56.
Here we are back in Paris. I was very happy to see my dear mistress Madame de Grand-Air again, and I believe that she was equally glad to see me, but she seemed tired and a bit thin, and I couldn't prevent myself from remarking on it to her.
"It's the strain of this damned war," she responded. "Nearly everyone in Paris is thin."
That made me want to find out if I was losing weight like everybody else. So, when I passed a scale while I was running my errands, I weighed myself, and wrote the number on a piece of paper: 60 kilos, 450 grams. Three quarters of an hour later, when I was returning, I passed by the same scale and weighed myself again. The hand pointed to 60 kilos, 440 grams. Well, I said to myself, I'm getting thin too, but ten grammes is no big deal.
That evening, at dinner, I mentioned it to Zidore. He put on a concerned look, took out a paper and pencil, and began to calculate.
"This is serious."
"What is serious?" I asked.
"Your weight loss, mam'zelle Bécassine." And he explained it, with figures. "Ten grams a day makes a kilo in one hundred days, which is to say three months. That makes four kilos in a year. At that rate, in fifteen years you won't weigh more than 450 grams, which is just not enough for a damsel of your height."
Zidore has an annoying thing about him, which is that you can never tell when he's being serious or when he's joking. I'm pretty sure he was just having fun. All the same, what he said went straight into my head and, that night, I had a strange dream. I saw a Bécassine just as I am now, and in her hand she held another Bécassine, tiny and thin and not much bigger than the doll Bleuette.
This story about becoming thin had put me in a bad mood about Paris. As it happened, the morning after my dream, Madame called me and said, "Monsieur Bertrand is going on a mission to a camp in Champagne, and Madame Thérèse is to accompany him. You must decide if you will go with them, or remain here with me. Reflect on it, and give me your answer this evening."
"Very well, Madame," I said. "I will reflect."
I went to the kitchen and took up a pose that you always see in the pictures whenever people are reflecting: elbow on knee, forehead on fingertip, eyes fixed on nothing at all.
After a moment the cook said, "What are you doing there?"
"I am reflecting," was my reply.
"Ah well," she said. "You can reflect just as easily while you walk. Why don't you go and buy what's written on this list?"
"Very gladly, mam'zelle Victoire."
57.
I took the paper in hand and read, "A pound of butter, a pound of sugar, a pound and a half of bread." I said to Victoire, "This is easy. I won't be long." She began to laugh so hard that she cried, and said, "Easy! Not long! You go see, ma petite, you go see."
I wondered if she hadn't lost her marbles, but I had no time to cross-examine her, and headed for the butter merchant's. We're old friends, so we chatted for a while, and then I said to her, "So, I'll take a pound of butter."
She lifted her arms to heaven. "A pound!" she said. "And you asked so calmly, as if there was that much to be had! Here you go, I'll give you this, because we're old friends." This was a tiny portion about the size of two nuts. She wore such an air of respectibility as she handed over the tiny portion that it should have been made of diamond, and she made me pay ... no, I don't dare to tell you. It's a scandal.
After that I went to the baker's. I also had a bit of conversation there. When I asked for my bread, she weighed it and handed it over, no problem. I was happy, but I looked at the bread more closely because, not to brag, I'm not one of those maids who shop with their eyes shut. I said, "You've made a mistake. You gave me a gray, stale loaf. I must have white, fresh bread."
She couldn't have been angrier if I had heaped insults on her. She cried, "Do you want to see me put in prison? Fresh, white bread? Don't you know that it's illegal to sell it?"
And her husband, who came in at that moment from his oven, said to me, "Maybe you didn't know that there's a war on?"
To say that to me, who was just back from the war, was too funny. It prevented me from getting angry, and I took their villain bread to avoid a longer discussion.
At the grocer's, for sugar, it was even worse. They wanted to know if I had brought my card. I told them that I was making up some cards for New Year's but that I didn't have them with me. Then they acted like I was mocking them, and they put me out the door. I'm not accustomed to being treated that way by retailers.
By then I had had it with Paris, where everybody is thin, and where it's a long story any time you want to buy something as simple as butter, bread or sugar. That evening when Madame asked me if I would stay or go, I replied, "I'm going, Madame, I'm going. It pains me to leave Madame again, but, definitely, in times of war, there's no better place to be than with the military people."
58.
I have never seen anything as impressive as our departure for the camp. At the station, in a quarter of an hour, I saw a parade of generals and officers from every allied nation, as well as ministers, deputies, and journalists, in a word, nobody but very important people.
At the end of the train there was a car reserved for little people like me, servants, orderlies, and whatever. We were in a bunch by the wagon, and a fat man, who seemed to know everything, identified the grand personages as they passed by. It was interesting and instructive.
He told me that he was named Auguste and that he worked as an usher in one of the ministries. Immediately he bowed to the ground to a gentleman who was approaching, and told me, "It's my minister, the Minister for the Utilization of Aptitudes." I offered that I had heard him spoken of as a very capable man.
"Oh yes," said August. "He never mistakes ability, and he has some fine employees, the ushers especially."
He interrupted himself when he noticed his chief turn around and approach our group.
"Auguste," directed the Minister, "You must come to my wagon later. I want to discuss the organization of tonight's dinner, which I have been thinking about."
"Certainly, Minister," replied Auguste, taking on an air of even greater importance. We climbed into the wagon and suddenly he picked up our conversation again. "You see," he said, "the Minister can do nothing without me. It's flattering, but it causes me no end of trouble. No doubt the dinner he spoke of will take place at the hotel closest to the camp, a little village inn, practically a hostel, where, probably, no one knows the first thing about cuisine or service. And all the responsibility falls on me. It's all too much."
He seemed so overwhelmed that I pitied him. I told him that I knew all about cuisine and service, as I had a place in the house of a marquise and a countess, and that I proposed to help him out. He grasped my hands, nearly crushing them, and repeated, "Thank you! Thank you! What a great help you are!"
He left to receive the Minister's instructions. Then he returned, looking for me, and saying, "Monsieur the Minister wants to speak to you."
The Minister was waiting in the corridor. You can imagine my heart was beating before such a grand individual. He said, "Young girl, I thank you for your offer. It is a matter of preparing dinner for a collection of French and foreign officials. An improvised dinner. As soon as you reach the hotel, decide on the menu. Try to slip in the names of our allies. That will be a thoughtful touch for our invited guests."