"What will never do?" said his mother.
"This house, this furniture—all," said Oliver, with a wave of his hand.
His mother stared. "It is a fine house," said she, "and the furniture is handsome. What, then, would you have?"
"The house is small; it is narrow; it is mean," said Oliver.
His mother stared wider than ever. "It is the best house in Flourens," said she.
"Perhaps," said Oliver; "but it does not please me. It will serve for us so long as we remain here, but I hope soon to remove to a better place—one more suitable for people of our condition."
Madame Munier's eyes grew as round as teacups. She began to notice that Oliver's manners and speech were very different from what they had been before he left Flourens a year ago. She herself had never used the barbarous Flourennaise patois.
"Remove to a better place?" she repeated, mechanically. "To one more suitable for people of our condition?"
"Yes," said Oliver. "I have in my mind a château in Normandy of which I have heard. I think of buying it."