or ill, they were satisfied. After that if they were on short
allowance, they were still contented. I remember that when we had only
bread and water, Papa Cretu used to take out of his library--"

"He had a library?"

"So he called a little chest, where he put his collections of new
songs: for he bought all the new songs, and knew them all. When there
was nothing in the house but bread, he would take from his library an
old cookery-book, and say to us: 'Let us see what we will have to eat
today--this or that?' and he would read to us a list of many good
things. Each chose their dish. Papa Cretu would then take an empty
stewpan, and with the drollest manner, and the funniest jests in the
world, pretend to put in all the ingredients necessary to make a good
stew, and seemed to pour it into a plate, also empty, which he would
place on the table, always with grimaces that made us hold our sides,
then taking his book again, he would read, for example, the receipt
for a good fricassee of chicken that we had chosen, and that made our
mouths water; we then eat our bread (while he read) laughing like so
many mad things."

"And were they in debt?"

"Not at all! As long as they had money they feasted: when they had
none they dined on _water-color_ as Papa Cretu called it."

"And did they not think of the future?"

"Oh, yes, they thought of it; but then our present and future were
like Sunday and Monday--summer we spent gayly and happily outside the