"You are a wise old man," said I, "everyone should sympathise with the
tenderest of all our mortal follies."

"If the old man is wise," said Rosalie, when he had left the room, "my
mother must be very foolish."

"Would you like me to take you to the play to-morrow?"

"Pray do not. I will come if you like, but it will vex me very much. I
don't want to walk out with you or to go to the theatre with you here.
Good heavens! What would people say. No, neither at Marseilles; but
elsewhere, anything you please and with all my heart."

"Very good, my dear, just as you please. But look at your room; no more
garret for you; and in three days we will start."

"So soon?"

"Yes; tell me to-morrow what you require for the journey, for I don't
want you to lack for anything, and if you leave it all to me I might
forget something which would vex me."

"Well, I should like another cloak, a cloak with a lining, some boots, a
night-cap, and a prayer-book."

"You know how to read, do you?"

"Certainly; and I can write fairly well."