starched cap, and from under his clean apron peeped out sharp toes of stylish, brightly shining boots.
Our baker respectfully requested him to close the door; he did it without haste, and began to question us about the proprietor. Vieing with one another, we told him that our "boss" was a rogue, a rascal, a villain, a tyrant, everything that could and ought to be said of our proprietor, but which cannot be repeated here. The soldier listened, stirred his moustache and examined us with a soft, light look.
"And are there many girls here?" he asked, suddenly.
Some of us began to laugh respectfully, others made soft grimaces; some one explained to the soldier that there were nine girls.
"Do you take advantage?" . . . asked the soldier, winking his eye.
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