Claude à Sucre roared in a stentorian voice, and clapped his knee. "She comes home Eenglish,—quite Eenglish."
"And the Englishman,—he is still rich," said Mirabelle Marie, greedily, and feeling not at all snubbed. "Does he wear all the time a collar with white wings and a split coat?"
"But you took much money from him," said Bidiane, reproachfully.
"Oh, that Boston,—that divil's hole!" vociferated Mirabelle Marie. "We did not come back some first-class Yankees whitewashés. No, no, we are French now,—you bet! When I was a young one my old mother used to ketch flies between her thumb and finger. She'd say, 'Je te squeezerai'" (I will squeeze you). "Well, we were the flies, Boston was my old mother. But you've been in cities, Biddy Ann; you know 'em."
"Ah! but I was not poor. We lived in a beautiful quarter in Paris,—and do not call me Biddy Ann; my name is Bidiane."
"Lord help us,—ain't she stylish!" squealed her delighted aunt. "Go on, Biddy, tell us about the fine ladies, and the elegant frocks, and the dimens; everythin' shines, ain't that so? Did the Englishman shove a dollar bill in yer hand every day?"
"No, he did not," said Bidiane, with dignity. "I was only a little girl to him. He gave me scarcely any money to spend."
"Is he goin' to marry yer,—say now, Biddy, ain't that so?"
Bidiane's quick temper asserted itself. "If you don't stop being so vulgar, I sha'n't say another word to you."