"There! I can't sit still now, monsieur. The dinner,—it is nearly time."
She had set out the table with the best their mutual resources afforded. She had run up and down the street after whatever seemed necessary earlier in the day. Now that final arrangement had come, nothing seemed quite satisfactory. She changed this, replaced that with something else, ran backward a moment to take in the ensemble, then changed things back again. She had the exquisite French perception of the incongruous in form and color. Between times she was diving in and out of the little kitchen, where the soup was simmering and where a chicken from the nearest rôtisserie was being thoroughly warmed up. And in her lively comings and goings she wore a bright smile and kept up the incessant purr, purr, purr of a vivacious tongue.
"And you must have champagne!" said she, reproachfully.
He had come in with the bottles under his arm. "You should have let me purchase it, at least. How much?"
"Ten francs."
"Ten francs! It is frightful! And two for this claret, I'll warrant!"
"More than that, innocent."
"What! more than——"
"Four francs."
She held up her little hands, speechless, being unable to do justice to his extravagance. He laughed.