She was
tired of hoaxing that blockhead of a Tatan Nene with a story to the
effect that the Parisian dairywomen were wont to fabricate eggs with
a mixture of paste and saffron. The distance was too great: were
they never going to get to their destination? And the question was
transmitted from carriage to carriage and finally reached Nana, who,
after questioning her driver, got up and shouted:
"We've not got a quarter of an hour more to go. You see that church
behind the trees down there?"
Then she continued:
"Do you know, it appears the owner of the Chateau de Chamont is an old
lady of Napoleon's time? Oh, SHE was a merry one! At least, so Joseph
told me, and he heard it from the servants at the bishop's palace.
There's no one like it nowadays, and for the matter of that, she's
become goody-goody."
"What's her name?" asked Lucy.
"Madame d'Anglars."
"Irma d'Anglars--I knew her!" cried Gaga.
Admiring exclamations burst from the line of carriages and were borne
down the wind as the horses quickened their trot. Heads were stretched
out in Gaga's direction; Maria Blond and Tatan Nene turned round and
knelt on the seat while they leaned over the carriage hood, and the air
was full of questions and cutting remarks, tempered by a certain obscure
admiration.
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