"It is a beautiful day," she said softly.
Felicite smiled up at her.
"Yes. And it is good to begin a day by going to Mass. It clears one's
mind of yesterday, and to-day is--ours, Brigitte."
For all her native shrewdness, it would not at all have surprised
Felicite if Brigit had suddenly become _devote_, and even now as she
watched the girl's radiant face it seemed to the Norman that the Mass
had helped even more than she had ventured to hope. "She is going to try
to fight it down," she thought gratefully, "and that is all that is
necessary."
M. Bourbon, charcutier, in Rupert Street, has a beautiful shop full of
wonderful things. Felicite bought a pound of galantine de volaille
truffee, for which she paid two-and-six, and for which in Piccadilly she
would have paid five shillings; she bought half a pound of jellied eel;
she bought Pont l'Eveque cheese; flat little Parisian sausages; she
bought a glass jar of preserved pears, brown with cinnamon.
Then they made their way to the Ile de Java, where they acquired a large
tin of coffee, on to the Boucherie Francaise, where Felicite had a long
discussion with M. Perigot _lui-meme_, whom she insisted on seeing, to
the disgust of the young man in attendance, who wished to look at
Brigit, and whom fate assigned to an ancient dame from Brewer Street.
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