Nantueil; unhooking her stays, replied:
"If he meant by that that all women are sensitive, he was indeed an old greenhorn. He ought to have seen Fagette; he would soon have discovered whether it was easy to get anything out of her in the domain—how did he express it?—of physical and moral sensibility."
And she added with gentle pride:
"Don't you make any mistake, Robert, there's not such a heap of women like myself."
As he was drawing her into his arms, she released herself.
"You are hindering me."
Sitting down and doubling herself up in order to undo her boots, she continued.
"Do you know, Dr. Socrates told me the other day that he had seen an apparition. He saw a donkey-boy who had murdered a little girl. I dreamt of the story last night, only in my dream I could not make out whether the donkey-boy was a man or a woman. What a mix-up the dream was! Talking of Dr. Socrates, just guess whose lover he is—why, the lady who keeps the circulating library in the Rue Mazarine. She is no longer very young, but she is very intelligent. Do you think he is faithful to her? I'll take off my stockings, it's more becoming."
And she went on to tell him a story of the theatre:
"I really don't think I shall remain at the Odéon much longer."