Eponine, with her sea-green eyes, her narrow face, her impertinent nose, her small and delicate limbs, had an air of distinction which charmed Gautier's appreciative friends. She was a polite little cat, rather fond of company, and would receive his guests with cordial pleasure, purring as she stepped from one chair to another, as though to say: "Don't be impatient. Look at the pictures, or talk to me, if I amuse you. My master is coming down." On his appearance, she would retire discreetly to an armchair, or to a corner of the piano, and listen to the conversation without interrupting it, being French, and accustomed to good society.
If Gautier dined alone, Eponine's place was laid opposite to his; and, when he came into the dining-room, he found her always in her chair, waiting serenely for his arrival. She would place her forepaws daintily on the edge of the table, and present her smooth forehead to be kissed, "like a well-bred little girl who is affable and affectionate to relatives and old people." Even the best trained children, however, have their likes and dislikes in the matter of food, and Eponine sometimes found it a hard task to eat everything that was placed before her. Soup was her particular aversion, and once in a while she tried to omit that course from her dinner. Then Gautier would say to her courteously but firmly: "Mademoiselle, a young lady who is not
