‘Who, the émigrés?’ ‘Do I speak of the English, imbecile? Certainly the émigrés. It hardly served his interests. The worthy carpenter was restored to instant good humour by a glance from his helpmate; and, notwithstanding the infliction he had just endured, he would have quarrelled with any one who had endeavoured to persuade him that he was not the happiest of men, and Mrs. What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. .
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