My Neighbor Raymond, Volume XI

I

THE GRISETTE


I was strolling along the boulevards one Saturday evening. I was alone,
and in a meditative mood; contrary to my usual custom, I was indulging
in some rather serious reflections on the world and its people, on the
past and the present, on the mind and the body, on the soul, on thought,
chance, fate, and destiny. I believe, indeed, that I was on the point of
turning my attention to the moon, which was just appearing, and in which
I already saw mountains, lakes, and forests,--for with a little
determination one may see in the moon whatever one pleases,--when, as I
was gazing at the sky, I suddenly collided with a person going in the
opposite direction, whom I had not previously noticed.

"Look where you're going, monsieur; you're very awkward!" at once
remarked a soft, sweet voice, which not even anger deprived of its
charm. I have always had a weakness for pleasant voices; so I instantly
descended from the regions to which I had mounted only for lack of
something better to do, and looked at the person who had addressed me.

It was a girl of sixteen to eighteen years, with a little cap tied under
her chin, a calico dress, and a modest apron of black mohair. She had
every appearance of a young workgirl who had just finished her day's
work and was on her way home. I made haste to look at her face: a
charming face, on my word! Bright, mischievous eyes, a tiny nose, fine
teeth, black hair, and a most attractive ensemble; an expressive face,
too, and a certain charming grace in her bearing. I was forced to
confess that I saw no such pretty things in the moon.

The girl had under her arm a pasteboard box, which I had unwittingly
jostled; she refastened the string with which it was tied, and seemed to
apprehend that the contents had suffered from my awkwardness. I lost no
time in apologizing.

"Really, mademoiselle, I am terribly distressed--it was very awkward of
me."

"It is certain, monsieur, that if you had looked in front of you this
wouldn't have happened."

"I trust that I have not hurt you?"

"Me? oh, no! But I'm afraid that my flowers are crumpled; however, I
will fix them all right at home."

"Ah!" said I to myself; "she's a flowermaker; as a general rule, the
young ladies who follow that trade are not Lucretias; let us see if I
cannot scrape acquaintance with her."

She replaced her box under her arm, and went her way. I walked by her
side, saying nothing at first. I have always been rather stupid about
beginning gallant interviews; luckily, when one has once made a start,
the thing goes of itself. However, from time to time I ventured a word
or two:

"Mademoiselle walks very fast. Won't you take my arm? I should be
delighted to escort you. May I not be permitted to see you again? Do you
go to the theatre often? I could send you tickets, if you chose. Pray
be careful; you will surely slip!" and other polite phrases of that
sort, the conventional thing in nocturnal meetings.