She smiled, without any effect on him, and then turned to weeping. This annoyed the devourer a little but did not hinder his eating.
“How good you are to weep with joy at my return,” he said. “I thank you, my kind aunt.”
Evidently the Revolution had transmogrified this lad.
Having tucked away three fourths of the bird he left a little of the Indian grain at the end of the dish, saying:
“You are fond of rice, my dear auntie: and, besides, it is good for your poor teeth.”
At this attention, taken for a bitter jest, Angelique nearly suffocated. She sprang upon Pitou and snatched the lightened platter from his hand, with an oath which would not have been out of place in the mouth of an old soldier.
“Bewailing the rooster, aunt?” he sighed.
“The rogue—I believe he is chaffing me,” cried the old prude.
“Aunt,” returned the other, rising majestically, “my intention was to pay you. I have money. I will come and board with you, if you please, only I reserve the right to make up the bill of fare. As for this snack, suppose we put the lot at six cents, four of the fowl and two of bread.”
“Six? when the meat is worth eight alone and the bread four,” cried the woman.