-
Monsieur Le Mari Is Little Better Than The Stone Under Your Foot.
- Surely, - surely, man!
It is not good for thee to sit alone: -
thou wast made for social intercourse and gentle greetings; and
this improvement of our natures from it I appeal to as my evidence.
- And how does it beat, Monsieur? said she. - With all the
benignity, said I, looking quietly in her eyes, that I expected. -
She was going to say something civil in return - but the lad came
into the shop with the gloves. - A propos, said I, I want a couple
of pairs myself.
THE GLOVES. PARIS.
The beautiful grisette rose up when I said this, and going behind
the counter, reach'd down a parcel and untied it: I advanced to
the side over against her: they were all too large. The beautiful
grisette measured them one by one across my hand. - It would not
alter their dimensions. - She begg'd I would try a single pair,
which seemed to be the least. - She held it open; - my hand slipped
into it at once. - It will not do, said I, shaking my head a
little. - No, said she, doing the same thing.
There are certain combined looks of simple subtlety, - where whim,
and sense, and seriousness, and nonsense, are so blended, that all
the languages of Babel set loose together, could not express them;-
-they are communicated and caught so instantaneously, that you can
scarce say which party is the infector. I leave it to your men of
words to swell pages about it - it is enough in the present to say
again, the gloves would not do; so, folding our hands within our
arms, we both lolled upon the counter - it was narrow, and there was
just room for the parcel to lay between us.
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