Читать книгу Forget-Me-Not - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 11

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In a fortnight it was done; by tact, by firmness, by the use of her gift of authority that was often resented, never resisted, by sheer talent for organisation and the experience that had come from long, ironic observation of where other women went wrong, the governess had transformed the establishment of M. du Boccage. Some servants had been dismissed, some reformed, the place of Mademoiselle Broc had been taken by a stolid, effaced, hard-working Swiss, Mademoiselle Heller; the Major Domo, who had taken ill to the domination of the governess, had gone and in his place was an Italian, excellently trained, keenly anxious to please the woman to whom he owed his splendid post.

There was no more dust on the pelmets, no more faded flowers in the vases, no longer did the sound of quarrels come from the kitchens; the accounts went down, the entertainments were smoothly successful, the equipages, the lackeys smarter than before; the whole establishment had that air of easy finish that hitherto it had lacked.

M. du Boccage could lead, at ease, that life of voluptuous idleness, of charming social amusement, of domestic felicity with his lovely children that he so enjoyed.

And Madame du Boccage had ample leisure in which to administer her charities, attend her Masses, confer with the Abbé Galle, nurse her languishing body.

But the trouble in her dark eyes, the cloud on her broad brow did not lessen; she was often shut for hours in her splendid apartments alone with Matilde, her maid.

And when she showed herself among her now perfectly run household her suffering appearance evoked the pity of her servants to whom she was no longer of much importance, but merely an invalid who had relegated all her duties to a dependant.