“Does Madame Lirrwiper” says the gentleman “believe she rrwecognises her unfortunate compatrrwiot?”
You may imagine the flurry it put me into my dear to be talked to about my compatriots.
I says “Excuse me. Would you have the kindness sir to make your language as simple as you can?”
“This Englishman unhappy, at the point of death. This compatrrwiot afflicted,” says the gentleman.
“Thank you sir” I says “I understand you now. No sir I have not the least idea who this can be.”
“Has Madame Lirrwiper no son, no nephew, no godson, no frrwiend, no acquaintance of any kind in Frrwance?”
“To my certain knowledge” says I “no relation or friend, and to the best of my belief no acquaintance.”
“Pardon me. You take Locataires?” says the gentleman.
My dear fully believing he was offering me something with his obliging foreign manners,—snuff for anything I knew,—I gave a little bend of my head and I says if you’ll credit it, “No I thank you. I have not contracted the habit.”
The gentleman looks perplexed and says “Lodgers!”