She gives her address, and the shop-walker, as he bows her out, sweeps the floor with his nose. Next day come the two handsome men in uniform with the handsome carriage, to fetch the pins; on the day following they come once more to return the money, and when the lady has pocketed her halfpenny again, they politely raise their caps and say, "_Merci bien, Madame._" * * * * * What is the natural result of these things? When a Parisian wife is not foraging in the shops, she is in her bedroom trying on the plunder. She has all the new fashions sent home to her, tries them on, and sends half of them back. The other half, which she never would have seen but for this tempting convenience, are kept and have to be paid for. It is thus that Parisian husbands are reminded of their wives' existence. If it were not for the bills, I think some of them might sometimes forget that they were married. * * * * * It occurred the other day, that my interpretation of the French failed of its accustomed success. At Madame's request, I had asked a shopwoman at the Samaritaine, the price of a pennyworth of ribbon; but, after I had spoken, Madame demanded to know what I had said. "I asked her, my Queen, what was the price?" "Price of what? Price of a kiss?" "No, my Sultana; price of the ribbon." "What was it you said about a kiss?" "I didn't mention a kiss, my Empress." "Yes, you did; I heard you." "No, my Juno, I said, _Qu'est ce que c'est?_" "Ah? 'Kiss Kissay.' That was what I heard. How do you spell it?" She produces a pocket dictionary, with whose aid she designs during the next few days to learn the French language, and I am obliged to spell out my remark while she dubiously translates it word for word. The literal translation comes out thus-- FRENCH--_Qu'est ce que c'est?_ ENGLISH--_What is this, what this is?_ "'What is this, what this is'?" Madame solemnly repeats; "is that all you said to the girl?" "Yes, my dear, it is a 'French idiom.'" "I am glad," says she, "that it is no worse. It is a mercy I did not let you come to this place by yourself. "Let us get home to London." And I am thankful to be able to add that we get. EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED * * * * * Transcriber's note: Minor typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed. The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs, thus the page number of the illustration might not match the page number in the List of Illustrations. Page 98: "Burrrns", in "Burrrns was Scottish", was printed that way. End of Project Gutenberg's The Haunts of Old Cockaigne, by Alex Thompson