Unsere Kinder, wißt ihr, sind ja das Mark unserer Knochen ... Mein armer Eustache! du bist so schön, du Theurer!
Our children are the marrow of our bones, you see.−−−My poor Eustache! thou art so fair!−−If you only knew how nice he is! yesterday he said to me: 'I want to be a gendarme, that I do.'