"There will be plenty without them," said I.
"Hold your tongue, and don't give me any impudence!" retorted Alix.
I thought I might have said the same. If Alix would speak more kindly, I am sure I should not get so vexed. I can't imagine what she would say if I were to do something really wicked, for she exhausts her whole vocabulary on my gathering the wrong flowers, or forgetting to make cakes.
"Don't be cross, Alix," I said, trying to keep the peace. "I really did forget them."
"Oh dear, yes, I never doubted it!" answered Alix, in that way of hers which always tries my patience. "Life is sacred to the memory of Guy, but my trouble and Umberge's likings are of no consequence at all! And it does not matter that the Baron de Montbeillard and his lady will be here, and that we shall have a dish too little on the table. Not in the least!"
"Well, really, Alix, I don't think it does much matter," said I.
"Of course not. And the Lady de Montbeillard will not go home and tell everybody what a bad housekeeper I am, and how little I care to have things nice for my guests--Oh dear, no!"
"If you treat her kindly, I should think her very ungrateful if she did," said I.
Alix flounced away with--"I wish you were gone after Guy!"
But at night, just before I dropped asleep, a new idea came to me--an idea that never occurred to me before.
Oh dear! I hope not. It cannot be. I don't think it is possible. Is it?
I wish I had not forgotten those cakes. Alix did seem so put out. And I suppose it was rather annoying--perhaps.
I did not like her saying that I was not to be trusted. I don't think that was fair. And I cannot bear injustice. Still, I did forget the cakes. And if she had trusted me, it was only reasonable that she should feel disappointed. But she did not need to have been so angry, and have said such disagreeable things. Well, I suppose I was angry too; but I show my anger in a different way from Alix. I do not know which of us was more wrong. I think it was Alix. Yes, I am sure it was. She treats me abominably. It is enough to make anybody angry.
Those limes seem to come up and look reproachfully at me, when I say that. I was not at all well--it might be three years ago: rather feverish, and very cross. And two travelling pedlars came to the Castle gate. One sold rare and costly fruits, and the other silken stuffs. Now I know that Alix had been saving up her money for a gold-coloured ribbon, for which she had a great fancy; and there was a lovely one in that pedlar's stock--in fact, I have never since seen one quite so pretty. Alix had just enough to buy it. She could not get any more, because the treasurer was away with Monseigneur at the hawking. But she saw my wistful glances at the limes in the other pedlar's panniers, and she bought some for me. They were delicious: but Alix went without her gold-coloured ribbon. She had no other chance of it, for the pedlar was on his way to the great Whitsuntide fair at Poictiers, and he would not stay even one night.[#]