She gives her address, and the shop-walker, as he bows her out, sweeps the floor with his nose.
Next day come the two handsome men in uniform with the handsome carriage, to fetch the pins; on the day following they come once more to return the money, and when the lady has pocketed her halfpenny again, they politely raise their caps and say, "Merci bien, Madame."
What is the natural result of these things? When a Parisian wife is not foraging in the shops, she is in her bedroom trying on the plunder. She has all the new fashions sent home to her, tries them on, and sends half of them back. The other half, which she never would have seen but for this tempting convenience, are kept and have to be paid for.
It is thus that Parisian husbands are reminded of their wives' existence. If it were not for the bills, I think some of them might sometimes forget that they were married.
It occurred the other day, that my interpretation of the French failed of its accustomed success.
At Madame's request, I had asked a shopwoman at the Samaritaine, the price of a pennyworth of ribbon; but, after I had spoken, Madame demanded to know what I had said.
"I asked her, my Queen, what was the price?"
"Price of what? Price of a kiss?"