orang-outang, an elderly
peasant, whose four big hands were clasped, suggested to her how
useful it would be to have a helper like that to milk the cows. It
would go twice as fast with four hands. What a lot of precious
time it would save.

And many other queer things came into her head. That yowling dog,
that sharp-faced rabbit, are the type who come on fair-days to cry
their papers, sell their toys, etc.--a noisy, rough crew. Goodness
gracious! Where was Mother Etienne's absurd dream leading her?
She, whose life was always so calm, and who, to tell the truth,
with Germaine, were rather like the two little monkeys at the
corner of the fire-place, hands clasped under their aprons, feet
on foot-warmers, and little pointed handkerchiefs on their heads.

At this personal picture everything turned as though by
enchantment into one huge, vast medley, which ended in a general
cake-walk of the whole menagerie, passing before the tired eyes of
Mother Etienne, roaring, bellowing, mewing, whistling, howling,
whinnying, and braying. Poor Mother Etienne was thoroughly
exhausted.




CHAPTER IX