“His daughters, as he calls them, eh? There are a dozen of them.”
“I have never been to more than two—the two who came here.”
“There is madame moving overhead; I shall have to go, or she will raise a fine racket. Just keep an eye on the milk, Christophe; don’t let the cat get at it.”
Sylvie went up to her mistress’ room.
“Sylvie! How is this? It’s nearly ten o’clock, and you let me sleep like a dormouse! Such a thing has never happened before.”
“It’s the fog; it is that thick, you could cut it with a knife.”
“But how about breakfast?”
“Bah! the boarders are possessed, I’m sure. They all cleared out before there was a wink of daylight.”
“Do speak properly, Sylvie,” Mme. Vauquer retorted; “say a blink of daylight.”
“Ah, well, madame, whichever you please. Anyhow, you can have breakfast at ten o’clock. La Michonnette and Poiret have neither of them stirred. There are only those two upstairs, and they are sleeping like the logs they are.”