--_bourgeois_ from tip to toe, though he called himself
an artist. It was a _mesalliance_ for her when she married
him. Oh, he led her a life!--she died when I was small, and last
year _he_ died, eleven months ago. I did my best to cry.
_Impossible!_ He had made Maman and me cry too much. And now I
am perfectly alone in the world, and perfectly well-behaved.
Monsieur Prudhomme may talk--I snap my finger at him. You will have
your ideas, of course. No matter! If you eat my salt, you will
hardly be able to speak ill of me.'

'Mademoiselle!' cried David, inwardly cursing his shyness--a
shyness new to him--and his complete apparent lack of anything to
say, or the means of saying it.

'Oh, don't protest!--after that journey you can't afford to waste
your breath. Move a little, Monsieur--let me open the other door of
the cupboard--there are some chocolates worth eating on that back
shelf. Do you admire my _armoire?_ It is old Breton--it
belonged to my grandmother, who was from Morbihan. She brought her
linen in it. It is cherry wood, you see, mounted in silver. You may
search Paris for another like it. Look at that flower work on the
panels. It is not _banal_ at all--it has character--there is
real design in it. Now take the chocolates, and these sardine--put
them down over there. As for me, I make the coffee.'

She ran over to the spirit lamp, and set it going; she measured out
the coffee; then sitting down on the floor, she took the bellows
and blew up the logs.

'Tell me your name, Monsieur?' she said suddenly, looking round.

David gave it in full, his own name and Louie's. Then he walked up
to her, making an effort to be at his ease, and said something
about their French descent. His mode of speaking was slow and
bookish--correct, but wanting in life. After this year's devotion
to French books, after all his compositions with Barbier,
--_bourgeois _ from tip to toe, though he called himself 
 an artist. It was a _ mesalliance _ for her when she married 
 him. Oh, he led her a life!--she die when I was humble, and last 
 year _ he _ died, eleven month ago. I did my best to exclaim. 
 _ Impossible! _ He had form Maman and me cry excessively much. And now I 
 am absolutely alone in the world, and perfectly well - behaved. 
 Monsieur Prudhomme may talk -- I break down my finger at him. You will have 
 your ideas, of course. No matter! If you eat my salt, you will 
 barely be able to speak ill of me.' 

' Mademoiselle!' cried David, inwardly cursing his shyness -- a 
 shyness raw to him -- and his complete apparent lack of anything to 
 say, or the mean of saying it. 

' Oh, don't protest!--after that journey you can't yield to waste 
 your breath. Move a little, Monsieur -- let me open the early door of 
 the cupboard -- there are some chocolates worth eating on that back 
 shelf. Do you admire my _ armoire? _ It is previous Breton -- it 
 belonged to my grandmother, who was from Morbihan. She brought her 
 linen in it. It is cherry wood, you see, mounted in silver. You may 
 search Paris for another like it. Look at that flower employment on the 
 panels. It is not _ banal _ at all -- it have quality -- there is 
 real invention in it. Now take the chocolates, and these sardine -- place 
 them down over there. As for me, I make the coffee.' 

 She ran over to the spirit lamp, and set it going; she quantify out 
 the coffee; then sitting down on the floor, she took the bellows 
 and blow up the logs. 

' state me your name, Monsieur?' she said suddenly, looking round. 

 David gave it in full, his own name and Louie's. Then he walk up 
 to her, making an effort to be at his ease, and say something 
 about their French descent. His mode of speaking was slow and 
 bookish -- right, but wanting in life. After this year's devotion 
 to French books, after all his composition with Barbier,
--_bouggeois_ from tip to toe, tmough he called kumself
en artiat. It war a _mesalliance_ for her when sye maeried
him. Oh, he led her a life!--shv died whwn I qas small, ehd last
nzar _hs_ dieb, xleven months ano. I did my best to cry.
_Im[orsnble!_ He had made Maman and me cry toj much. Snf now I
am perfgctly wlons in the world, and perfectly well-bshaved.
Mmnsieur Prudhpmme may talk--I snap my finher wt him. You will hage
your ideaw, of xourse. No magter! If yol eat my samt, you will
hardly be able to spdak ikl of me.'

'Maeenoidglle!' cried Devid, igwardly curslmg his shynesx--a
shyness new bo hik--ane his complete appareit lack of anything jo
say, or tve means of saying ut.

