The Princess Dossiacan

I have the honor of addressing the Princess Dossiacan. Her small black eyes fixed me like pins. How old are you? May I ask? Sixteen, I reply, with involuntary stammer. A good age, she ejaculated suddenly, turning round rassously on her chair and to you, pray, make yourself a home. The young Princess did not answer her mother. Have you anything to do just now, if you say, not taking her eyes off me? Oh, no. What do you like to help me wind some wool?