"I beg
Madame's pardon. Does the smoking annoy?"
"Not at all," said Mrs. Bingle. "I am used to it. Mr. Bingle smokes a
pipe."
"Well, where is the baby?" said Mr. Bingle, declining the cigarette
which Rousseau proffered in the absence of hospitality on Monsieur
Rouquin's part.
"Oh," said Madame Rousseau, "it sleeps. I have put it into Monsieur
Raoul's warm bed. Such a cruelty it would be to awake the baby,
M'sieur."
"I think I'd like to see what it looks like while asleep, Madame,"
said Bingle, with the air of a shrewd bargainer. "You see, I've become
quite an expert on babies. I don't believe there is a better judge of
--I beg your pardon. I forgot to inquire if my English is quite
intelligible. Do you follow me?"
"Your English is perfect, M'sieur," she assured him, brightly. "May I
say that it surprises me. I have been in your America for five years
and I have not before this hour heard an American speak the English
language so perfectly--"
"Ahem!" coughed Rouquin, and Madame Rousseau completed her estimate of
Mr.
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