After this, they passed in review all the male and female servants of the farm.
Dame Billot made them form a half-circle, in the centre of which she placed herself.
“My children,” said she, “our master is not yet coming back from Paris, but he has chosen a master for us in his place. It is my daughter Catherine, who is here; she is young and strong. As to myself, I am old, and my head is weak. Our master has done rightly. Catherine is now your mistress. She is to receive and give money. As to her orders, I shall be the first to receive and execute them; any of you who may be disobedient will have to deal with her.”
Catherine did not add a single word; she tenderly embraced her mother. The effect of this kiss was greater than that of any well-rounded phrase. Dame Billot wept; Pitou was much affected.
All the servants received the announcement of the new reign with acclamations.
Catherine immediately entered on her new functions, and allotted to all their several services. Each received her mandate, and set out immediately to execute it, with the good-will which every one manifests at the commencement of a reign.
Pitou was the only one remaining, and he at length, approaching Catherine, said to her:—
“And I?”
“Ah! you,” replied Catherine; “I have no orders to give you.”
“How! I am, then, to remain without having anything to do?”
“What do you wish to do?”
“Why, what I did before I went to Paris.”
“Before going there, you were received into the house by my mother.”
“But you are now the mistress; therefore, point out the work I am to do.”
“I have no work for you, Monsieur Ange.”
“And why?”
“Because you,—you are a learned man, a Parisian gentleman, to whom such rustic labors would not be suitable.”
“Can it be possible?” exclaimed Pitou.
Catherine made a sign, which implied, “It is even so.”
“I a learned man!” repeated Pitou.
“Undoubtedly.”
“But look at my arms, Mademoiselle Catherine.”
“That matters not.”
“But, in short, Mademoiselle Catherine,” said the poor lad, in despair, “why is it that under the pretext of my being a learned man, you would force me to die of hunger? You do not know, then, that the philosopher Epictetus became a menial servant that he might have bread to eat; that Æsop, the fable-writer, earned his bread by the sweat of his brow? They were, however, people much more learned than I am.”
“What would you have? As I have said before, it is even so.”
“But Monsieur Billot accepted me as forming part of his household, and he has sent me back from Paris that I may still be so.”
“That may be the case; for my father might have compelled you to undertake things which I, his daughter, would not venture to impose upon you.”
“Do not impose them upon me, Mademoiselle Catherine,” said Pitou.
“But then you would remain in idleness, and that I could not at all allow. My father had the right to do so, he being the master, and which I could not do, being merely his agent. I have charge of his property, and I must take care that his property be productive.”
“But since I am willing to work, I shall be productive; you must see clearly, Mademoiselle, that you keep swimming round in the same vicious circle.”
“What say you?” cried Catherine, who did not comprehend the grandiloquent phrases of Pitou; “what mean you by a vicious circle?”
“We call a bad argument a vicious circle, Mademoiselle. No; let me remain at the farm, and send me on your messages if you will. You will then see whether I am a learned man and an idle fellow. Besides which, you have books to keep, accounts to put in order. Arithmetic is my particular forte.”
“It is not, in my opinion, sufficient occupation for a man,” said Catherine.
“Why, then, it would seem I am fit for nothing,” said Pitou.
“Continue to live here,” said Catherine, in a gentler tone; “I will reflect upon it, and we will see.”
“You require to reflect, in order that you may know whether you ought to keep me here! But what have I done to you, then, Mademoiselle Catherine? Ah! you were not thus formerly.”