Clotilde laughed too.
"Ah, no," she said. "Send for something he does not sell."
Aurora was laughing while Clotilde spoke; but as she caught these words she stopped with open-mouthed astonishment, and, as Clotilde blushed, laughed again.
"Oh, Clotilde, Clotilde, Clotilde!"--she leaned forward over the table, her face beaming with love and laughter--"you rowdy! you rascal! You are just as bad as your mother, whom you think so wicked! I accept your advice. Alphonsina!"
"Momselle!"
The answer came from the kitchen.
"Come go--or, rather,--vini 'ci courri dans boutique de l'apothecaire. Clotilde," she continued, in better French, holding up the coin to view, "look!"
"What?"
"The last picayune we have in the world--ha, ha, ha!"