Irma Boissy (
irma_boissy) wrote2013-05-25 06:42 pm
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Dandelions and windows.
Despite the fact that everyone in the house asked and wondered who left those dandelions, (and even some of them suspected that they were for Irma), Irma did not say a thing.
Even if she knew everything about them and didn't even need to guess who was the mysterious gentleman who left them.
It had been Monsieur Grantaire.
Maybe she was waiting for another visit of his, maybe not, but the next two nights, she had barely slept.
Even if she knew everything about them and didn't even need to guess who was the mysterious gentleman who left them.
It had been Monsieur Grantaire.
Maybe she was waiting for another visit of his, maybe not, but the next two nights, she had barely slept.
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Grantaire doesn't expect this particular acquaintanceship to last very long; his face is hardly a match for her undeniable beauty, and she must soon discover the roughness of manner that has been so useful in warding off others. He will, he thinks, be fortunate if she should so much as deign to speak with him again.
Whether she will or won't speak, he has rather enjoyed drawing the initial stages out (and given her loveliness and apparent wit, she is well worth the extra effort). The night after meeting Mademoiselle Boissy, Grantaire had approached her house well past midnight, leaving a bouquet of dandelions. And then he had waited. He made no return trip (there was no telling whether the girl might be waiting to catch him in the act, and he had no desire to be discovered with her family so close at hand), and avoided the street on which he had found her.
Today, though. Today, he shakes himself into action with time to spare and a mild headache (promptly vanquished with a glass of wine), setting out toward the street where he hopes to encounter the lady with the charming mien. It is of course possible that she will take an alternate route, that she may remain at home, or that she may not be called to work with the greater body of Parisians. Well, and if so? Then he has given it a shot, might actually make it to the studio in a timely fashion, and can try seeking her out later.
For the time being, he strolls idly up and down the street, stopping to talk with men he knows and men he vaguely recognizes, making idle chatter and catching a bit of what passes for news. He talks, he watches, and he waits. Where is that lovely girl?
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