Camille was an orphan—her father having died when she had reached her second birthday and her mother two years afterwards—so she had been brought up by this priur old aunt, her father's sister.
They went to the cathedral, instead of going to their usual after-noon church, St-Sebastian; on their return they took their cup of chocolate, Camille read to her aunt, then she played upon the spindle-legged spinet; in the evening—as the clock struck seven—the door opened and cousin Des Grieux came in. At eight they had supper, at nine the two young people played a game at cards with the old spinster who invariably won and chaffed her nephew and niece about being unlucky at cards; as the clock struck half past nine, the cousin got up, pressed his lips on his aunt's hand, kissed his cousin on her mouth, and went off.
Des Grieux was a pale and delicate young man. Besides this, there was nothing remarkable in him except that he was very clean. His face, neck and ears looked as if they had been thoroughly washed with soap and swil-
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