It was time for us to go home to prepare our several suppers and we went
our different ways, shaking our heads over Tryphena's queerness. I stopped
a moment before the cobbler's open door, watched him briskly sewing a
broken halter and telling a folk-tale to some children by his knee. When
he finished, I said with some acerbity, "Well, Jombatiste, I hope you're
satisfied with what you've done to poor old Miss Tryphena ... spoiling the
rest of her life for her!"
"Such a life, Madame," said Jombatiste dryly, "ought to be spoiled, the
sooner the better."
"She's going to start for the city to-morrow," I said, supposing of course
that he had heard the news.