laimed: "You see, it must
simmer properly."

Their talk never went beyond that. They no longer spoke of their
native place even. When a reminiscence came to them a word sufficed,
and they chuckled inwardly the whole afternoon. This was pleasure
enough, and by the time Rosalie turned Zephyrin out of doors both of
them had enjoyed ample amusement.

"Come, you will have to go! I must wait on madame," said she; and
restoring him his shako and sabre, she drove him out before her,
afterwards waiting on madame with cheeks flushed with happiness; while
he walked back to barracks, dangling his arms, and almost intoxicated
by the goodly odors of thyme and laurel which still clung to him.

During his earlier visits Helene judged it right to look after them.
She popped in sometimes quite suddenly to give an order, and there was
Zephyrin always in his corner, between the table and the window, close
to the stone filter, which forced him to draw in his legs. The moment
madame made her appearance he rose and stood upright, as though
shouldering arms, and if she spoke to him his reply never went beyond
a salute and a respectful grunt. Little by little Helene grew somewhat
easier; she saw that her entrance did not disturb them, and that their
faces only expressed the quiet content of patient lovers.

At this time, too, Rosalie seemed even more wide awake than Zephyrin.
She had already been some months in Paris, and under its influence was
fast losing her country rust, though as yet she only knew three
streets--the Rue de Passy, the Rue Franklin, and the Rue Vineuse.
Zephyrin, soldier though he was, remained quite a lubber. As Rosalie
confided to her mistress, he became more of a blockhead every day. In
the country he had been much sharper. But, added she, it was the
uniform's fault; all the lads who donned the uniform became sad dolts.
The fact is, his change of life had quite muddled Zephyrin, who, with
his staring round eyes and solemn swagger, looked like a goose.
Despite his epaulets he retained his rustic awkwardness and heaviness;
the barracks had taught him nothing as yet of the fine words and
victorious attitudes of the ideal Parisian fire-eater. "Yes, madame,"
Rosalie would wind up by saying, "you don't need to disturb yourself;
it is not in him to play any tricks!"

Thus the girl began to treat him in quite a motherly way. While
dressing her meat on the spit she would preach him a sermon, full of
good counsel as to the pi