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 ideas which a lifetime of perseverance on the part of a sorely tried husband has failed to eradicate. One of them is a false sense of economy which tries, by wiles, to insert little doses of chicory into the coffee tin."

"Chicory refreshes the blood," protested Mme. Casimir, and Grover had lived long enough in France to know that phrase by heart.

"Chicory is an abomination," thundered her husband.

I wonder what he'd say, Grover was thinking, if he didn't like the way you were painting a picture.

"Who's coming this afternoon?" Casimir inquired, when Rosalie's coffee had been carefully smelt, sipped, and approved.

It was easy to see that Mme. Casimir had been complacently awaiting this opening. With visible pride and conspicuous self-control she informed him that several persons très-bien were doing them the honor to visit them, including Mme. de Saint-Luc, whose patronage—

"Quoi!" shouted Casimir. "That old camel! Rosalie! Bring the liqueurs to the studio. My wife will stay up here with the debris of the Empire. We other honest Républicans will vanish into a realm where we belong, and where, on pain of immediate dismissal and eternal damnation you will allow no other mortal to penetrate until further notice."

With a great heaving and pushing of the golden chairs, Casimir arose and beckoned Vaudreuil and