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The men came along, a scattered group of four or five. "Is Mr. Mat'ieson there?" she said. Mme. Auguste hardly knew him by sight. "Men, I say! is Mr. Mat'ieson there?" "George, that's you; you're wanted," said one of the group, looking back; and a fine-looking, tall man paused at Madame's threshold. "Are you Mr. Mat'ieson?" said the Frenchwoman. "Yes, ma'am. That's my name." "Will you come in?
"I would not tell nothing to mother about your lip; it is not much. I wish I could keep you. Now she is ready, Mr. Mat'ieson." And Mr. Mathieson stalked out of the house, and strode along the road with firm, swift steps, till, past Jackson's, and past the turning, he came to his own door, and carried Nettie upstairs. He never said a word the whole way.
"What do you want, Nettie?" "Can't I go home?" "She must better not go home to-night!" began Mme. Auguste, earnestly. "It is so wet and cold! She will stay here with me to-night, Mr. Mat'ieson. You will tell her that it is best." But Nettie said, "Please let me go home! mother will be so troubled." She spoke little, for she felt weak; but her father saw her very eager in the request.
"Now you like it," she said; "that is a French dish. Do you think Mrs. Mat'ieson would like it?" "I am sure she would!" said Nettie. "But I don't know how to make it." "You shall come here and I will teach it to you. And now you shall carry a little home to your mother and ask her if she will do the honour to a French dish to approve it. It do not cost anything.
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