His face was as yellow as a guinea.
"Ah! it's you, monsieur!" he said.
"Yes," said Shelton; "and how are you ?" "It 's five days since I came out of hospital," muttered the little Frenchman, tapping on his chest; "a crisis of this bad atmosphere.

I live here, shut up in a box; it does me harm, being from the South.

If there's anything I can do for you, monsieur, it will give me pleasure." "Nothing," replied Shelton, "I was just passing, and thought I should like to hear how you were getting on." "Come into the kitchen,--monsieur, there is nobody in there.

'Brr! Il fait un froid etonnant'!" "What sort of customers have you just now ?" asked Shelton, as they passed into the kitchen.
"Always the same clientele," replied the little man; "not so numerous, of course, it being summer." "Could n't you find anything better than this to do ?" The barber's crow's-feet radiated irony.
"When I first came to London," said he, "I secured an engagement at one of your public institutions.

I thought my fortune made.