My housekeeper responded:

"Monsieur, when one has not even time to dream awake, one has still
less time to dream asleep. Thank God, my days are just enough for my
work and my work for my days, and I am able to say every night,
'Lord, bless Thou the rest which I am going to take.' I never dream,
either on my feet or in bed; and I never mistake my eider-down coverlet
for a devil, as my cousin did; and, if you will allow me to give my
opinion about it, I think you have books enough here now. Monsieur
has thousands and thousands of books, which simply turn his head; and
as for me, I have just tow, which are quite enough for all my wants
and purposes--my Catholic prayer-book and my Cuisiniere Bourgeoise."

And with those words my housekeeper helped the little man to fasten
up his stock again within the green toilette.

The homunculus Coccoz had ceased to smile. His relaxed features took
such an expression of suffering that I felt sorry to have made fun
of so unhappy a man. I called him back, and told him that I had
caught a glimpse of a copy of the "Histoire d'Estelle et de Nemorin,"
which he had among his books; that I was very fond of shepherds and
shepherdesses, and that I would be quite willing to purchase, at a
reasonable price, the story of these two perfect lovers.

"I will sell you that book for one franc twenty-five centimes,
Monsieur," replied Coccoz, whose face at once beamed with joy. "It
is historical; and you will be pleased with it. I know now just
what suits you. I see that you are a connoisseur. To-morrow I will
bring you the Crimes des Papes. It is a good book. I will bring