'_Mimisse!_' she cried in ecstasy, snatching up the animal and kissing it. 'You want to go with your mamma? Yess. What do you think of my _fox_? She is real English. _Elle est si gentille avec sa mere! Ma Mimisse! Ma petite fille!_ My little girl! _Dites, mon ami_'--she abandoned the dog--'have you some money for our lunch? Five francs?' 'That enough?' Henry asked, handing her the piece. 'Thank you,' she said. '_Viens, Mimisse._' 'You haven't put your hat on,' Henry informed her. '_Mais, mon pauvre ami_, is it that you take me for a duchess? I come from the _ouvriers_, me, the working peoples. I avow it. Never can I do my shops in a hat. I should blush.' And with a tremendous flutter, scamper, and chatter, Cosette and her _fox_ departed, leaving Henry solitary to guard the flat. He laughed to himself, at himself. 'Well,' he murmured, looking down into the court, 'I suppose----' Cosette came back with a tin of sardines, a piece of steak, some French beans, two cakes of the kind called 'nuns,' a bunch of grapes, and a segment of Brie cheese. She put on an apron, and went into the kitchenlet, and began to cook, giving Henry instructions the while how to lay the table and where to find the things. Then she brought him the coffee-mill full of coffee, and told him to grind it. The lunch seemed to be ready in about three minutes, and it was merely perfection. Such steak, such masterly handling of green vegetables, and such 'nuns!' And the wine! There were three at table, Mimisse being the third. Mimisse partook of everything except wine. 'You see I am a woman _pot-au-feu_,' said Cosette, not without satisfaction, in response to his praises of the meal. He did not exactly know what a woman _pot-au-feu_ might be, but he agreed enthusiastically that she was that sort of woman. At the stage of coffee--Mimisse had a piece of sugar steeped in coffee--she produced cigarettes, and made him light his cigarette at hers, and put her elbows on the table and looked at his ears. She was still wearing the apron, which appeared to Henry to be an apron of ineffable grace. 'So you are _fiance, mon petit_? Eh?' she said. 'Who told you?' Henry asked quickly. 'Tom?' She nodded; then sighed. He was instructed to describe Geraldine in detail. Cosette sighed once more. 'Why do you sigh?' he demanded. 'Who knows?' she answered. '_Dites!_ English ladies are cold? Like that?' She affected the supercilious gestures of Englishwomen whom she had seen in the streets and elsewhere. 'No?' 'Perhaps,' Henry said. 'Frenchwomen are better? Yes? _Dites-moi franchement._ You think?' 'In some ways,' Henry agreed. 'You like Frenchwomen more than those cold Englishwomen who have no _chic_?' 'When I'm in Paris I do,' said Henry. '_Ah! Comme tous les Anglais!_' She rose, and just grazed his ear with her little finger. '_Va!_' she said. He felt that she was beyond anything in his previous experience.