And it is never seen again until the following year.
Oh! Madame's eyes in presence of her silver
service,—her silver service in our hands! Never
have I seen in a woman's eyes such aggressive
cupidity.
Are they not curious, these people who hide everything, who bury their silver, their jewels, all their wealth, all their happiness, and who, being able to live in luxury and joy, persist in living a life of ennui bordering on deprivation?
The work done, the silver service locked up for a year in its boxes, and Madame having gone away after satisfying herself that none of it has stuck to our fingers, Joseph said to me, with a queer air:
"That is a very beautiful silver service, you know, Célestine. Especially the cruet of Louis XVI.' Ah! sacristi! and how heavy it is! The whole business is worth perhaps twenty-five thousand francs, Célestine; perhaps more. One does not know what it is worth."
And, looking at me steadily and heavily, piercing the very depths of my soul, he asked:
"Will you come with me to the little café?"
What relation can there be between Madame's silver service and the little café at Cherbourg? Really, I don't know why, but Joseph's slightest words make me tremble.
