Beaurepas pursued. "We are to have a specimen to-morrow of a very
different sort."

"An American?" I inquired.

"Two Americaines--a mother and a daughter. There are Americans and
Americans: when you are difficiles, you are more so than any one,
and when you have pretensions--ah, per exemple, it's serious. I
foresee that with this little lady everything will be serious,
beginning with her cafe au lait. She has been staying at the Pension
Chamousset--my concurrent, you know, farther up the street; but she
is coming away because the coffee is bad. She holds to her coffee,
it appears. I don't know what liquid Madame Chamousset may have
invented, but we will do the best we can for her. Only, I know she
will make me des histoires about something else. She will demand a
new lamp for the salon; vous alles voir cela. She wishes to pay but
eleven francs a day for herself and her daughter, tout compris; and
for their eleven francs they expect to be lodged like princesses.
But she is very 'ladylike'--isn't that what you call it in English?
Oh, pour cela, she is ladylike!"

I caught a glimpse on the morrow of this ladylike person, who was
arriving at her new residence as I came in from a walk. She had come
in a cab, with her daughter and her luggage; and, with an air of
perfect softness and serenity, she was disputing the fare as she
stood among her boxes, on the steps. She addressed her cabman in a
very English accent, but with extreme precision and correctness. "I
wish to be perfectly reasonable, but I don't wish to encourage you in
exorbitant demands. With a franc and a half you are sufficiently
paid. It is not the custom at Geneva to give a pour-boire for so