"Let us do the grisette of Paris justice; she is active, frisky, alluring, provoking; she is not always pretty, but she has a certain--I don't know what to call it--a sort of _chic_, which always finds followers. She handles the simplest materials in such a way as to make herself a pretty little costume; she often wears an apron, and a cap almost always; she rarely puts anything else on her head, and she is very wise; for her face, which is captivating in a cap, loses much of its charm under a bonnet, unless it be a _bibi_, the front of which never extends beyond the end of her nose. "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.