"Mademoiselle has made a pretty piece of work up yonder," said Lemulquinier, coming down to the kitchen for his breakfast.

"We were just going to put our hands on the great secret, we only wanted a scrap of July sun, for monsieur,--ah, what a man! he's almost in the shoes of the good God himself!--was almost within THAT," he said to Josette, clicking his thumbnail against a front tooth, "of getting hold of the Absolute, when up she came, slam bang, screaming some nonsense about notes of hand." "Well, pay them yourself," said Martha, "out of your wages." "Where's the butter for my bread ?" said Lemulquinier to the cook.
"Where's the money to buy it ?" she answered, sharply.

"Come, old villain, if you make gold in that devil's kitchen of yours, why don't you make butter?
'Twouldn't be half so difficult, and you could sell it in the market for enough to make the pot boil.

We all eat dry bread.

The young ladies are satisfied with dry bread and nuts, and do you expect to be better fed than your masters?
Mademoiselle won't spend more than one hundred francs a month for the whole household.