,
and a moth-eaten muff. In my valetudinarian state I was not pleased with
this inroad--especially as the little lady had a thin, pinched-up face, and
obstinately looked out of the window, while she popped about the
_interieur_ as if she had just taken lodgings and was putting them in
order, throwing me every now and then some gracious apology in a not
unpleasant voice. "Mince as you please, madam," thought I; "you are a
bore." I am sorry to add that I was very unaccommodating, gave no
assistance in the stowing away of the umbrella, and when Fanfreluche came
and placed his silken paws upon my knees, pushed him away very rudely. The
little old maid--it was evident this was her quality--apologized for her dog
as she had done for herself, and went on arranging her furniture--an
operation not completed before we got to St. Saphorin.

For some hours a perfect silence was preserved, although my companion
several times gave a short dry cough, as if about to make an observation.
At length, the digestion of a hurried dinner being probably completed, I
felt all of a sudden quite bland and sociable, and began to be mightily
ashamed of myself. "Decidedly," thought I, "I must give this poor woman
the benefit of my conversation." So I spoke, very likely with that
self-satisfied air assumed sometimes by men accustomed to be well
received. To my great vexation the old maid had by this time taken
offence, and answered in a very stiff and reserved manner. Now the whole
absurdity of my conduct was evident to me, and I determined to make
amends. Being naturally of a diplomatic turn, I kept quiet for awhile, and
then began to make advances to Fanfreluche. The poor animal bore no
malice, and I won his heart by stroking his long ears. Then I gave a piece
of sugar to the parrot; and having thus effected a practicable breach,
took the citadel by storm by pointing out a more commodious way of
arranging the great blue umbrella.

We were capital friends thenceforward; and I soon knew the history of
Mlle. Nathalie Bernard by heart. A mightily uninteresting history it was
to all but herself; so I shall not repeat it: suffice to say, that she had
lived long on her little income, as she called it, at Lyon, and was now on
her way to Avignon, where a very important object called her. This was no
other than to save her niece Marie from a distasteful marriage, which her
parents, very good people, but dazzled by the wealth of the unamiable
suitor, wished