Jacqueline, vol 1 | Page 7

"Oh! there is Madame Villegry," cried Jacqueline; "how handsome she
is! I should like one of these days to be that kind of beauty, so tall and
slender. Her waist measure is only twenty-one and two thirds inches.
The woman who makes her corsets and my mamma's told us so. She
brought us one of her corsets to look at, a love of a corset, in brocatelle,
all over many-colored flowers. That material is much more 'distingue'
than the old satin--"
"But what a queer idea it is to waste all that upon a thing that nobody
will ever look at," said Dolly, her round eyes opening wider than
before.
"Oh! it is just to please herself, I suppose. I understand that! Besides,
nothing is too good for such a figure. But what I admire most is her

extraordinary hair."
"Which changes its color now and then," observed the sharpest of the
three Wermant sisters. "Extraordinary is just the word for it. At present
it is dark red. Henna did that, I suppose. Raoul--our brother-- when he
was in Africa saw Arab women who used henna. They tied their heads
up in a sort of poultice made of little leaves, something like tea- leaves.
In twenty-four hours the hair will be dyed red, and will stay red for a
year or more. You can try it if you like. I think it is disgusting."
"Oh! look, there is Madame de Sternay. I recognized her by her
perfume before I had even seen her. What delightful things good
perfumes are!"
"What is it? Is it heliotrope or jessamine?" asked Yvonne d'Etaples,
sniffing in the air.
"No--it is only orris-root--nothing but orris-root; but she puts it
everywhere about her--in the hem of her petticoat, in the lining of her
dress. She lives, one might say, in the middle of a sachet. The thing that
will please me most when I am married will be to have no limit to my
perfumes. Till then I have to satisfy myself with very little," sighed
Jacqueline, drawing a little bunch of violets from the loose folds of her
blouse, and inhaling their fragrance with delight.
"'Tiens'! here comes somebody who has to be contented with much
less," said Yvonne, as a young girl joined their circle. She was small,
awkward, timid, and badly dressed. On seeing her Colette whispered
"Oh! that tiresome Giselle. We sha'n't be able to talk another word."
Jacqueline kissed Giselle de Monredon. They were distant cousins,
though they saw each other very seldom. Giselle was an orphan, having
lost both her father and her mother, and was being educated in a
convent from which she was allowed to come out only on great
occasions. Her grandmother, whose ideas were those of the old school,
had placed her there. The Easter holidays accounted for Giselle's
unexpected arrival. Wrapped in a large cloak which covered up her
convent uniform, she looked, as compared with the gay girls around her,

like a poor sombre night-moth, dazzled by the light, in company with
other glittering creatures of the insect race, fluttering with graceful
movements, transparent wings and shining corselets.
"Come and have some sandwiches," said Jacqueline, and she drew
Giselle to the tea-table, with the kind intention apparently of making
her feel more at her ease. But she had another motive. She saw some
one who was very interesting to her coming at that moment toward the
table. That some one was a man about forty, whose pointed black beard
was becoming slightly gray--a man whom some people thought ugly,
chiefly because they had never seen his somewhat irregular features
illumined by a smile which, spreading from his lips to his eyes, lighted
up his face and transformed it. The smile of Hubert Marien was rare,
however. He was exclusive in his friendships, often silent, always
somewhat unapproachable. He seldom troubled himself to please any
one he did not care for. In society he was not seen to advantage,
because he was extremely bored, for which reason he was seldom to be
seen at the Tuesday receptions of Madame de Nailles; while, on other
days, he frequented the house as an intimate friend of the family.
Jacqueline had known him all her life, and for her he had always his
beautiful smile. He had petted her when she was little, and had been
much amused by the sort of adoration she had no hesitation in showing
that she felt for him. He used to call her Mademoiselle ma femme, and
M. de Nailles would speak of him as "my daughter's future husband."
This joke had been kept up till the little lady had reached her ninth year,
when it ceased, probably by order of Madame de Nailles, who in
matters of propriety was very punctilious. Jacqueline, too,