“Désiré,” said Célestin, like an obedient child.
“That’s right; and now tell me, Célestin, how comes it that you live all alone with this lark of yours.”
“My mother died when I was so high,” said Célestin, holding one hand three feet from the floor. “And I bought Dodor at the Halles Centrales; he cost three francs.”
This was the history of her life as given by Célestin, with a mournful little gesture of the hands, as if to say “That’s all.”
“But,” said Toto, “you must have found it very dull—I mean, you must have had to work for yourself; you have no brothers or sisters, have you? or cousins, or people of that sort?”
“Oh, no! I have always been alone; but people are very good to me; I love the world—it is very good, and it is so beautiful. On Sundays, sometimes, I go with Mme. Liard to the Buttes Chaumont; I think heaven must be like that.”
“Is that as far as you have been?”
“I have been to Champrosay once when I was very little. I can remember it still, but it is like a dream.”
Toto was producing his coppers to pay the bill, and thinking how fortunate it was that the auvergnat had given him change in coppers, also how fortunate it was that he had bought the asses’ milk, for these coppers were eminently in keeping with the struggling artist. He also kept his coat buttoned to hide his watch-chain, for Toto was now being driven by an idea half formed, yet fully potent, just as the asses had been driven up the Rue de la Paix by the man in sabots, armed with a stick.
Célestin drew out her little purse as if to help in the settlement of the account, and then put it back with a sigh of contentment at Toto’s gesture. One could see her satisfaction at not having to part with her centimes, for she did not in the least try to hide it. She crossed herself and moved her lips as if giving thanks to the good God for the breakfast he had sent her, and then she cried, “Oh, how wicked I have been!”