However, the wine-merchant knows; it is enough if you tell him you have come from his customer, the pauper of Saint-Sulpice." "No need to tell me anything twice," said the Cardinal, opening the door and making, as they say, a false exit.

"Ah ca!" she said, coming back; "what does he burn in his stove, supposing I want to heat some remedy for him ?" "Goodness!" said the portress, "he doesn't make much provision for winter, and here we are in the middle of summer!" "And not a saucepan! not a pot, even! Gracious! what a way to live.

I'll have to fetch him some provisions; I hope nobody will see the things I bring back; I'd be ashamed they should--" "I'll lend you a hand-bag," said the portress, always ready and officious.
"No, I'll buy a basket," replied the fishwife, more anxious about what she expected to carry away than what she was about to bring home to the pauper.

"There must be some Auvergnat in the neighborhood who sells wood," she added.
"Corner of the rue Ferou; you'll find one there.

A fine establishment, with logs of wood painted in a kind of an arcade all round the shop--so like, you'd think they were going to speak to you." Before going finally off, Madame Cardinal went through a piece of very deep hypocrisy.