He received the two women, with his fat stomach against the table, as he was finishing his coffee, and turning round he said:  “What do you want?”

The mother was spokeswoman.  “This is our girl Adelaide, and I have come to ask you to take her as servant, as Monsieur le cure told us you wanted one.”  Maitre Omont looked at the girl, and then he said roughly:  “How old is the great she-goat?” “Twenty last Michaelmas-Day, Monsieur Omont.”  “That is settled, she will have fifteen francs a month and her food.  I shall expect her to-morrow, to make my soup in the morning.”  And he dismissed the two women.

The next day Adelaide entered upon her duties, and began to work hard, without saying a word, as she was in the habit of doing at home, and at about nine o’clock, as she was scrubbing the kitchen floor, Monsieur Omont called her:  “Adelaide!” She came immediately, saying:  “Here I am, master.”  As soon as she was opposite him, with her red and neglected hands, and her troubled looks, he said:  “Now just listen to me, so that there may be no mistake between us.  You are my servant, but nothing else; you understand what I mean.  We shall keep our shoes apart.”  “Yes, master.”  “Each in our own place, my girl, you in your kitchen; I in my dining room, and with that exception, everything will be for you just as it is for me.  Is that settled?” “Yes, master.”  “Very well; that is all right, and now go to your work.”

And she went out to attend to her duties and at midday she served up her master’s dinner in the little drawing-room with the flowered paper on the walls, and then, when the soup was on the table, she went to tell him.  “Dinner is ready, master.”

He went in, and sat down, looked round, unfolded his table napkin, hesitated for a moment and then in a voice of thunder he shouted:  “Adelaide!” She rushed in terribly frightened, for he had shouted as if he meant to murder her.  “Well, in heaven’s name, where is your place?” “But, ... master ...”  “I do not like to eat alone,” he roared; “you will sit there, or go to the devil, if you don’t choose to do so.  Go and get your plate and glass.”

She brought them in, feeling very frightened, and stammered:  “Here I am, master,” and then sat down opposite to him, and he grew jovial; clinked glasses with her, rapped the table, and told her stories to which she listened with downcast eyes, without daring to say a word, and from time to time she got up to fetch some bread, cider or plates.  When she brought in the coffee she only put one cup before him, and then he grew angry again, and growled:  “Well, what about yourself?” “I never take any, master.”  “Why not?” “Because I do not like it.”

Then he burst out afresh:  “I am not fond of having my coffee by myself, confound it!  If you will not take it here, you can go to the devil.  Go and get a cup, and make haste about it.”

So she went and fetched a cup, sat down again, tasted the black liquor and made faces over it, but swallowed it to the last drop, under her master’s furious looks.  Then he made her also drink her first glass of brandy as an extra drop, the second as a livener and the third as a kick behind, and then he told her to go and wash up her plates and dishes, adding, that she was “a good sort of a girl.”