Monsieur Roger took off the egg, and lit a bit of paper, which he threw into the empty carafe.
"In order to burn," said he, "this paper is obliged to absorb the oxygen of the air in the carafe,—that is to say, it makes a partial vacuum." When the paper had burned for some moments, Monsieur Roger replaced the egg upon the carafe's neck, very much in the manner you would place a close-fitting ground-glass stopper in the neck of a bottle, and immediately they saw the egg lengthen, penetrate into the neck of the carafe, and at last fall to the bottom. "There," said he, "is atmospheric pressure clearly demonstrated. When a partial vacuum had been made in the carafe,—that is to say, when there was not enough air in it to counterbalance or resist the pressure of the exterior air,—this exterior air pressed with all its weight upon the egg and forced it down in very much the same way as Miss Miette wished me to do just now with my hand."
In saying these last words, Monsieur Roger looked towards Miette.
"By the way," he said, "I must apologize to you, Miss Miette, for having sent you on so many errands. I thought I saw that it annoyed you a little bit."
Miss Miette raised her eyes with much surprise to Monsieur Roger.
"But that was not it at all," said she.
"Well, what was it?" asked Monsieur Roger.
And Miette replied timidly, yet sweetly,—
"Why, I only thought that you might stop calling me Miss. If you please, I would like to be one of your very good friends."
"Oh, yes; with very great pleasure, my dear little Miette," cried Monsieur Roger, much moved by this touching and kindly delicacy of feeling, and opening his arms to the pretty and obliging little child of his friends.