She had slipped out for a moment from the confined and stifling circle of domestic dailiness.

She had scented the feverish perfume of the world.
And she owed all this to herself alone! She meant on the morrow, while her mother was marketing, to pursue the enterprise; the consciousness of this intention was sweet, but she knew not why it was sweet.

She only knew that she lived in the preoccupation of a dream.
Having taken two of the handkerchiefs, she shut the wardrobe and turned the key.

She went first to her own small, prim room to restore stolen property to its rightful place, and then she descended towards the kitchen with the other handkerchief.

Giving it to her mother, and concealing her triumph beneath a mask of wise, long-suffering benevolence, she would say: "I've found ten of your handkerchiefs, mother.