But to read the newspaper before my masters have done so! Never! Leonard Rousselet is an old man incapable of such baseness.
Baptized when a child; fifty-seven years on Saint-Hubert's day." "When you speak of your pastor, do so in a more becoming manner," interrupted Mademoiselle de Colrandeuil, although she herself in private did not speak of the plebeian priest in very respectful terms.

But if Joseph Bartou's son was always the son of Joseph Bartou to her, she meant that he should be Monsieur le Cure to the peasants.
Madame de Bergenheim had not been much affected by Pere Rousselet's harangue, and shook her head impatiently, saying in an imperative tone: "I am certain that the newspapers have been opened by you, or by some person to whom you have given them, and I wish to know at once by whom." Rousselet dropped his pose of a Roman senator; passing his hand behind his ears, a familiar gesture with people when in embarrassing positions, he continued less emphatically: "I stopped on my way back at La Fauconnerie, at the 'Femme-sans-Tete Inn'." "And what were you doing in a tavern ?" interrupted Mademoiselle de Corandeuil severely.

"You know it is not intended that the servants in this house should frequent taverns and such low places, which are not respectable and corrupt the morals of the lower classes." "Servants! lower classes! Old aristocrat!" growled Rousselet secretly; but, not daring to show his ill humor, he replied in a bland voice: "If Mademoiselle had gone the same road that I did, with the same conveyance, she would know that it is a rather thirsty stretch.

I stopped at the 'Femme-sans-Tete' to wash the dust down my parched throat.

Whereupon Mademoiselle Reine--the daughter of Madame Gobillot, the landlady of the inn--Mademoiselle Reine asked me to allow her to look at the yellow-journal in which there are fashions for ladies; I asked her why; she said it was so that she might see how they made their bonnets, gowns, and other finery in Paris.