"To be sure! why, Father Châtelain, what difference can it possibly make to the milk whether the cow that gives it is black, white, red, or brown?"
"How, then, my good girl, can it in any way signify whether a doctor has a black or white skin, or what his complexion may be?"
"Well," answered Claudine, fairly hunted into a corner from which no argument could rescue her,—"well, as regards what makes a black doctor not so good as a white one, it is—it is, because a black skin is so very ugly to look at, and a white one is so much more agreeable to one's eyes; I'm sure I can't think of any other reason, Father Châtelain, if I try for ever; but with cows the colour of the skin makes not the very least difference, of that you may be assured; but, then, you know there's a deal of difference between a cow and a man."
These not very clear physiognomical reflections of Claudine, touching the effect of light or dark skins in the human and animal race, were interrupted by the return of Jean René, blowing his fingers with animation as he had before blown his soup.
"Oh, how cold! how cold it is this night!" exclaimed he, on entering; "it is enough to freeze one to death; it is a pretty deal more snug and comfortable in-doors than out this bitter night. Oh, how cold it is!"
"Why,—
'The frost that cometh from North and East
Biteth the most and ceaseth the least.'
Don't you know that, my lad?" said the old superintendent Châtelain. "But who was it that rang so late?"
"A poor blind man and a boy who leads him about, Father Châtelain."
"And what does this poor blind man want?" inquired Châtelain.