“She understands her craft; tell her I thought it excellent.”
“Yes, sir, but it is dear.”
“Not too dear for me. You shall be pleased with me as I with you, and take care to have as good a supper to-morrow evening, as I hope the lady will be well enough to do justice to the products of your daughter’s culinary skill.”
“Bed is a capital place to get an appetite. Ah! it is sixty years since I have had anything to do with that sort of thing. What are you laughing at, mademoiselle?”
“At the delight with which you must recollect it.”
“You are right, it is a pleasant recollection; and thus I am always ready to forgive young folks the peccadilloes that love makes them commit.”
“You are a wise old man,” said I, “everyone should sympathise with the tenderest of all our mortal follies.”
“If the old man is wise,” said Rosalie, when he had left the room, “my mother must be very foolish.”
“Would you like me to take you to the play to-morrow?”
“Pray do not. I will come if you like, but it will vex me very much. I don’t want to walk out with you or to go to the theatre with you here. Good heavens! What would people say. No, neither at Marseilles; but elsewhere, anything you please and with all my heart.”