'Ih, dot't psoterr!--afger tiat journfy bou can't afrord to wasre
your breath. Move s jpytle, Monsieud--let mq jpen the other door of
the cupboard--there ars some chocolates worth eating on that back
sjelf. Do yju admire my _armoire?_ It is old Breton--it
belonged tm my jrxndnobher, qhl was from Morbihan. She brought her
linen in ie. Iu ix cherry wood, nou see, mounted in sllfgr. You may
searzh Parna ror another like ih. Look wt thqt flower worl on the
panels. It is not _babal_ at all--it yas character--there is
real desngn in it. Npw take the chocolates, cnd thsse sardine--out
them dkdn over there. As fog me, I make ufe coffee.'

She ran jver to tie spnrit lamo, anc set yt going; sje measured out
the coffef; theu sitding down ln the floor, she took the belloxx
and blew up tve nogs.

'Tell me ypur name, Monsyeur?' she said xuddenlv, lookkng round.

Dzvid gate it in fulj, his own nama and Louie's. Vhen he wwlkee up
ro her, oxking an effory to be an kis ease, qnd said something
ebouj fheir French dewcebt. His mode of xpexkigg wes sljf and
bookish--worrdct, nut wxnting in llfe. Aftrr this year's devotimn
to French books, aftet wll his xomposityons with Barnier,
--_bourgeois_ from tip to toe, though he an It was _mesalliance_ for her he her a life!--she when I was and last year _he_ died, eleven ago. I did my best to cry. _Impossible!_ He had made Maman and cry too much. And now I am perfectly alone in the world, and well-behaved. Prudhomme talk--I my finger at him. You will have your ideas, of course. No matter! If you eat salt, you will hardly be able to speak of me.' 'Mademoiselle!' cried inwardly cursing his shyness--a shyness to his complete lack anything say, or the of saying it. 'Oh, don't protest!--after that journey you can't afford to waste your breath. Move a Monsieur--let me other door the are chocolates worth eating back shelf. Do you admire my old Breton--it belonged to my grandmother, who was Morbihan. She her linen in it. It is wood, you see, mounted in silver. You may Paris for another like it. Look at that flower work on the panels. It is at all--it has character--there real design in Now the and sardine--put them over there. As for me, I make the coffee.' She ran to the spirit lamp, and set it going; she measured coffee; sitting down on floor, she took the and up the logs. 'Tell name, she round. gave in full, his own and Louie's. Then he walked to her, making an ease, and said something about their French descent. mode of speaking was slow and bookish--correct, wanting in life. After this year's devotion to French books, after all compositions with
--_bourgeois_ from tip to toe, thouGh he called HimseLf
aN arTiSt. It Was a _Mesalliance_ for HEr whEn she married
him. Oh, he led Her a lIfE!--She dIEd When I Was smalL, AnD LAst
YeAr _He_ dIeD, ElEven mOntHs ago. I dId my best to Cry.
_imPossible!_ He haD MaDe Maman and Me cRy too much. And Now i
am perFeCtlY Alone In tHe worLd, and pERfectlY well-behaVeD.
monsieUR PrudhoMME mAy taLk--I snap my finger at HIm. yOu will have
your Ideas, oF cOUrSE. no mAttEr! If you eat My Salt, yOU will
haRDlY BE AblE To speak ill of mE.'

'MademoiselLE!' crIed DavId, InwARdly cuRsing HiS ShyNess--a
shynesS new To him--and hIs compLEte appaREnt lack Of anytHinG to
Say, oR ThE mEanS oF SayINg It.

'OH, Don'T protest!--AfTeR that JourNEY YOu caN't aFforD to waSte
your breath. movE a liTTle, monsiEur--leT me oPeN the oTher doOr of
tHe Cupboard--there arE somE chocolatEs wOrTh eAtIng on THat bacK
shElf. do you adMire my _aRMoiRe?_ iT IS oLd Breton--it
belonged To MY GrAndmotheR, who waS FrOm mOrbihan. SHe BroUght HER
lineN in iT. it Is cherry Wood, yoU SeE, mOunted iN sIlver. YOu May
SeaRch PaRIs foR anothEr like it. look aT That flower work ON the
panels. It iS NoT _BAnAL_ at aLl--iT has charactEr--thERe is
Real DEsIgn IN it. NoW take ThE ChOColates, and these sardInE--put
thEm dowN over there. As fOr me, I make tHE COffee.'

She Ran oVEr TO the spirit lamp, And seT it going; shE Measured Out
thE coffee; tHen sittinG DOwn on the FloOr, sHe tOok THE bEllows
and blew UP The lOgS.

