The conversation went on. Agathe learned
that the house in which she was born, her father's house before he
inherited that of the old Descoings, had been bought by the Borniches;
she expressed a wish to see it once more.
"No doubt," said her godmother, "the Borniches will be here this
evening; we shall have half the town--who want to examine you," she
added, turning to Joseph, "and they will all invite you to their
houses."
Gritte, who in spite of her sixty years, was the only servant of the
house, brought in for dessert the famous ripe cheese of Touraine and
Berry, made of goat's milk, whose mouldy discolorations so distinctly
reproduce the pattern of the vine-leaves on which it is served, that
Touraine ought to have invented the art of engraving. On either side
of these little cheeses Gritte, with a company air, placed nuts and
some time-honored biscuits.
"Well, Gritte, the fruit?" said Madame Hochon.
"But, madame, there is none rotten," answered Gritte.
Joseph went off into roars of laughter, as though he were among his
comrades in the atelier; for he suddenly perceived that the parsimony
of eating only the fruits which were beginning to rot had degenerated
into a settled habit.
"Bah! we can eat them all the same," he exclaimed, with the heedless
gayety of a man who will have his say.
"Monsieur Hochon, pray get some," said the old lady.
Monsieur Hochon, much incensed at the artist's speech, fetched some
peaches, pears, and Saint Catherine plums.
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