She speaks with marvelous fluency.
She does not apply herself to any hard work; and, nevertheless, in
spite of her apparent weakness, there are burdens which she can bear
and move with miraculous ease. She avoids the open sunlight and wards
it off by ingenious appliances. For her to walk is exhausting. Does
she eat? This is a mystery. Has she the needs of other species? It is
a problem. Although she is curious to excess she allows herself easily
to be caught by any one who can conceal from her the slightest thing,
and her intellect leads her to seek incessantly after the unknown.
Love is her religion; she thinks how to please the one she loves. To
be beloved is the end of all her actions; to excite desire is the
motive of every gesture. She dreams of nothing excepting how she may
shine, and moves only in a circle filled with grace and elegance. It
is for her the Indian girl has spun the soft fleece of Thibet goats,
Tarare weaves its airy veils, Brussels sets in motion those shuttles
which speed the flaxen thread that is purest and most fine, Bidjapour
wrenches from the bowels of the earth its sparkling pebbles, and the
Sevres gilds its snow-white clay. Night and day she reflects upon new
costumes and spends her life in considering dress and in plaiting her
apparel. She moves about exhibiting her brightness and freshness to
people she does not know, but whose homage flatters her, while the
desire she excites charms her, though she is indifferent to those who
feel it.
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