naturally, her history, and this she related to him in a style
dramatic. Myself, I have not the style dramatic, though I avow to you I
admire that.

"We are in a provincial town," she said to the young man, "we are in
Rouen--the workroom of a modiste. Have no embarrassment, monsieur
Tricotrin, you, at least, are invisible to the girls who sew! They sew
all day and talk little--already they are _tristes_, resigned.
Among them sits one who is different--one passionate, ambitious--a girl
who burns to be _divette_, singer, who is devoured by longings for
applause, fashion, wealth. She has made the acquaintance of a little
pastrycook. He has become fascinated, they are affianced. In a month
she will be married."

The young man, Tricotrin, well understood that the girl she described
was herself.

"What does she consider while she sits sewing?" she continued. "That
the pastrycook loves her, that he is generous, that she will do her
most to be to him a good wife? Not at all. Far from that! She
considers, on the contrary, that she was a fool to promise him; she
considers how she shall escape--from him, from Rouen, from her ennui--
she seeks to fly to Paris. Alas! she has no money, not a franc. And she
sews--always she sews in the dull room--and her spirit rebels."

"Good!" said the poet. "It is a capital first instalment."

"The time goes on. There remains only a week to the marriage morning.
The little home is prepared, the little pastrycook is full of joy.
_Alors_, one evening they go out; for her the sole attraction in