As I went on thus, methought my chaise, the wreck of which look'd stately enough at the first, insensibly grew less and less in its size; the freshness of the painting was no more--the gilding lost its lustre--and the whole affair appeared so poor in my eyes--so sorry! --so contemptible! and, in a word, so much worse than the abbess of _Andoillets'_ itself--that I was just opening my mouth to give it to the devil--when a pert vamping chaise-undertaker, stepping nimbly across the street, demanded if Monsieur would have his chaise refitted ----No, no, said I, shaking my head sideways --Would Monsieur chuse to sell it? rejoined the undertaker. --With all my soul, said I--the iron work is worth forty livres--and the glasses worth forty more--and the leather you may take to live on.

As I went on thus, methought my chaise grew gradually smaller; the freshness of the painting was no more - the gilding lost its lustre - and the whole thing appeared so sorry! so contemptible! - that I was just about to curse it to the devil - when a pert chaise-undertaker, stepping nimbly across the street, demanded if Monsieur would have his chaise refitted?
'No, no,' said I.
'Would Monsieur sell it?'
'With all my soul,' said I. 'The iron work is worth forty livres - and the windows forty more.'
