the nest it is my notion that wasps come out to sting. Look at France
now, they all fight each other there, ma fuifre! When folks begin to
slap faces at home, look out when they get into the street. That is when
the devil have a grand fete."

Guida's face grew paler as he spoke. The eyes of Maitresse Aimable were
fixed on her now, and unconsciously the ponderous good-wife felt in that
warehouse she called her pocket for her rosary. An extra bead was there
for Guida, and one for another than Guida. But Maltresse Aimable did
more: she dived into the well of silence for her voice; and for the
first time in her life she showed anger with Jean. As her voice came
forth she coloured, her cheeks expanded, and the words sallied out in
puffs:

"Nannin, Jean, you smell shark when it is but herring. You cry wasp
when the critchett sing. I will believe war when I see the splinters
fly--me!"

Jean looked at his wife in astonishment. That was the longest speech
he had ever heard her make. It was also the first time that her rasp of
criticism had ever been applied to him, and with such asperity too. He
could not make it out. He looked from his wife to Guida; then, suddenly
arrested by the look in her face, he scratched his shaggy head in
despair, and moved about in his seat.

"Sit you still, Jean," said his wife sharply; "you're like peas on a hot
griddle."

This confused Jean beyond recovery, for never in his life had Aimable
spoken to him like that. He saw there was something wrong, and he did
not know whether to speak or hold his tongue; or, as he said to himself,
he "didn't know which eye to wink." He adjusted his spectacles, and,
pulling himself together, muttered: "Smoke of thunder, what's all this?"

Guida wasn't a wisp of quality to shiver with terror at the mere mention
of war with France; but ba su, thought Jean, there was now in her face a
sharp, fixed look of pain, in her eyes a bewildered anxiety.

Jean scratched his head still more. Nothing particular came of that.
There was no good trying to work the thing out suddenly, he wasn't
clever enough. Then out of an habitual good-nature he tried to bring
better weather fore and aft.

"Eh ben," said he, "in the dark you can't tell a wasp from a honey-bee
till he lights on you; and that's too far off there"--he jerked a finger
towards the French shore--"to be certain sure. But if the wasp nip, you
make him pay for it, the head and the tail--yes, I think-me.... There's
t