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 366. AN EVENING WITH RACHEL. returned from the theater and placed upon the table some brilliant rings, two magnificent bracelets and a golden coronet, many thousand francs' worth of jewelry, all glit- tering in the midst of the brass plates and the remains of the supper. The poet, meanwhile, startled at the idea of her keeping house, working in the kitchen, making beds, and undergoing the fatigues incident to poverty, looked at her hands, fearing to find them ugly or spoiled. He observed, on the contrary, that they were small, white, and plump, with the slenderest fingers. She had the hands of a princess. Her sister Sarah, who did not eat, continued to scold in German. That morning, indeed, she had been guilty of some escapade a little too far from the maternal wing, and she had 'obtained her pardon and her place at the table only in consequence of her sister's entreaties. Rachel {replying to the German growls') — You plague me ! For my part, I like to recall my youth. I remem- ber that one day I wanted to make some punch in one of these very brass plates. I held my plate, over a candle, and it melted in my hand. Speaking of that, Sophie, bring me some cherry brandy. Let us have some punch. There ! I have had enough. I have done my supper. The maid returned, bringing a bottle. Mother — Sophie has made a mistake. That is a bottle of absinthe. The Poet — Give me a little of it. Rachel — 0, how glad I should be to have you take some- thing in our house. Mother — They say that absinthe is very wholesome. The Poet — Not at all. }t is pernicious and detestable. Sarah — Then why do you ask for some ? The Poet — In order to have it to say that I took some- thing here. Rachel — I v/ish to drink a little of it.