th scratched the back of her head.
Charlene didn''t seem surprised and said, "I''m the only one in my family who''s interested in chemistry."
"How old are you?"
"Five."
"I''ll be five next month too. We''re about the same age, but you know so much!"
Only then did Edith remember and asked, "By the way, my name is Edith. What''s your name?"
"I''m Marie-Charlene de Saint-Clemont."
"Your name is so long," Edith muttered.
The little girl in the white dress smiled, "You can just call me Charlene."
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From that day on, every time Edith went out to play, she would run straight to the garden to find Charlene.
In the centre of the garden, there grew large patches of blue and purple fleurs-de-lys. When the wind blew, the petals danced in the air like little doves flapping their wings.
One section of the flowerbed was dedicated to Charlene''s beloved pink roses. The governess would often pick a dew-kissed fresh rose and placed it next to Charlene''s blonde hair. Together with her lotus-pink dress, it made this young lady''s overly pale cheeks look lovely.
Charlene sat under the porch all day, watching Edith running around with her skirt lifted. Before, when the governess insisted on pushing her out to get some fresh air, she felt very impatient. But now, she thought this kind of time was absolutely wonderful.
This lively new friend seemed to have endless en