The entries that he was making in the ledger did not prevent him from keeping up a conversation with the woman standing by him.

The woman, who seemed to be a cross between a cook and a market-woman, might be described as a thoroughly jovial soul.

She seasoned her conversation with pinches of snuff, and spoke with a strong Alsatian brogue.
"Now, look here," said Beaumarchef; "do you really mean to say that you want a place ?" "I do that." "You said that six months ago.

We got you a splendid one, and three days afterward you chucked up the whole concern." "And why shouldn't I?
There was no need to work then; but now it is another pair of shoes, for I have spent nearly all I had saved." Beaumarchef laid down his pen, and eyed her curiously for a second or two; then he said,-- "You've been making a fool of yourself somehow, I expect." She half turned away her head, and began to complain of the hardness of the terms and of the meanness of the mistresses, who, instead of allowing their cooks to do the marketing, did it themselves, and so cheated their servants out of their commissions.
Beaumarchef nodded, just as he had done half an hour before to a lady who had complained bitterly of the misconduct of her servants.

He was compelled by his position to sympathize with both sides.
The woman had now finished her tirade, and drawing the amount of the fee from a well-filled purse, placed it on the table, saying,-- "Please, M.Beaumarchef, register my name as Caroline Scheumal, and get me a real good place.