Everything has been
perfectly convenable. Every one either knows about it or has forgotten
it. No one is bothered or thinks the worse of her so long as she has
remained of the "people" and put on no airs. But let her attempt to
rise out of her class, or go up to Paris, and the Lord help her if she
ever wants to come back, and, French fashion, end her days where she
began them. This is typically, provincially French. When you come down
here I shall tell you tales that will make Balzac and De Maupassant look
tame.
You have no idea how little money these people spend, It must hurt them
terribly to cough up their taxes. They all till the land, and eat what
they grow. Amelie's husband spends exactly four cents a week--to get
shaved on Sunday. He can't shave himself. A razor scares him to death.
He looks as if he were going to the guillotine when he starts for the
barber's, but she will not stand for a beard of more than a week's
growth. He always stops at my door on his way back to let his wife kiss
his clean old face, all wreathed with smiles--the ordeal is over for
another week. He never needs a sou except for that shave.
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