So she was the prey of a vague appetite for learning a history.
In order to get rid of this curiosity which agitated her a little beyond her wont, she took refuge in her talents, and set about scalloping, with one layer of cotton after another, one of those embroideries of the Empire and the Restoration, in which there are numerous cartwheels. The work was clumsy, the worker cross. She had been seated at this for several hours when the door opened. Mademoiselle Gillenormand raised her nose. Lieutenant Théodule stood before her, making the regulation salute. She uttered a cry of delight. One may be old, one may be a prude, one may be pious, one may be an aunt, but it is always agreeable to see a lancer enter one’s chamber.
“You here, Théodule!” she exclaimed.
“On my way through town, aunt.”
“Embrace me.”
“Here goes!” said Théodule.
And he kissed her. Aunt Gillenormand went to her writing-desk and opened it.
“You will remain with us a week at least?”