"YOU'RE going to have a magnificent breakfast!"
Xavier, starting awake, saw Mirbel, still in his
pyjamas, struggling with the curtains.

"Damn these things, there's nothing for it but to break
the cords!"

Mirbel opened the shutters. A smell of fog drifted into
the room. It would clear up later, he said: mist in the
morning always meant a fine day. He sat down on the end
of the bed. He was in high good humour.

"I must say you don't waste much time! They're all
hovering round your breakfast tray. Old Mother Pian's
against giving you any jam--whew! you should have heard
the fuss Michèle and the secretary kicked up! You'll be glad
to know that a compromise has been reached, instead of
currant jelly, you're to have plum--it was made two years
ago, and it has gone mouldy! The secretary offered to
bring the tray up, but Mother Pian decided that that
wouldn't be proper. Would you like to know what she
said?--'He asked me what time Mass was: I quite expected
to see him at church,' to which the secretary replied that
there's never early Mass except on Thursdays. But the old
lady hit back good and hard. 'He couldn't have known
that,' she said: 'the fact of the matter was he hadn't bothered
to go.' She refused to admit any extenuating circumstances.
It all goes to prove that you are an object of general interest,
and that they're on their toes for your entry. It's no surprise
to me, though I didn't think you'd have 'em all hanging

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