“Get along with you, old humbug,” cried Martine, who by this time was at her house-cleaning again, rubbing the windows, the walls, and the furniture, as if to take the very skin off. She filled the whole place to overflowing with life and energy, while in the background stood Florimond as usual, stiff and particular; he is always chilly, never quite at his ease with us, our jokes shock him, and he cannot understand why we often laugh just out of sheer health and jollity, for he is himself somewhat undersized, thin, and low-spirited. Nothing is ever quite to his mind, perhaps because he is always thinking of himself, so there he stood with a knitted scarf round his scraggy fowl’s neck, and kept glancing about uneasily, till at last he said: “There is a gale here fit to blow your head off. Shut a few of those windows.” “It is as hot as Tophet!” said Martine, scrubbing harder than ever, but as a matter of fact there was a good fresh breeze coming in from all directions, too much for Florimond, who went off like a thunder-cloud. “He can go back and warm himself in his oven,” she said, laughing. I could not help asking her how she got along with her baker, though I knew perfectly well she would let herself be cut in pieces before she would admit that she had ever made a mistake; true enough, she declared that he suited her down to the ground. “One should always be content with what one has,” said she. “You are right,” said I, “but if I may venture to say so, I should think your little man might sometimes have cause for uneasiness.” “And why, I should like to know? My worst enemy would admit that I am a woman of my word, if he keeps his part of the bargain, but if he doesn’t, just let him look out for himself, that’s all I have to say. If he does his duty, I will do mine!” “His whole duty?” “You don’t suppose he would admit that it is too much for him?” Martine sat back on her heels, her bright eyes sparkling with laughter, then jumped up and gave me a great push. “You are wasting my whole day for me, there never was such an old gossip since the world was made. Get out now, take Glodie with you, she is forever under my feet, with her fingers in everything that goes on, (there, she has been in the bakeshop again, I can see dough on her nose). Get along with you, do, before I sweep you both out!” So out we had to go, glad enough to be together, and on the way at last to Rion’s, but there were some fishermen by the riverside, and we had to stop to look at them, give them some advice and watch the line, and see the float disappear under the green water with a jerk. Glodie noticed the worm wriggling on the hook. “Poor thing,” she said, “he is going to be eaten, and that makes him unhappy.” “Well, darling, it is rather nasty to be eaten, but then think how nice for the fish that swallows him, and says, ‘that’s good!’” “How would you like it, Grandad, if any one swallowed you?”