In the brown dining-room, which was perfumed with the scent of polish and fruit,
I was shoveling up at my ease a plateful of some Belgian dish or other, and sprawling in my enormous chair.
While I ate,
I listened, happy and silent, to the clock.
The kitchen door opened with a gust, and the servant girl came in,
I don't know what for, neckerchief loose, hair dressed impishly.
And, passing her little finger tremblingly across her cheek, a pink and white peach-bloom, pouting with her childish mouth, she tidied the plates standing close to me, to make me feel comfortable; - and then, just like that, - to get a kiss of course - said very softly: 'Feel, then,
I' got a cold in the cheek…'
