"Bon jour," said the old man, delightedly, and he halted and admonished his companions to do the same.
"Il fait beau" (it is a fine day), pursued Vesper, cautiously.
"Oui, mais je crais qu'il va mouiller" (yes, but I think it is going to rain), said the Acadien, with gentle affability; then he went on, apologetically, and in English, "I do not speak the good French."
"It is the best of French," said Vesper, "for it is old."
"And you," continued the old man, not to be outdone in courtesy, "you speak like the sisters of St. Joseph who once called at my house. Their words were like round pebbles dropping from their mouths."
Vesper smoothed his mustache, and glanced kindly at his aged companion, who proceeded to ask him whether he was staying at the inn. "Ah, it is a good inn," he went on, "and Rose à Charlitte is très-smart, très-smart. Perhaps you do not understand my English," he added, when Vesper did not reply to him.
"On the contrary, I find that you speak admirably."
"You are kind," said the old man, shaking his head, "but my English langwidge is spiled since my daughter went to Bostons, for I talk to no one. She married an Irish boy; he is a nusser."
"An usher,—in a theatre?"
"No, sir, in a cross-spittal. He nusses sick people, and gets two dollars a day."