have I met a human being with such eyebrows, thick to the point of obscenity, and with so hairy hands. Like most men of little intelligence and great muscular development, he is very timid.
He surveyed me with a very queer air, an air in which there was kindness, surprise, and satisfaction,—something also of salaciousness, but without impudence, something of an undressing look, but without brutality. It is evident that Monsieur is not accustomed to such chambermaids as I, that I astonish him, and that I have made a great impression on him at the start. He said to me, with a little embarrassment:
"Ah! Ah! So you are the new chambermaid?"
I bent forward, slightly lowered my eyes, and then, modest and mutinous at once, I answered simply, in my gentlest voice:
"Why, yes. Monsieur."
Then he stammered:
"So you have come? That's very good, that's very good."
He would have liked to say something further,—was trying, indeed, to think of something to say,—but, being neither eloquent or at his ease, he did not find anything. I was greatly amused at his embarrassment. But, after a short silence, he asked:
"You come from Paris, like that?"