Later on, when Chrysanthème will have become an old monkey like Madame
Prune, with her black teeth and long orisons, she, in her turn, will
retail that comb to some fine lady of a fresh generation.
On another occasion the sun had given me a headache; I lay on the
floor resting my head on my snake-skin pillow. My eyes were dim, and
everything appeared to turn round: the open verandah, the big expanse
of luminous evening sky, and a variety of kites hovering against its
background; I felt myself vibrating painfully to the rhythmical sound
of the cicalas which filled the atmosphere.
She, crouching down by my side, strove to relieve me by a Japanese
process, pressing with all her might on my temples with her little
thumbs and turning them rapidly round, as though she were boring a
hole with a gimlet. She had become quite hot and red over this hard
work, which procured me real comfort, something similar to the dreamy
intoxication of opium.
Then, anxious and fearful lest I should have an attack of fever, she
rolled into a pellet and thrust into my mouth a very efficacious
prayer written on rice-paper, which she carefully kept in the lining
of one of her sleeves.
Well, I swallowed that prayer without a smile, anxious not to hurt her
feelings or shake her funny little faith.