de Lorcy retraced her steps, cut her way through the crowd, succeeded in approaching the princess, and, taking her by the arm, exclaimed: "Ah! is it you, princess! How is Moufflard ?" The princess turned her head, regarded her fixedly a moment, and then pressing her hand between her thumb and forefinger she rejoined with as little ceremony as though they had met the day before: "Moufflard does very poorly indeed, my dear.

He died two months ago of indigestion." "How you must have mourned his loss!" "I am still inconsolable." "Ah! well, princess, I shall undertake to console you.

I own a lapdog, not yet six months old: you never saw a more charming one or one with a shorter nose or whiter and more delicate hair.

I am a great utilitarian, as you know.

I only care for large dogs that are of some use.