"Oh, I hope we can!" She adds, hastily, "I will be just as happy without it, you know, already this is lovely. But it would be wonderful to see Scottish cliffs."
How exotic! How adventurous!
And: is everything bright and pretty in her own home? Well, she wants it to be, and she tries to make it so. But --
"I wish you could see my old home, where Father and I lived. It was a very humble little home, but so bright and pretty. We had only one servant, Toussaint, and everything was just as I wanted it. Father never said anything but certainly, if you wish, my child -- he's such a funny dear man, I always have to cajole him into the slightest pleasure for himself, even good sweet bread like this, but he'll give me anything I ask. Now, well, my husband's grandfather is very good to us, he's been nothing but kind. We live with him now, you see. He said the house was mine to take care of. I've tried to make it all bright and pretty, and not so very old-fashioned. My husband's aunt never has opinions either, I thought she might -- I wish she would! No, I don't mean to complain, she's a very holy person -- but she never complains, she has her little altar and prayers and she's content with that. But the servants, Nicolette and Basque, they say always Madame, surely you don't want to change that? Madame may not realize that in this household we have always done it this way."
There's a little transgressive thrill to this, a little swell of relief: she doesn't complain, she doesn't want to make Marius or her father or Grandfather Gillenormand upset or sad, and what would they do anyway? The servants aren't bad, they don't disobey her, they only politely resist, they only don't wish to change what they're used to. But to a dear woman friend, she can talk of household matters. And Mary, she thinks, will understand.
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How exotic! How adventurous!
And: is everything bright and pretty in her own home? Well, she wants it to be, and she tries to make it so. But --
"I wish you could see my old home, where Father and I lived. It was a very humble little home, but so bright and pretty. We had only one servant, Toussaint, and everything was just as I wanted it. Father never said anything but certainly, if you wish, my child -- he's such a funny dear man, I always have to cajole him into the slightest pleasure for himself, even good sweet bread like this, but he'll give me anything I ask. Now, well, my husband's grandfather is very good to us, he's been nothing but kind. We live with him now, you see. He said the house was mine to take care of. I've tried to make it all bright and pretty, and not so very old-fashioned. My husband's aunt never has opinions either, I thought she might -- I wish she would! No, I don't mean to complain, she's a very holy person -- but she never complains, she has her little altar and prayers and she's content with that. But the servants, Nicolette and Basque, they say always Madame, surely you don't want to change that? Madame may not realize that in this household we have always done it this way."
There's a little transgressive thrill to this, a little swell of relief: she doesn't complain, she doesn't want to make Marius or her father or Grandfather Gillenormand upset or sad, and what would they do anyway? The servants aren't bad, they don't disobey her, they only politely resist, they only don't wish to change what they're used to. But to a dear woman friend, she can talk of household matters. And Mary, she thinks, will understand.