I said nothing whatever to poppa, but I felt a glow of conscious triumph when I thought of Mr.Malt.
We stood and realised Paris on the pavement while the fiacre turned in from the road and drew up for us.

I had every intention of being fascinated and so had momma.

We had both heard often and often that good Americans when they die go to Paris, and that prepares one for a good deal in this life.

We were so anxious to be pleased that we fastened with one accord upon the florist's shop under the hotel and said that it was uniquely charming, though we both knew places in Broadway that it couldn't be compared with.

We looked amiably at the passers-by, and did our best to detect in the manner of their faces that _esprit_ that makes the dialogue of French novels so stimulating.