But in the depths of her heart she bitterly lamented having become like a ball, and would willingly have submitted to a severe illness, in order to recover her figure of earlier days. However, as one is always inclined to flatter oneself a little, Madame Glumeau was very far from considering herself a _tower_, as her dear lady friends called her; and when she looked at herself in the mirror, she still bestowed upon herself a satisfied smile. Let us come to the two children; we are not speaking of little brats, who have to be led along by the hand, but of a boy of nineteen and a young lady of sixteen. The young man was very ill-favored; he had no one of his mother’s features, and squinted in too pronounced a fashion, a fact which necessarily imparted more or less vagueness to his countenance; but one might judge from the expression of his face that Monsieur Astianax--that was young Glumeau’s name--was not displeased with his little person, and still less with his wit. Unluckily, nature had not bestowed upon him a figure corresponding to the advantages with which he considered himself to be endowed; despite the high heels that he wore and the double soles that he put in his shoes, Monsieur Astianax Glumeau had been unable to make himself taller than his mother, who was four feet nine. If young Glumeau was short, his sister, by way of compensation, at sixteen, was as tall as a bean-pole, and threatened to attain the stature of a drum-major. As thin as her mother was stout, Eolinde Glumeau had at all events a face which did her honor; although she was not so pretty as her mother had once been, she had regular features, rather large eyes, a small mouth, fine teeth, and all the freshness of a peach still on the tree. But--for there were always buts in that family--Mademoiselle Eolinde was afflicted with a very noticeable defect of speech; she stuttered in a way that was very tiresome to those who listened to her. Her parents declared that that would cure itself, and as a corrective to that infirmity they insisted that their daughter should talk as much as possible. Mademoiselle Eolinde obeyed her parents to an extent that was sometimes very terrible for her friends and acquaintances. The Glumeau family had been on Boulevard du Château d’Eau a long while, going from one dealer to another, stopping in front of the flowers, sticking their noses into the finest ones, asking the price, hesitating, and not deciding. At last Madame Glumeau turned about once more and halted in front of a very handsome pomegranate tree, saying: “I think I will buy this pomegranate for your father. A pomegranate will please Honoré; he will like it very much.” “But, mamma, what connection is there between this shrub and my father?” queried young Glumeau, looking toward Boulevard du Temple and Porte Saint-Martin at the same moment.