“Was it good?”
“Very good.”
“Yet I could not write that down,” said he.
“Why not, Monsieur?”
“I hate the mechanical labour; I hate to stoop and sit still. I could dictate it, though, with pleasure, to an amanuensis who suited me. Would Mademoiselle Lucy write for me if I asked her?”
“Monsieur would be too quick; he would urge me, and be angry if my pen did not keep pace with his lips.”
“Try some day; let us see the monster I can make of myself under the circumstances. But just now, there is no question of dictation; I mean to make you useful in another office. Do you see yonder farm-house?”
“Surrounded with trees? Yes.”
“There we are to breakfast; and while the good fermière makes the café au lait in a caldron, you and five others, whom I shall select, will spread with butter half a hundred rolls.”
Having formed his troop into line once more, he marched us straight on the farm, which, on seeing our force, surrendered without capitulation.