them the inattentive essences floating in the atmosphere;--in their
spare moments they cultivate in little pots of gayly-painted
earthenware, dwarf shrubs and unheard-of flowers which smell
deliciously in the evening.

M. Sucre is taciturn, dislikes society, looks like a mummy in his blue
cotton dress. He writes a great deal, (his memoirs, I fancy) with a
paint-brush held in his finger-tips, on long strips of rice-paper of a
faint gray tint.

Madame Prune is eagerly attentive, obsequious and rapacious; her
eye-brows are closely shaven, her teeth carefully lacquered with black
as befits a lady of gentility, and at all and no matter what hours,
she appears on all fours at the entrance of our apartment, to offer us
her services.

As to Oyouki, she rushes upon us ten times a day,--whether we are
sleeping, or dressing,--like a whirlwind on a visit, flashing upon us,
a very gust of dainty youthfulness and droll gayety,--a living peal of
laughter. She is round of figure, round of face; half baby, half girl;
and so affectionate that she bestows kisses on the slightest occasion
with her great puffy lips,--a little moist, it is true, like a
child's, but nevertheless very fresh and very red.




XV.