—From nobody? not even from a sister?
—But you are not my sister.
—Well, I will be your comrade.
—No more do they have a comrade.
—Oh, well, if I were a man I should not like to be in your position; one must get awfully tired of being all alone. What are you able to do all the blessed day? For my part, in the first place I must have a lover.
—Ha, ha! and who is your lover?
—A rider at the Loyal Circus. A handsome boy too. A tall dark fellow like you. He is a little too proud, but I like that in a man.
—And for how long has he been your lover?
—Ever since I have seen him. It is nearly two years ago at the fête at
Mirecourt. Our booth was beside the Circus.
—Two years! cried Marcel: but at what age did you begin?