With a fearful projection of the underlip, implying an impetus of scorn the most decided, he broke out⁠—

“ Je vis dans un trou! I inhabit a den, Miss⁠—a cavern, where you would not put your dainty nose. Once, with base shame of speaking the whole truth, I talked about my ‘study’ in that college: know now that this ‘study’ is my whole abode; my chamber is there and my drawing-room. As for my ‘establishment of servants’ ” (mimicking my voice) “they number ten; les voilà. ”

And he grimly spread, close under my eyes, his ten fingers.

“I black my boots,” pursued he savagely. “I brush my paletôt .”

“No, Monsieur, it is too plain; you never do that,” was my parenthesis.