A "you," cold and sharp and ironically respectful, cut like the blade of a knife through the heart of the miserable old bachelor.

The "you" was a declaration of war.

Instead of helping the poor man with his toilet, handing him what he wanted, forestalling his wishes, looking at him with the sort of admiration which all women know how to express, and which, in some cases, the coarser it is the better it pleases,--saying, for instance, "You look as fresh as a rose!" or, "What health you have!" "How handsome you are, my old Jean!"-- in short, instead of entertaining him with the lively chatter and broad jokes in which he delighted, Flore left him to dress alone.

If he called her, she answered from the foot of the staircase, "I can't do everything at once; how can I look after your breakfast and wait upon you up there?
Are not you big enough to dress your own self ?" "Oh, dear! what have I done to displease her ?" the old man asked himself that morning, as he got one of these rebuffs after calling for his shaving-water.
"Vedie, take up the hot water," cried Flore.
"Vedie!" exclaimed the poor man, stupefied with fear of the anger that was crushing him.

"Vedie, what is the matter with Madame this morning ?" Flore Brazier required her master and Vedie and Kouski and Max to call her Madame.
"She seems to have heard something about you which isn't to your credit," answered Vedie, assuming an air of deep concern.