“What a little flat you are!” he retorted. “What does it matter what your mother says? Let’s go and play at shoving each other, eh?”
He doubtless nourished some wicked idea of dirtying the neat little girl; but she, on seeing him prepare to give her a push in the back, retreated as though about to return inside the shop. Muche thereupon adopted a flattering tone like a born cajoler.
“You silly! I didn’t mean it,” said he. “How nice you look like that! Is that little cross your mother’s?”
Pauline perked herself up, and replied that it was her own, whereupon Muche gently led her to the corner of the Rue Pirouette, touching her skirts the while and expressing his astonishment at their wonderful stiffness. All this pleased the little girl immensely. She had been very much vexed at not receiving any notice while she was exhibiting herself outside the shop. However, in spite of all Muche’s blandishments, she still refused to leave the footway.
“You stupid fatty!” thereupon exclaimed the youngster, relapsing into coarseness. “I’ll squat you down in the gutter if you don’t look out, Miss Fine-airs!”
The girl was dreadfully alarmed. Muche had caught hold of her by the hand; but, recognising his mistake in policy, he again put on a wheedling air, and began to fumble in his pocket.
“I’ve got a sou,” said he.
The sight of the coin had a soothing effect upon Pauline. The boy held up the sou with the tips of his fingers, and the temptation to follow it proved so great that the girl at last stepped down into the roadway. Muche’s diplomacy was eminently successful.
“What do you like best?” he asked.
Pauline gave no immediate answer. She could not make up her mind; there were so many things that she liked. Muche, however, ran over a whole list of dainties—liquorice, molasses, gum-balls, and powdered sugar. The powdered sugar made the girl ponder. One dipped one’s fingers into it and sucked them; it was very nice. For a while she gravely considered the matter. Then, at last making up her mind, she said: