At the stage of coffee—Mimisse had a piece of sugar steeped in coffee—she produced cigarettes, and made him light his cigarette at hers, and put her elbows on the table and looked at his ears. She was still wearing the apron, which appeared to Henry to be an apron of ineffable grace.
'So you are fiancé, mon petit? Eh?' she said.
'Who told you?' Henry asked quickly. 'Tom?'
She nodded; then sighed. He was instructed to describe Geraldine in detail. Cosette sighed once more.
'Why do you sigh?' he demanded.
'Who knows?' she answered. 'Dites! English ladies are cold? Like that?' She affected the supercilious gestures of Englishwomen whom she had seen in the streets and elsewhere. 'No?'
'Perhaps,' Henry said.
'Frenchwomen are better? Yes? Dites-moi franchement. You think?'
'In some ways,' Henry agreed.
'You like Frenchwomen more than those cold Englishwomen who have no chic?'