"Nannin, Jean, you smell shark when it is but herring. You cry wasp when
the critchett sing. I will believe war when I see the splinters fly--
me!"

Jean looked at his wife in astonishment. That was the longest speech
he had ever heard her make. It was also the first time that her rasp of
criticism had ever been applied to him, and with such asperity too. He
could not make it out. He looked from his wife to Guida; then, suddenly
arrested by the look in her face, he scratched his shaggy head in
despair, and moved about in his seat.

"Sit you still, Jean," said his wife sharply; "you're like peas on a hot
griddle."

This confused Jean beyond recovery, for never in his life had Aimable
spoken to him like that. He saw there was something wrong, and he did
not know whether to speak or hold his tongue; or, as he said to himself,
he "didn't know which eye to wink." He adjusted his spectacles, and,
pulling himself together, muttered: "Smoke of thunder, what's all this?"

Guida wasn't a wisp of quality to shiver with terror at the mere mention
of war with France; but ba su, thought Jean, there was now in her face a
sharp, fixed look of pain, in her eyes a bewildered anxiety.

Jean scratched his head still more. Nothing particular came of that.
There was no good trying to work the thing out suddenly, he wasn't clever
enough. Then out of an habitual good-nature he tried to bring better
weather fore and aft.