She managed to bring
them up; my little cousins are rigidly virtuous. If you ask me how she
managed it, I can't tell you; it's no business of mine, and, _a fortiori_
none of yours. She is now fifty years old (she confesses to
thirty-seven), and her daughters, whom she has never been able to marry,
are respectively twenty-seven and twenty-three (they confess to twenty
and to seventeen). Three years ago she had the thrice-blessed idea of
opening a sort of _pension_ for the entertainment and instruction of the
blundering barbarians who come to Paris in the hope of picking up a few
stray particles of the language of Voltaire--or of Zola. The idea _lui a
porte bonheur_; the shop does a very good business. Until within a few
months ago it was carried on by my cousins alone; but lately the need of
a few extensions and embellishments has caused itself to be felt. My
cousin has undertaken them, regardless of expense; she has asked me to
come and stay with her--board and lodging gratis--and keep an eye on the
grammatical eccentricities of her _pensionnaires_. I am the extension,
my good Prosper; I am the embellishment! I live for nothing, and I
straighten up the accent of the prettiest English lips.
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