One Monday morning Sylvie was doing some errands, when she caught sight of Annette, a little in front of her and walking in the same direction, on the Rue de Sèvres. She amused herself by following her for a time, so that she might observe her. Annette was walking with long strides, as was her habit. Sylvie, whose steps were short, quick, supple, dancing, laughed at her boyish, athletic pace; but she appreciated the beautiful harmony of her vigorous body. Head held straight, looking neither to right nor left, Annette was absorbed. Sylvie caught up with her and continued to walk beside her on the sidewalk without Annette's noticing her. Imitating her gait, and peeking from the corner of one eye at her big sister's cheek, which seemed paled by a melancholy shadow, Sylvie moved her lips, without turning her head, and said in a low voice: "Annette. . . ." It was impossible to hear in the noise of the street. Sylvie barely heard herself. Yet Annette heard. Or was it that she was conscious of this mocking "double" that had for some moments been silently escorting her? Suddenly she saw beside her the amused profile, the lips that moved comically without speaking, the little laughing eye with its sidewise glance. . . . Then she stopped, with one of those movements of impetuous joy that had already surprised and charmed Sylvie on one occasion. Abruptly she held out her arms. Her whole being quivered. Sylvie thought: "She is going to spring. . . ." For an instant only. Already she had recovered herself; and, almost coldly, she said: "Good-morning, Sylvie." But her cheeks were full of color, and her stiffness could not withstand the burst of laughter from the younger girl, who was delighted with her trick. Annette laughed with her: "Oh! You've caught me!" Sylvie took her arm, and they walked on, considerately suiting their steps to each other. "Were you there long?" asked Annette. "Oh! about a half-hour," Sylvie affirmed unhesitatingly. "No?" exclaimed the credulous Annette. "I followed your movements. I saw everything. Everything. You talked as you walked." "It's not true, it's not true," protested Annette. "What a little liar! . . ." Their two arms tightened. They began to chatter about the errands they had just done. They were perfectly happy. In the midst of an impassioned account of a White Sale at the Bon Marché, where one had been and where the other was going,--in the uproar of a street that they were crossing, slipping between the vehicles with the sure instinct of two little Parisiennes, Sylvie murmured in Annette's ear: "You haven't kissed me!" Annette's quick movement nearly crushed her. As they approached the sidewalk, still walking, their lips met. . . . Hugging each other closer, they were walking now along a quieter street, that led . . . Where did it lead? . . . "Where are we going?" They stopped, amused to find that in the midst of their chattering they had lost their way. Sylvie, clutching Annette, said: