At first I do not recollect her; but she looks at me, and smiles.

Ah! it is Paulette! But it is almost a year since I have seen her, and Paulette is no longer the same: the other day she was a child, now she is almost a young woman.
Paulette is thin, pale, and miserably clad; but she has always the same open and straightforward look--the same mouth, smiling at every word, as if to court your sympathy--the same voice, somewhat timid, yet expressing fondness.

Paulette is not pretty--she is even thought plain; as for me, I think her charming.

Perhaps that is not on her account, but on my own.

Paulette appears to me as one of my happiest recollections.
It was the evening of a public holiday.