The pretty, high, and oval apartment, with its large window, opening upon a garden, its ceiling painted in light rosy clouds, its woodwork ornamented with wreaths and quivers, still preserved some of the charm and elegance of former days.
Amedee would have been amused there, had not Uncle Isidore, who had seated himself before his desk, launched at once an unkind question at M.Violette.
"By the way, have you obtained the promotion that you counted so much upon last year ?" "Unfortunately, no, Monsieur Gaufre.

You know what the Administration is." "Yes, it is slow; but you are not overwhelmed with work, however.

While in a business like this--what cares, what annoyances! I sometimes envy you.

You can take an hour to cut your pens.

Well, what is wanted of me now ?" The head of a clerk with a pencil behind his ear, appeared through the half-open door.
"Monsieur le Superieur of Foreign Missions wishes to speak with Monsieur." "You can see! Not one minute to myself.