The Argosy . ; and indarkness she has to grope her way to her room. As Malvina, her Across the Water. 497 niece, remarks, she may do it once too often one of these days, andwake up either paralysed with cold or burnt to a cinder. ButJosephine has still a will of her own left, and no one can turn is now occasionally subject to deep fits of melancholy, and inthose hours her chimney corner is her best friend and comforter. There is a long table under the window, and when the lid isremoved it is a trough in which the bread is made—a fortnights con-sumption at a time. If you happen to be th
The Argosy . ; and indarkness she has to grope her way to her room. As Malvina, her Across the Water. 497 niece, remarks, she may do it once too often one of these days, andwake up either paralysed with cold or burnt to a cinder. ButJosephine has still a will of her own left, and no one can turn is now occasionally subject to deep fits of melancholy, and inthose hours her chimney corner is her best friend and comforter. There is a long table under the window, and when the lid isremoved it is a trough in which the bread is made—a fortnights con-sumption at a time. If you happen to be there on baking day,Malvina will show her good will towards you by making galettes aswell. And these, hot and smoking out of the oven, well soaked incountry butter—tell me if ever you ate a greater delicacy ? Just inside the door to the right is the larder, given up to countryfare, and seeing from years end to years end few delicacies of anysort. The killing of the pig is the great event in the way of stock. On the Port, Boulogne. provision for the winter. In the shape of meat it is what most ofthe villagers depend upon; and if the pig turns out badly, it is a sadlook out for the Sundays, high days and holidays of the cold monthsthat have to come. Josephine, as befits a person of her importance,is able to afford herself many little indulgences undreamed of by herneighbours. But simple in tastes and indifferent to the good things oflife from youth upwards, she has returned to her earliest impressions,and lives far more frugally than she need. Her one indulgence and luxury is good tea: this she cannot dowithout—and it is a more expensive article in France, and a muchbetter article, than it is in England. Down in the Departement ofthe Isere, where the Alps raise their eternal heads, and in spring thenightingale will sing you a perpetual cradle song, you may give sixteenand twenty francs a pound for your tea, without being , see that you make it yourself, and tr
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