...Hearing approaching steps, sixteen-year-old Augusta Martin quickly straightened the hem of her dress, picked up a basket of fruit left on the porch and jumped out into the street in front of the very freckled nose of the entire Montre-Dortal, which belonged to Holy Father Clement, hieromonk of the Franciscan monastery of the pious. The padre almost immediately ran into a round-hipped bird fluttering out of the gateway, but before he had time to swear properly or affably put the naughty girl’s charming backside in his palm, it was already swaying at a distance of several steps in front of him, setting in motion with its steep side a loaded with hanging over the edge wicker basket with bunches of grapes. The holy father grunted only with pleasure, contemplating the noteworthy delights now moving before his eyes.

- A-Oh!!!

The basket of fruit quickly rushed down and was saved from falling only its owner who landed a little earlier on the faceted cobblestone of the sidewalk. Auguste sat on the sidewalk with a face saddened by suffering, holding the rescued basket in her hands, and looked in bewilderment at her bare foot, pricked by a pebble that had rolled into the ditch.