“Angry! for what? That we spoil his things? A fine set of things he has to spoil! I broke his last cup yesterday—and am forced to fetch the milk in this comic concern.”
[Original]
So saying, laughing with all her might, Rose-Pompon drew her pretty little white arm from under her cloak, and presented to Mother Arsene one of those champagne glasses of colossal capacity, which hold about a bottle.
“Oh, dear!” said the greengrocer in amazement; “it is like a glass trumpet.”
“It is Philemon’s grand gala-glass, which they gave him when he took his degrees in boating,” said Rose-Pompon, gravely.
“And to think you must put your milk in it—I am really ashamed,” said Mother Arsene.
“So am I! If I were to meet any one on the stairs, holding this glass in my hand like a Roman candlestick, I should burst out laughing, and break the last remnant of Philemon’s bazaar, and he would give me his malediction.”
“There is no danger that you will meet any one. The first-floor is gone out, and the second gets up very late.”
“Talking of lodgers,” said Rose-Pompon, “is there not a room to let on the second-floor in the rear house? It might do for Cephyse, when Philemon comes back.”