After a lengthy pause the man added. "But you did not enjoy it, did you?"
Now that Guillaume spoke in his natural voice, I was all but certain that it was the junior master.
The matron added at once:
"No, since that sacred brat has been put in my room, I never feel at ease, and all my fun is spoilt."
"Yes, he's a little curse."
"I'm always so frightened that some day or other he'll wake, and then there'll be some bother."
"Oh! he always sleeps like a top."
"I'm not quite so sure of that, he's such a little sneak. For instance just before you came in, I am sure I felt a hand on my coynte."
How I pricked up my ears at the word.
"Her coynte!" Then the fur all round her slit, thought I, is called a coynte and not a pussy as the dressmaker told me.
"Well and then?" asked Guillaume.
"Nothing; only I thought it was you."
"Perhaps," added I to myself in a mental monologue, "there are two names for the
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