They were eating their soup and they rose, frightened at seeing me.
“Why have you brought the young lady here?” they exclaimed.
“They were making her unhappy.”
“Who?” said the father.
“The masters.”
“You are crazy. It is not your business, it’s not your business,” repeated her mother.
“I am hungry; will you give me a little soup?” I asked, taking on the tone of a poor little beggar girl.
The good people both served me.
“Eat, mam’zelle, all that you want,” said the mother to me.
This Caumenchon soup seemed delicious.