the eye of an English governess, who made tea for us,—the good tea that Madame bought in England for her little morning breakfasts. Sometimes, from the servants' hall, the butler—one who was up to date—brought us cakes, caviare on toast, slices of ham, and a heap of good things.
I remember that one afternoon they obliged me to put on a very swell costume belonging to Monsieur,—to Coco, as we called him among ourselves. Naturally we played at all sorts of risqués games; we even went very far in our fun-making.
Ah! that was a place!
I am beginning to know Monsieur well. They were right in saying that he is an excellent and generous man, for, if he were not, there would not be in the world a worse rascal, a more perfect sharper. The need, the passion that he feels for being charitable, impel him to do things that are not very admirable. His intention is praise-worthy, but the result upon others is often disastrous, all the same. It must be confessed that his kindness has been the cause of dirty little tricks, like the following:
Last Tuesday a very simple old man, father Pantois, brought some sweet-briers that Monsieur had ordered,—of course without Madame's knowledge. It was toward the end of the day. I had
