"It was raining this morning and I thought I shouldn't be able to go. Adèle was grumbling because I went out after all, but it's fine now, it's fine now...."
"I think it'll rain again presently though, and you haven't even an umbrella, Mr. Takma."
"Well, you see, child, I hate an umbrella: I never carry one.... Fancy walking with a roof over your head!"
Ottilie smiled: she knew that the old man could not lean on his stick when holding up his umbrella. But she said:
"Well, if it rains, may I see you home?... That is, if you won't have a carriage?"
"No, child, I think a carriage even more horrid than an umbrella."
She knew that the jolting of a cab caused him great discomfort.
"The only carriage in which I'm likely to drive will be the black coach. Very well, child, if it rains, you shall bring me home ... and hold your little roof over my head. Give me your arm: I'll accept that with pleasure."
She gave him her arm; and, now that he was leaning on her, his stiff, straight step became irregular and he let himself go and hobbled along like a very old, old man....
"How quiet you are, child!"