ifications.

Then, in the midst of the empty, echoing courtyard, Nana, Pauline and
other big girls engaged in games of battledore and shuttlecock. They
had grown up together and were now becoming queens of their building.
Whenever a man crossed the court, flutelike laugher would arise, and
then starched skirts would rustle like the passing of a gust of wind.

The games were only an excuse for them to make their escape. Suddenly
stillness fell upon the tenement. The girls had glided out into the
street and made for the outer Boulevards. Then, linked arm-in-arm across
the full breadth of the pavement, they went off, the whole six of them,
clad in light colors, with ribbons tied around their bare heads. With
bright eyes darting stealthy glances through their partially closed
eyelids, they took note of everything, and constantly threw back their
necks to laugh, displaying the fleshy part of their chins. They would
swing their hips, or group together tightly, or flaunt along with
awkward grace, all for the purpose of calling attention to the fact that
their forms were filling out.

Nana was in the centre with her pink dress all aglow in the sunlight.
She gave her arm to Pauline, whose costume, yellow flowers on a white
ground, glared in similar fashion, dotted as it were with little flames.
As they were the tallest of the band, the most woman-like and most
unblushing, they led the troop and drew themselves up with breasts well
forward whenever they detected glances or heard complimentary remarks.
The others extended right and left, puffing themselves out in order to
attract attention. Nana and Pauline resorted to the complicated devices
of experienced coquettes. If they ran till they were out of breath, it
was in view of showing their white stockings and making the ribbons
of their chignons wave in the breeze. When they stopped, pretending
complete breathlessness, you would certainly spot someone they knew
quite near, one of the young fellows of the neighborhood. This would
make them dawdle along languidly, whispering and laughing among
themselves, but keeping a sharp watch through their downcast eyelids.

They went on these strolls of a Sunday mainly for the sake of these
chance meetings. Tall lads, wearing their Sunday best, would stop them,
joking and trying to catch them round their waists. Pauline was
forever running into one of Madame Gaudron's sons, a seventeen-year-old
carpenter, who would treat her to fried potat