Mademoiselle Pearl by Guy De Maupassant — Read

Well, this year, as in every other year, I had gone to dine at the Chantals' to celebrate Epiphany.

I embraced Monsieur Chantal, as I always did, Madame Chantal, and Mademoiselle Pearl, and I bowed deeply to Mesdemoiselles Louise and Pauline. They questioned me about a thousand things, boulevard happenings, politics, our representatives, and what the public thought of affairs in Tonkin. Madame Chantal, a stout lady whose thoughts always impressed me as being square like blocks of stone, was wont to enunciate the following phrase at the end of every political discussion: "All this will produce a crop of misfortunes in the future. " Why do I always think that Madame Chantal's thoughts are square? I don't really know why; but my mind sees everything she says in this fashion: a square, a solid square with four symmetrical angles. There are other people whose thoughts always seems to me round and rolling like circles. As soon as they begin a phrase about something, out it rolls, running along, issuing in the shape of ten, twenty, fifty round thoughts, big ones and little ones, and I see them running behind each other out of sight over the edge of the sky. Other persons have pointed thoughts. But this is somewhat irrelevant.