"Good!" he resumed, without losing anything of his gaiety, "we are
still at odds, it seems. That is something very ugly. So you don't
admire my sorcerer's liquor, which resuscitates the dead?"

He seated himself at the table, and the young girl, sitting down
opposite him, was obliged at last to answer:

"You know well, master, that I admire everything belonging to you.
Only, my most ardent desire is that others also should admire you. And
there is the death of poor old Boutin--"

"Oh!" he cried, without letting her finish, "an epileptic, who
succumbed to a congestive attack! See! since you are in a bad humor,
let us talk no more about that--you would grieve me, and that would
spoil my day."

There were soft boiled eggs, cutlets, and cream. Silence reigned for a
few moments, during which in spite of her ill-humor she ate heartily,
with a good appetite which she had not the coquetry to conceal. Then
he resumed, laughing:

"What reassures me is to see that your stomach is in good order.
Martine, hand mademoiselle the bread."

The servant waited on them as she was accustomed to do, watching them
eat, with her quiet air of familiarity.

Sometimes she even chatted with them.

"Monsieur," she said, when she had cut the bread, "the butcher has