"The grisette is a milliner, or laundress, or dressmaker, or embroiderer, or burnisher, or stringer of pearls, or something else—but she has a trade. To be sure, she seldom works at it. Suggest a trip into the country, a donkey ride, a bachelor breakfast, a dinner at La Chaumière, a ticket to the play, and the shop or workroom or desk may go to the deuce.
"So long as we can afford her amusement, she will think of nothing else; but when her lover hasn't a sou, she will return to her work as cheerily as if she were going to dine at Passoir's, or to do a little cancan at the Château-Rouge; for, messieurs, you may be sure of one thing—the grisette is a philosopher, she takes things as they come, money for what it is worth, and men for what they do for her. She loves passionately for a fortnight; she believes then that it will last all her life, and proposes to her lover that they go to live on a desert island, like Crusoe, and eat raw vegetables and shell-fish. As she is very fond of radishes and oysters, she thinks that she will be able to accustom herself to that diet; but in a moment she forgets all about that scheme, and cries:
"'Ah! how I would like some roast veal, and some lettuce salad garnished with hard-boiled eggs! Take me to Asnières, Dodolphe, and we'll dine out of doors; and I'll pluck some daisies and pull off the petals and find out your real sentiments, for the daisies never lie. If it stops at passionately, I'll kiss you on the left eye; if it tells me that you don't love me at all, I'll stick pins into your legs. What better proofs of love do you want?'
"But Dodolphe finds himself sometimes on his uppers.
"'You say you haven't got any money?' cries the grisette; 'bah! what a nuisance it is that one always has to have money to live on and enjoy one's self! Wait a minute; I've got a merino dress and a winter shawl; it's summer now, so I don't need 'em. They'll be better off at my aunt's than they are in my room, for there are moths there; they'll be better taken care of, and with what I can get on 'em we'll go and have some sport.'
"The grisette carries out her plan: she puts her clothes in pawn, without regret or melancholy. If she had money, she would give it to her lover. As she often spends all that he has, it seems natural to her to spend with him all that she has: she is neither stingy, saving, nor selfish.
"A grisette's lodging is a curious place; but she hasn't always a lodging to herself; very often she simply perches here and there. She will stay a week with her lover, three weeks with a friend of her own sex, and the rest of the time with her fruiterer or her concierge. When, by any chance, she does possess a domicile and furniture of her own, the grisette's bosom swells with pride, even when the furniture in question consists of nothing more than a cot, a mirror, and one broken chair. She takes delight in saying: 'I shall stay at home this evening,' or: 'I don't expect to leave home to-morrow. I have an idea of doing my room over in color; it's all the style now, especially yellow; when it's well rubbed, it makes more effect than furniture.'
"It is she who writes on her door, with a piece of Spanish chalk, when she goes out: I am at my nabor's, down one flite.
"But the grisette is not obliged to know the rules of orthography; and if she spoke the purest French, her conversation would probably seem less amusing; there are so many people who attract by their bad qualities.
"Sometimes the grisette ventures to give an evening party. When she is in the mood, she will invite as many as seven people. On such occasions, the bed does duty as a divan, the blinds as benches, the cooking stove as a table, and the lamp from the staircase is placed on the mantel to take the place of a chandelier. Punch is brewed in a soup tureen, and tea in a saucepan; they drink from egg cups, there is one spoon for three persons, and the hostess's shawl serves as a table cloth and as a napkin for all the company; all of which does not prevent the guests from laughing and enjoying themselves; for the most genuine enjoyment is not that which costs the most. This is not a new maxim, but it is very consoling to those who are not favored by fortune."