They had seated themselves around a pool in the road, and were
fashioning fantastic shapes in the clayey soil with their hands.
Her throat swelled and her eyes sparkled with delight as, for the
first time, her soft palms touched the plastic mud. She made a
graceful and lovely pie. She stuffed it with stones for almonds
and plums. She forgot everything. It was being baked in the solar
rays, when madame came and took her away.
She weeps. It is night, and she is weeping still.
V.
HER FIRST LOVE.
She no longer doubts her beauty. She is loved. She saw him
secretly. He is vivacious and sprightly. He is famous. He has
already had an affair with Finfin, the fille de chambre, and poor
Finfin is desolate. He is noble. She knows he is the son of
Madame la Baronne Couturiere. She adores him.
She affects not to notice him. Poor little thing! Hippolyte is
distracted--annihilated--inconsolable and charming.
She admires his boots, his cravat, his little gloves his exquisite
pantaloons--his coat, and cane.
She offers to run away with him. He is transported, but
magnanimous. He is wearied, perhaps. She sees him the next day
offering flowers to the daughter of Madame la Comtesse
Blanchisseuse.
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