The place was dirty to begin with, and if there was one thing that Marie Riguad had taught her daughter almost from the moment she could toddle, it was to keep a house clean. Emilie scrubbed and polished, washed and brushed until the place shone and the atmosphere was impregnated with the fresh fragrance of soap and beeswax.
While she worked, Emilie found her respect for her employer vanishing with the dirt she threw away. He might look prosperous, she thought, but he could not be much of a businessman to let his home get into this state. Used to speaking her mind, she said what she thought when Léon Bleuet returned for his midday meal, and soon she found herself giving him what she called a ‘talking to’ every time he was at home.
Surprisingly he made no attempt to stop her, in fact he s
