get rid of him," triumphantly.

"And you brought me yesterday those detestable peas!"

"Ah," shrugging his shoulders, "madame told me to buy what I saw. I
saw peas. I bought them."

"Well, understand now, once for all: whenever you see mushrooms, no
matter what I ordered, you buy them. Do you hear?"

"No, madame. Surely I cannot buy mushrooms unless madame orders them.
Madame's disposition is too quick."

"But I do order them. Stupid! I do order them. I tell you to buy them
every day."

"And if there are none in the market every day?"

"Go away! Get out of my sight! I do not want to see you. Ah, it is
unendurable! I must--I must get rid of him!" This last was not
a threat, as Jules knew only too well. It was merely a habitual
exclamation.

During the colloquy Mr. Horace, leaning back in his arm-chair, raised
his eyes, and caught the reflected portrait of madame in the mirror
before him--the reflection so much softer and prettier, so much more
ethereal, than the original painting. Indeed, seen in the mirror, that
way, the portrait was as refreshing as the most charming memory. He
pointed to it when madame, with considerable loss of temper, regained
her seat.