situation was a painful one, especially as she was a woman, but for the
present I saw no way out of the difficulty; I should have to get an
Italian-speaking servant, and this would have been a troublesome task.
She wept with joy when I told her that my niece desired to be remembered
to her, and that in a day she would be on her father's hearth. Marcoline
had found out that she was not my real niece when she found her in my
arms.

The choice supper which the old man had procured us, and which spewed he
had a good memory for my favorite tastes, made me think of Rosalie.
Marcoline heard me tell the story with great interest, and said that it
seemed to her that I only went about to make unfortunate girls happy,
provided I found them pretty.

"I almost think you are right," said I; "and it is certain that I have
made many happy, and have never brought misfortune to any girl."

"God will reward you, my dear friend."

"Possibly I am not worth His taking the trouble!"

Though the wit and beauty of Marcoline had charmed me, her appetite
charmed me still more; the reader knows that I have always liked women
who eat heartily. And in Marseilles they make an excellent dish of a
common fowl, which is often so insipid.

Those who like oil will get on capitally in Provence, for it is used in
everything, and it must be confessed that if used in moderation it makes
an excellent relish.