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Updated: June 2, 2025
At least, that is the way in which monsieur the cure of Saint-Remy explains why these women are colder and hungrier than other poor women, when they are old." "Yes," remarked Gervaise, "but the gypsies?" "One moment, Gervaise!" said Oudarde, whose attention was less impatient. "What would be left for the end if all were in the beginning? Continue, Mahiette, I entreat you. That poor Chantefleurie!"
Gervaise repeated her question, and shook her arm, calling her by name. Mahiette appeared to awaken from her thoughts. "What became of la Chantefleurie?" she said, repeating mechanically the words whose impression was still fresh in her ear; then, ma king an effort to recall her attention to the meaning of her words, "Ah!" she continued briskly, "no one ever found out." She added, after a pause,
I weep still when I think of it. Our children are the marrow of our bones, you see. -My poor Eustache! thou art so fair! If you only knew how nice he is! yesterday he said to me: 'I want to be a gendarme, that I do. Oh! my Eustache! if I were to lose thee! All at once la Chantefleurie rose, and set out to run through Reims, screaming: 'To the gypsies' camp! to the gypsies' camp!
Then, poor Chantefleurie, she belonged to every one: she had reached the last sou of her gold piece. What shall I say to you, my damoiselles? At the coronation, in the same year, '61, 'twas she who made the bed of the king of the debauchees! In the same year!" * Ox-eye daisy. Easter daisy. Mahiette sighed, and wiped away a tear which trickled from her eyes.
That was the kind of foot which she had. At Reims! La Chantefleurie! Rue Folle-Peine! Perchance, you knew about that. It was I. In your youth, then, there was a merry time, when one passed good hours. You will take pity on me, will you not, gentlemen? The gypsies stole her from me; they hid her from me for fifteen years. I thought her dead. Fancy, my good friends, believed her to be dead.
Poor Chantefleurie was seized with curiosity; she wished to know about herself, and whether her pretty little Agnes would not become some day Empress of Armenia, or something else.
But you, Mahiette why do you run so at the mere sight of them?" "Oh!" said Mahiette, seizing her child's round head in both hands, "I don't want that to happen to me which happened to Paquette la Chantefleurie." "Oh! you must tell us that story, my good Mahiette," said Gervaise, taking her arm. "Gladly," replied Mahiette, "but you must be ignorant of all but your Paris not to know that!
It is certain that little Agnes, that was the child's name, a baptismal name, for it was a long time since la Chantefleurie had had any surname it is certain that that little one was more swathed in ribbons and embroideries than a dauphiness of Dauphiny! Among other things, she had a pair of little shoes, the like of which King Louis XI. certainly never had!
So she was la Chantefleurie. She and her mother earned a precarious living; they had been very destitute since the death of the minstrel; their embroidery did not bring them in more than six farthings a week, which does not amount to quite two eagle liards. Where were the days when Father Guybertant had earned twelve sous parisian, in a single coronation, with a song?
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