Was changed for me into Quoi, vous
rentrez au Monastier and in the town itself every urchin seemed to
know my name, although no living creature could pronounce it.
There was one particular group of lace-makers who brought out a
chair for me whenever I went by, and detained me from my walk to
gossip. They were filled with curiosity about England, its
language, its religion, the dress of the women, and were never
weary of seeing the Queen's head on English postage-stamps, or
seeking for French words in English Journals. The language, in
particular, filled them with surprise.
'Do they speak patois in England?' I was once asked; and when I
told them not, 'Ah, then, French?' said they.
'No, no,' I said, 'not French.'
'Then,' they concluded, 'they speak patois.'
You must obviously either speak French or patios. Talk of the
force of logic - here it was in all its weakness. I gave up the
point, but proceeding to give illustrations of my native jargon, I
was met with a new mortification. Of all patios they declared that
mine was the most preposterous and the most jocose in sound. At
each new word there was a new explosion of laughter, and some of
the younger ones were glad to rise from their chairs and stamp
about the street in ecstasy; and I looked on upon their mirth in a
faint and slightly disagreeable bewilderment.
