“I am,” cried I, falling at her feet, “a simple mortal, who loses his senses before your beauty.”
“Get up! doctor, get up,” said the _danseuse_, with a countenance of severity suddenly assumed—“no nonsense before your god-daughter! You forget yourself—she will tell a thousand stories when we get home. Have you never seen the ‘Terrible Children of Gavarni?’ They are all spies, these little innocents!”
I got up from my knees in confusion, and excused myself as well as I could. Her anger seemed to cool. She gave me her hand, and drawing a deep sigh, said,
“If I had all these beautiful things in my drawing-room, I should consider myself richer than the Sultana Valida.”
“This evening, Mademoiselle, my Chinese parlor shall be transferred to your hotel.”
“Well then, doctor, I will go and prepare for it. I hope you are in earnest, for the fun of the thing, even if it were only to shame the Parisians by your generosity. By the bye, wouldn’t you like to sketch my left foot also? What will you do with one foot without the other—don’t be modest—have the match to it!”
“Ah! I am always generous—I don’t do things by halves.”
“What kindliness and grace! Mademoiselle, it is not this miserable collection I should offer you. I would I could place at your feet the pagoda of the suburb Vai lo ching, which is of porcelain, with tiles of massive gold!”
“That would suit me exactly, _particularly the tiles_!—Is my foot placed right?”
“My design is completed, Mademoiselle; my gratitude for your kindness will never end—may I call to-morrow to visit you?”
“To-morrow—dear doctor, to-morrow is an unlucky day! I dance to-morrow, and must practice for five hours.”
“The day after? that’s Saturday—I always dine with my mother on Saturday—Sunday I shall be free as air. Suppose I take you to Versailles on Sunday? we can eat a hare at a country inn, and drink milk. You will accept my invitation will you not?—agreed then. Oh! how delighted I shall be to get into the fields and inhale the fragrance of the flowers. Sunday, then, dear doctor, my carriage shall be at your door at twelve o’clock; I am as exact as a Breguet watch—adieu!”
We have no women in China—it is the only thing our ancestors forgot to invent! If Mademoiselle Alexandrine were to appear at Pekin she would take the empire by storm! You can form no idea of that divine creature—graceful as a bird—speaking as melodiously as she sings—springing as she walks—doing a thousand delicious things in a moment, and throwing at you sweet and flashing glances, like the twinkling of a star.