"Of course you can make a doll of me, Madame Mandilip." I wonder what nationality she is.
She laughed with me, her big eyes bigger than ever and very bright. She brought out some wax and
began to model my head. Those beautiful long fingers worked rapidly as though each of them was a little
artist in itself. I watched them, fascinated. I began to get sleepy, and sleepier and sleepier. She said, "My
dear, I do wish you'd take off your clothes and let me model your whole body. Don't be shocked. I'm
just an old woman." I didn't mind at all, and I said sleepily, "Why, of course you can." And I stood on a
little stool and watched the wax taking shape under those white fingers until it had become a small and
most perfect copy of me. I knew it was perfect, although I was so sleepy I could hardly see it. I was so
sleepy Madame Mandilip had to help me dress, and then I must have gone sound asleep, because I
woke up with quite a start to find her patting my hands and saying, "I'm sorry I tired you, child. Stay if