Rosanette thought the compliments he paid her very pretty. The day was fixed for the next sitting. Frederick took it on himself to bring the accessories.
As the heat of the stove had stupefied her a little, they went home on foot through the Rue du Bac, and reached the Pont Royal.
It was fine weather, piercingly bright and warm. Some windows of houses in the city shone in the distance, like plates of gold, whilst behind them at the right the turrets of Nôtre Dame showed their outlines in black against the blue sky, softly bathed at the horizon in grey vapours.
The wind began to swell; and Rosanette, having declared that she felt hungry, they entered the "Patisserie Anglaise."
Young women with their children stood eating in front of the marble buffet, where plates of little cakes had glass covers pressed down on them. Rosanette swallowed two cream-tarts. The powdered sugar formed moustaches at the sides of her mouth. From time to time, in order to wipe it, she drew out her handkerchief from her muff, and her face, under her green silk hood, resembled a full-blown rose in the midst of its leaves.
They resumed their walk. In the Rue de la Paix she stood before a goldsmith's shop to look at a bracelet. Frederick wished to make her a present of it.
"No!" said she; "keep your money!"
He was hurt by these words.
"What's the matter now with the ducky? We are melancholy?"
And, the conversation having been renewed, he began making the same protestations of love to her as usual.