French fiction -- Translations into English; Paris (France) -- Fiction
At all times of day she would slip into the workroom of the Delobelles,
amuse herself by watching their work and looking at all the insects,
and, being already more coquettish than playful, if an insect had lost
a wing in its travels, or a humming-bird its necklace of down, she would
try to make herself a headdress of the remains, to fix that brilliant
shaft of color among the ripples of her silky hair. It made Desiree
and her mother smile to see her stand on tiptoe in front of the old
tarnished mirror, with affected little shrugs and grimaces. Then, when
she had had enough of admiring herself, the child would open the door
with all the strength of her little fingers, and would go demurely,
holding her head perfectly straight for fear of disarranging her
headdress, and knock at the Rislers’ door.
No one was there in the daytime but Frantz the student, leaning over his
books, doing his duty faithfully. But when Sidonie enters, farewell to
study! Everything must be put aside to receive that lovely creature with
the humming-bird in her hair, pretending to be a princess who had come
to Chaptal’s school to ask his hand in marriage from the director.
It was really a strange sight to see that tall, overgrown boy playing
with that little girl of eight, humoring her caprices, adoring her as he
yielded to her, so that later, when he fell genuinely in love with her,
no one could have said at what time the change began.
Petted as she was in those two homes, little Chebe was very fond of
running to the window on the landing. There it was that she found her
greatest source of entertainment, a horizon always open, a sort of
vision of the future toward which she leaned with eager curiosity and
without fear, for children are not subject to vertigo.
Between the slated roofs sloping toward one another, the high wall
of the factory, the tops of the plane-trees in the garden, the
many-windowed workshops appeared to her like a promised land, the
country of her dreams.
That Fromont establishment was to her mind the highest ideal of wealth.
The place it occupied in that part of the Marais, which was at certain
hours enveloped by its smoke and its din, Risler’s enthusiasm, his
fabulous tales concerning his employer’s wealth and goodness and
cleverness, had aroused that childish curiosity; and such portions as
she could see of the dwelling-houses, the carved wooden blinds, the
circular front steps, with the garden-seats before them, a great white
bird-house with gilt stripes glistening in the sun, the blue-lined coupe
standing in the courtyard, were to her objects of continual admiration.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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