Mme Lerat had
become ceremonious; she refused the radishes as provocative of phlegm.
By and by when Zoe had brought in the cutlets Nana just chipped the
meat and contented herself with sucking the bones. Now and again she
scrutinized her old friend's hat out of the corners of her eyes.
"It's the new hat I gave you?" she ended by saying.
"Yes, I made it up," murmured Mme Maloir, her mouth full of meat.
The hat was smart to distraction. In front it was greatly exaggerated,
and it was adorned with a lofty feather. Mme Maloir had a mania for
doing up all her hats afresh; she alone knew what really became her,
and with a few stitches she could manufacture a toque out of the most
elegant headgear. Nana, who had bought her this very hat in order not to
be ashamed of her when in her company out of doors, was very near being
vexed.
"Push it up, at any rate," she cried.
"No, thank you," replied the old lady with dignity. "It doesn't get in
my way; I can eat very comfortably as it is."
After the cutlets came cauliflowers and the remains of a cold chicken.
But at the arrival of each successive dish Nana made a little face,
hesitated, sniffed and left her plateful untouched. She finished her
lunch with the help of preserve.
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