But it must not be thought that the mothers of
Saint Loup were guiltless of less exalted emotions;
no, indeed, there was much heart-burning these
days regarding the texture of net and muslin, the
quality and merits of white suede shoes, and the
price of the white cotton roses for wreaths. Above all
did the faces under the wreaths very frequently give
occasion for pride, that subtle and most trusty weapon
of Satan. Thus already, although it was now only
March, tittle-tattle and gossip were rife between neigh-
bours: *Ai! las, that the poor little Rosseline should
suffer so much from those very disfiguring pimples;
to wear white a child must have a good skin —my
Sophie, thank God, has always possessed one.5 Or:
That daughter of Madame Perron's grows fat, a real
pity it is, yes, a real disaster. And I hear that her
mother complains of the price of net. "Ah, mais non,"
I said to my husband, "if one cannot spend two sous
upon our dear Lord, . . . Imagine such a thing,
for the child's First Communion!" 5 Or: 'I was
astonished to remark that the Girals were buying
those cheap canvas shoes for their daughters instead of
white suede — both the girls have big feet which
already is surely a great disadvantage. Our Celine
has got very small feet and hands; all the same I
would not risk those cheap shoes, they would make
even her tiny feet look enormous.5
And so the old Devil had occasion to smile more
than once as he groomed his tail in the sunshine, or
polished his hooves with the snippets of muslin he had
found cast away in some family dustbin, or pricked
up a furry and impious ear as he strolled by a gossip-
ing group at a corner. But meanwhile the weather
was warm and most pleasant, and that blueness of
sky and of sea and of mountains which is such an
integral part of Provence, appeared bluer than usual,
and so did the incense that rose at High Mass, and so
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