'Pardon me, darling,' he said; 'but really, to the philosophical intelligence, the incident appears so small a trifle.

You looked extremely well--' 'Henri!' she cried.
'Well, well, I will say no more,' he replied.

'Though, to be sure, if you had consented to indue--_A propos_,' he broke off, 'and my trousers! They are lying in the snow--my favourite trousers!' And he dashed in quest of Jean-Marie.
Two hours afterwards the boy returned to the inn with a spade under one arm and a curious sop of clothing under the other.
The Doctor ruefully took it in his hands.

'They have been!' he said.
'Their tense is past.

Excellent pantaloons, you are no more! Stay, something in the pocket,' and he produced a piece of paper.