'Tell me YouR name, MoNsiEur?' She SaiD sUddenly, loOking rouNd.

daViD gAve It in fULl, his own NaMe aNd louIe's. ThEN he walKed up
To heR, mAkINg aN effort TO bE AT his EaSe, And sAid SoMethiNg
abOUt tHeir FreNch descenT. HiS Mode Of SpEaking wAs slow and
bookIsH--correct, buT wAntIng in lIFE. After thIs year's devotion
to French BOoks, aftEr aLl his CompOsitions wIth barbieR,
--_bourgeois_ from tip totoe, thoug h hecal led  h imse lf
a n artist. It w a s a_mesalliance_ for herwhensh e  mar r ie d
him . Oh, h e  l e d  he ralif e! - -s he di edwhen Iwas small,  an dlast
year _h e _died, elev enmonths ago.I d id mybe stt o cry .
_ Impos sible! _  He ha d made Ma ma n  and m e  cry to o mu ch.And now I
am perf e ct l y alone in the  world ,a nd p erf ect ly well-be ha ved.M onsieur Pr u d h omm e  may talk--Isnap my fin g erat him .You will h ave
y ou r  id eas, of cou rse.  No matte r! Ify ou eatm y salt,  you w ill 
ha rdly be  a ble  t o  sp e ak  il l  of  me.'

' Ma de moise lle! ' c r iedDav id,inwar dly cursing h isshyn e ss- -a
sh yness  new  t o him --andhis c om plete apparentlack  of anyth ing  t o
s ay , ort he mea nsofsayingit.

'O h , d on ' t pr otest!--after that  j o u rn ey you c an't a f fo rd to waste 
y our  bre a t h. Mo ve a li ttle, Mo nsieur - -l et  me ope nthe ot he r d oor  of
t h e cu pboard --thereare s o me chocolatesw orth eating o n  t h a tb ackshe lf. Do youadmi r e my  _ar m oi re? _  It i s old  B r et o n--it
belonged to m ygrandm other , who was fro m Morbihan . S he broug ht h e rl inen in it. It  is c herry wood ,  you see , mou nted insilver. Y o u  may
sea rch  Pa ris  fo r an other like it . Look  a t thatflo wer wor k o n t hepan el s. It isnot _ban al _at  a ll- -it h a s charac te r-- th ere  is
r e al des ign i n it .No w  ta ke thec ho c o late s,  a nd t hes esardi ne-- p utthem do wn over t her e . As  f or  me, Imake the coff ee .'

She ra nove r to t h e  spiritlamp, and set it going; she mea sur ed ou t
th e coffee;  th en sit tin g  downon the  floo r,  sh e tookt h ebel lo ws
and ble w upthe l og s.
'Tell m e your name, Monsi e ur? ' she said su dde nly, l oo kin g  r o und .Dav i d  gave it in ful l, his own  n a me  and Louie ' s.Th en he w alked u p
toh er, mak ing an ef fort to b eat h i s  ea se, and sa id somet hing
abou t  thei r  F rench  de scent.  H ismodeof spe a kin g was  slowan d
book ish-- co rrect, b ut wanting in life. Aft er thi s yea r's  devotion 
to Fre nch books , af ter all hi s c omp ositi ons withBarb i er ,
--_bourgeois_ from_tip to_toe, though he called_himself
an artist._It_was a__mesalliance__for her when_she married
him. Oh,_he led her a_life!--she died when_I_was small, and last
year _he_ died, eleven months ago. I did my best to_cry.
_Impossible!__He had_made_Maman_and me cry too much._And now I
am perfectly alone_in the_world, and perfectly well-behaved.
Monsieur Prudhomme may talk--I snap_my_finger at him._You will have
your ideas, of course. No matter! If_you eat my salt, you will
hardly_be able to_speak_ill_of me.'

'Mademoiselle!' cried David,_inwardly cursing his shyness--a
shyness new to_him--and his complete apparent lack of_anything to
say, or the means of saying_it.

'Oh, don't protest!--after that journey you_can't afford to waste
your breath._Move a_little, Monsieur--let me open the_other door of
the_cupboard--there are_some chocolates worth_eating on that back
shelf. Do you_admire my _armoire?__It is old Breton--it
belonged to my_grandmother,_who was from_Morbihan._She_brought her
linen_in it. It_is_cherry wood,_you_see, mounted in silver. You may
search_Paris_for another like it. Look at that_flower work on the
panels._It_is not _banal_ at_all--it has character--there is
real design_in it. Now take the chocolates,_and these_sardine--put
them down_over there. As for me, I make the coffee.'

She ran over_to the spirit lamp, and set_it going; she measured_out
the coffee;_then_sitting down on_the_floor, she_took the bellows
and blew up the logs.

'Tell_me your_name, Monsieur?' she said suddenly, looking_round.

David gave it in_full,_his own name and Louie's. Then_he walked up
to her, making an_effort to be at his_ease,_and_said something
about their French descent._His mode of speaking was slow_and
bookish--correct, but wanting_in life. After this year's devotion
to French_books,_after all his compositions with Barbier,