"And do you think that will be all?'
"What else is there?"
"Oh, bless your heart, you have not arrived at the end of what I expect of you. Is it not necessary that on Sundays you take me for a walk on the Boulevards?—you know that is the only day I have for recreation."
"To be sure. In summer we will go into the country."
"No, I detest the country. I like no place so well as Paris. Nevertheless, I went, once upon a time, out of good nature, with a young friend of mine, who was my companion in prison, to visit Meudon and Saint-Germain. My friend was a very pleasant, good girl, whom they called Sweet-throat, because she was always singing."
"And what has become of her?"
"I do not know. She spent all the money she brought from prison, without appearing to be much amused; she was always sad, but sympathizing and charitable. When we used to go out together, I had not then any work; but when I succeeded in obtaining some, I did not stir from home. I gave her my address, but as she has not been to see me, doubtless she has also some occupation, and, like me, is too busy to get out. I only mention this to let you know, neighbor, that I love Paris above every other place. So whenever you can, on Sunday, you may take me to dine at the ordinary, sometimes to the play; or, if you have not any money, you can take me to see the fashionable shops, which will amuse me almost as much. Rest satisfied, that in our little excursions I shall not disgrace you. You will see how smart I shall look in my pretty dress of blue levantine, that I only wear on Sundays: it suits me to perfection. With that I wear a pretty little cap, trimmed with lace and orange-colored ribbon, which does not contrast badly with my black hair; satin boots, that I have made for me; an elegant shawl of silk imitation Cashmere! Indeed, I expect, neighbor, people will turn round to look after us as we pass along. Men will say: 'Really, that is a pretty little girl, upon my word!' And the women, on their part, will exclaim: 'Look at that tall young man! what an elegant shape! He has an air that is truly fashionable! and his little brown mustache becomes him exceedingly!' And I shall be of their opinion, for I adore mustaches. Unfortunately, M. Germain did not wear one, because of the situation he held. M. Cabrion did, but then it was red, like his long beard, and I do not like those great beards; besides, he made himself so ridiculously conspicuous in the streets, and teased poor M. Pipelet so much. Now, M. Giraudeau, who was my neighbor before M. Cabrion, dressed well, and altogether had a very good appearance, but he squinted. At first it annoyed me very much, because he always appeared to be looking at some one at the side of me, and without thinking, I often turned round to see who—" And again Miss Dimpleton laughed.
Rudolph, as he listened to this prattle, asked himself, for the third or fourth time, what he ought to think of the virtue of Miss Dimpleton. Sometimes the frankness of the grisette, and the remembrance of the large bolt, made him almost believe that she loved her neighbors merely as brothers or companions, and that Mrs. Pipelet had caluminated her; then again he smiled at his credulity, in thinking it probable that a girl so young, so pretty, so solitary, should have escaped the seductions of Giraudeau, Cabrion, and Germain. Still, for all that, Miss Dimpleton's frankness and originality disposed him to think favorably of her.
"You delight me, neighbor, by your manner of disposing of my Sundays," said Rudolph, gayly; "we will have some famous treats."
"Stop a moment, Mr. Spendthrift. I warn you that I shall keep house. In summer, we can dine very well—yes, very well—for three francs, at the Chartreuse or at the Montmartre Hermitage, half a dozen country dances, or valses included, with a ride upon the wooden horses:—oh, I do so love riding on horseback! That will makeup your five francs—not a farthing more, I assure you. Do you valse?"