Now and again a few words of her part recurred to her memory, words to which she attached no meaning, yet which obsessed her: "Our days are what we make them." And her mind wearied itself by turning over and over some four or five ideas.
"I must go to Madame Royaumont to-morrow, to try on my gown.

Yesterday I went with Fagette to Jeanne Perrin's dressing-room; she was dressing, and she showed her hairy legs, as if she was proud of them.

She's not ugly, Jeanne Perrin; indeed, she has a fine head; but it is her expression that I dislike.

How does Madame Colbert make out that I owe her thirty-two francs?
Fourteen and three are seventeen, and nine, twenty-six.

I owe her only twenty-six francs.