One gets lazy about shopping.  The first years we lived in the country we used to go ourselves to the big shops and bazaars in Paris for our Christmas shopping, but the heat and the crowd and the waiting were so tiring that we finally made arrangements with the woman who sold toys in the little town, La Ferte-Milon.  She went to Paris and brought back specimens of all the new toys.  We went into town one afternoon—­all the toys were spread out on tables in her little parlour at the back of the shop (her little girl attending to the customers, who were consumed with curiosity as to why our carriage was waiting so long at the door) and we made our selection.  She was a great help to us, as she knew all the children, their ages, and what they would like.  She was very pleased to execute the commission—­it made her of importance in the town, having the big boxes come down from Paris addressed to her, and she paid her journey and made a very good profit by charging two or three sous more on each article.  We were quite willing to pay the few extra francs to be saved the fatigue of the long day’s shopping in Paris.  It also settled another difficult question—­what to buy in a small country town.  Once we had exhausted the butcher and the baker and the small groceries, there was not much to buy.

From the beginning of my life in the country, W. always wanted me to buy as much as possible in the town, and I was often puzzled.  Now the shops in all the small country towns have improved.  They have their things straight from Paris, with very good catalogues, so that one can order fairly well.  The things are more expensive of course, but I think it is right to give what help one can to the people of the country.  One cold winter at Bourneville, when we had our house full of people, there was a sudden call for blankets.  I thought my “lingerie” was pretty well stocked, but one gentleman wanted four blankets on his bed, three over him and one under the sheet.  A couple wanted the same, only one more, a blanket for a big armchair near the fire.  I went in to La Ferte to see what I could find—­no white blankets anywhere—­some rather nice red ones—­and plenty of the stiff (not at all warm) grey blankets they give to the soldiers.  Those naturally were out of the question, but I took three or four red ones, which of course could not go in the guests’ rooms, but were distributed on the beds of the family, their white ones going to the friends.  After that experience I always had a reserve of blankets, but I was never asked for so many again.  Living in the country, with people constantly staying in the house, gives one much insight into other people’s way of living and what are the necessities of life for them.  I thought our house was pretty well provided for.  We were a large family party, and had all we wanted, but some of the demands were curious, varying of course with the nationalities.