“Yes,” said Célestin, breathing the word out in a manner that made it a prayer of praise.
“But you are not rich—you are like me; and they say the rich see more of the pleasure of the world than we do. Tell me, would you like to be a great lady, one of those one sees in the Bois?”
“Oh, no!” said Célestin; “I would much rather be myself.”
“But!” said Toto, tearing a daisy’s head off, “imagine having money to spend, as much as one wanted.”
“I have.”
“Imagine having a carriage and horses.”
“That would be nice; at least, I would sooner, I think, go in omnibuses—one would be very desolate all alone in a carriage. It is the people who make omnibuses so delightful; one wonders where they are going to and what they have in their baskets; and some read books, and one tries to imagine what they read of. And then the hats one sees! they make one want to laugh and weep. Sometimes they are not so bad, but sometimes they are frightful; often have I wished to say, ‘Madame, let me retrim your hat; I will do it for love, and use my own thread,’ but I have never dared.”
“Well, imagine being able to ride in omnibuses all day long.”
Célestin smiled, and looked away into the blue distance, as if she were watching an ethereal omnibus filled with her familiar angels.
“Well, you could do that all day if you were rich.”