allowed very little talking; they generally chatter when they are
washing and very often quarrel. When they are washing at the public
"lavoir" in the village one hears their shrill voices from a great
distance. Our "lingère," Mme. Hubert, superintended the whole
operation; she was very keen about it and remonstrated vigorously when
they slapped the linen too hard sometimes with the little flat sticks,
like spades, they use. The linen all came out beautifully white and
smooth, hadn't the yellow look that all city-washed clothes have.

I think Mme. B. was very glad to get rid of us, and to begin folding
her linen and putting it back in the big wooden wardrobes, that one
sees everywhere in France. Some of the old Norman wardrobes, with
handsome brass locks and beautifully carved doors, are real works of
art--very difficult to get and very expensive. Fifty years ago the
peasant did not understand the value of such a "meuble" and parted
with it easily--but now, with railways everywhere and strangers and
bric-à-brac people always on the lookout for a really old piece of
furniture, they understand quite well that they possess a treasure and
exact its full value.

Our drive back was rather shorter, downhill almost all the way, the
horses going along at a good steady trot, knowing they were going
home.

When we drew up at our own door Hubert remarked respectfully that he
thought it was the first time that Madame and Mademoiselle had ever
been received by a lady in sabots.

We wondered afterward if she had personally attended to the cow--in
the way of poulticing or rubbing it. She certainly didn't wash her