In a little while she awoke and uncoiling her figure, rolled softly
over on her back and stretched like some drowsy feline of the
jungle; then sitting up with lithe grace she looked down at the
print of her head on the pillow and deftly smoothed it out. The
action was characteristic: she was careful to hide the traces of
her behavior, and the habit was so strong that it extended to
things innocent as slumber. Letting her hands drop to the sofa,
she yawned and shook her head from side to side with that short
laugh by which we express amusement at our own comfort and well-
being.
Beside the sofa, toe by toe and heel by heel, sat her slippers--the
pads of this leopardess of the parlors. She peered over and worked
her nimble feet into these. On a little table at the end of the
sofa lay her glasses, her fan, and a small bell. She passed her
fingers along her temples in search of small disorders in the scant
tufts of her hair, put on her glasses, and took the fan. Then she
glided across the room to one of the front windows, sat down and
raised the blind a few inches in order to peep out: so the
well-fed, well-fanged leopardess with lowered head gazes idly
through her green leaves.
It was very hot. With her nostrils close to the opening In the
shutters, she inhaled the heated air of the yard of drying grass.
On the white window-sill just outside, a bronze wasp was whirling
excitedly, that cautious stinger which never arrives until summer
is sure.
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