"Ah!" said Germinie, "the time dragged terribly yesterday. I imagined it was Thursday and I longed so for you."
"My poor girl! How are you?"
"Oh! I'm getting on finely now—the swelling in my bowels has all gone. I have only three weeks to stay here, mademoiselle, you'll see. They talk about a month or six weeks, but I know better. And I'm very comfortable here, I don't mind it at all. I sleep all night now. My! but I was thirsty, when you brought me here Monday! They wouldn't give me wine and water."
One and all, after a moment's conversation, leaned over Germinie to kiss her, and with every kiss Mademoiselle de Varandeuil could hear an indistinct murmur as of words exchanged; a whispered question from those who kissed, a hasty reply from her who was kissed.
"What have you there to drink?"
"Oh! what I had at home—lime-water. Would you mind pouring me out some, mademoiselle? their pewter things are so heavy!"