"However, I think I'm going to lose her--poor Mademoiselle Rosalie!" "Is she sick?" "No, monsieur; I mean that she's probably going to leave the house. She has discharged her master." "Discharged her master? You mean that her master has discharged her, of course?" "No, monsieur; I give you my word that she told me: 'I don't want any more of my master; I've given him his papers.'--And she added: 'I said _zut_! to him.'" "The deuce! Mademoiselle Rosalie's language is rather décolleté, I should say! Why is she leaving her master? He's rich and a widower--an excellent place for a servant, especially for one who says _zut_." "It seems, monsieur, that her master doesn't like to pay her." "Nonsense! that can't be. My old neighbor is noted for paying promptly and not having any debts." "I beg pardon, monsieur: they have had a dispute. You see, Mademoiselle Rosalie has a funny custom; she gets a commission for everything." "I don't understand. Doesn't she get any wages?" "Yes, monsieur; she has three hundred francs." "Well?" "Well, that don't make any difference; when she does an errand--for instance, when her master sends her with a letter to one of his friends, or anywhere else--well, that's fifteen sous; she charges a commission of fifteen sous. When she has to wash the windows, it's twenty sous. When she scrubs, it's twenty-five sous; do you see?" "Perfectly. So it's just the same as if he hadn't any servant; that's very convenient!" "She calls that putting the masters where they belong." "Just try putting me where I belong! I'll discharge you on the instant." "However, it seems that Rosalie's master never found any fault with all that; but the other night he told her to warm his bed; and when she charged him twelve sous for it the next day, that made him mad. I says to her: 'I must say, mamzelle, it seems to me, you might warm your master's bed for nothing!'--'Well, I guess not!' says she; 'he'd get into the habit of having it done every night!'" "Peste! there's a servant who will make her way in the world." "She's making it, monsieur; she tells me that she takes thirty-six francs to the savings bank every month." "And her wages are only twenty-five! She has the saving instinct, sure!" While I was talking with Pomponne, I noticed an odor that was not customary in my apartments. "Pomponne," I said abruptly, "have you been smoking this morning?" "Smoking, monsieur? You know I never smoke." "But it smells of tobacco here; not of cigars, but of a pipe, and vile tobacco too." My servant smiled with an expression which he tried to render cunning, and said in an undertone, leaning over me: "I know who it is; it's the other one." "What other one?" "The man who's waiting out there, in the reception room." "What! there's someone waiting for me, and you didn't tell me?" "Oh! he--he said he wasn't in any hurry." "And you told me that no one had called!"