“Yes? I never saw her, of course, but I dare say she was an excellent woman,” said Amélie, taking up her work, since her uncle now seemed disposed for a little conversation.
“Oh, excellent!” he muttered, with a little laugh. “She killed the count, my grandfather.”
“Killed him! oh, impossible! You don’t really mean it!”
“She bored him to death,” returned M. de Cadanet, letting his chin sink feebly on his chest.
“Poor man! Now, do you know, I am afraid you are tired. If you were to let me ring for an egg beaten up with a little sherry? No? Then shall I go on reading?”
“No. Unless—”
“What, mon oncle?”
“Is there anything about—about Poissy in the paper?”
“Oh, let me see.” She immediately busied herself. “Poissy—Poissy—”
“Do you know the name?”