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You then promenade the quarter-deck, until the black steward arrests your progress grins in your face, and announces breakfast. Down you go, and fall foul of ham, beef, pommes de terre frites, jonny-cakes, and café sans lait; and generally, in despite of bad cooking and occasional lee-lurches, contrive to eat an enormous meal.
And there we were, the only Americans in the house, with just enough French to order "des oeufs" and coffee "au lait" and "ros bif and jambon and pain" and to ask how much and then make them say it slowly and stick the sum up on their fingers. We were having engine trouble. And our car was groaning and coughing and muttering in the gloomy little court of the inn.
He surveyed with the glance of an ogre the café au lait, the abundant bread, and the small pat of butter that the waiter brought him. A very small portion for him!... And while he was attacking all this with avidity, the door opened and Freya, rosy and fresh from a recent bath and clad like a man, entered the room. The Hindu tunic had been replaced with masculine pyjamas of violet silk.
A crop-headed German waiter brought the cafe au lait which she ordered, and set it on the table before her two metal jugs, a cup and saucer, a little glass dish of sugar, and a folded napkin.
She came into the sunlit room holding the steaming bowl of café au lait before her in her two hands. Over it her eyes went out to the man who lay in his bed, a long and steady and very grave look. "A goddess that lady, a queen among goddesses " Thus the little Jew of the Boulevard de la Madeleine. Ste.
It was always my custom to drink a pint of cafe au lait and to eat some toast and butter at about 6 A.M. before starting for our day's work; after this I never thought of food throughout the day, until my return in the evening, which was generally at five or six o'clock.
These two persons had met by chance at a coffee-stand one beautiful summer dawn in one of the markets, the Tréiné, most likely, where, perched on high stools at a zinc-covered counter, with the smell of fresh blood on the right and of stale fish on the left, they had finished half their cup of café au lait before they awoke to the exhilarating knowledge of each other's presence.
Rosalie often obliged her to walk and took her on the high road, but at the end of twenty minutes she declared she could not take another step and sat down on the side of the road. She soon became averse to all movement and stayed in bed as late as possible. Since her childhood she had retained one custom, that of rising the instant she had drunk her cafe au lait in the morning.
On one of the bridges of the Loire, relates Guépin, opposite the Hôtel de la Boule-d'Or, an expiatory monument was erected to his memory. It was a niche containing the statue of the Bonne Vierge de crée lait, who had the power of creating milk in nurses; the good people offered her butter and similar rustic products.
"Thanks for the compliment. Have you had your café au lait?" "No. I got up early, and thought of walking round to your hotel to see you, but decided I wouldn't." "I half expected you." "I didn't want to seem too importunate. I hoped you'd come here." "Like a promising child, I've justified your hopes.
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