“His boot?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“For a bouquet-holder.”
I burst out laughing.
“But look, dear scoffer, how small it is. Can you not understand that he is vain of it?”
“Ah! no, to send a bouquet in his boot is not good manners. Has he worn it, or is it new?”
“He has worn it, of course. If he had not, it would be a boot like any other boot. But he has worn it, Juliette, he has worn it!”
And my godmother reassumed the admiring air she had worn when I entered the drawing-room.
“Really, godmother, I must tell you that you seem to me to be a little crazy!”