THE ARM-CHAIR AT THE INN
lerie,” backed it up against the statue of the Great Louis, and under pretence of resting his legs, buried himself in a book, the warm sunshine full on the page.
I, being left to my own devices, waited until the last cart with its well-fed load of Norman farmers had turned the corner of the Inn and quiet reigned again; and remembering that I was host, sought out our landlord and put the question squarely as to what objections, if any, he, the lord of the manor, had to our lunching out of doors too, and at the same table on which Pierre had placed the big crock and its attendant trimmings.
“Of course, my dear Monsieur High-Muck, you shall all lunch in the court, but the menu shall be better adapted to your more gentle appetites than the one prepared for our departed guests. I am at this moment paying the penalty for my share of the indigestible mess—but then I could not hurt their feelings by refusing—and so I have a queer feeling here”—and he ironed his waistcoat with the flat of his hand, his eyes upraised as if in pain. “But let me think—what shall it be to-day? I have a fish which Mignon, who has just gone to the market, will bring back, be-
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