is so malicious. You know, Louise, sometimes it seems to me
the world is glad to hear that a man cannot support his family; it
compliments those who can. As if papa had not intelligence, and honor,
and honesty! But they do not count now as in old times, 'before the
war.'

"And so, when I thought of that, I laughed and talked and played the
thoughtless like Clementine, and made bills. We made bills--we had
to--for everything; we could do that, you know, on our old name and
family. But it is too long! I am sure it is too long and tiresome!
What egotism on my part! Come, we will take a glass of anisette, and
talk of something else--your trip, your family. No? no? You are only
asking me out of politeness! You are so _aimable_, so kind. Well, if
you are not _ennuyee_--in fact, I want to tell you. It was too long
to write, and I detest a pen. To me there is no instrument of torture
like a pen.

"Well, the lady next door, she was an American, and common, very
common, according to papa. In comparison to us she had no family
whatever. Our little children were forbidden even to associate with
her little children. I thought that was ridiculous--not that I am a
democrat, but I thought it ridiculous. But the children cared; they
were so disobedient and they were always next door, and they always
had something nice to eat over there. I sometimes thought Clementine
used to encourage their disobedience, just for the good things they
got to eat over there. But papa was always making fun of them; you
know what a sharp tongue he had. The gentleman was a clerk; and,
according to papa, the only true gentlemen in the world had family
and a profession. We did not dare allow ourselves to think it, but
Clementine and I knew that they, in fact, were in more comfortable
circumstances than we.

"The lady, who also had a great number of children, sent one day, with
all the discretion and delicacy possible, and asked me if I would
be so kind as to--guess what, Louise! But only guess! But you never
could! Well, to darn some of her children's stockings for her. It was
God who inspired her, I am sure, on account of my praying so much to
him. You will be shocked, Louise, when I tell you. It sounds like a
sin, but I was not in despair when papa died. It was a grief,--yes,
it seized the heart, but it was not despair. Men ought not to be
subjected to the humiliation of life; they are not like women, you
know. We are made to stand things; they have thei