"May I be hanged if he's a Republican," thought Corentin, as he saw
him go. "He moves his shoulders like a courtier. And if that's his
mother," he added, mentally, looking at Madame du Gua, "I'm the Pope!
They are Chouans; and I'll make sure of their quality."
The door soon opened and the young man entered, holding the hand of
Mademoiselle de Verneuil, whom he led to the table with an air of
self-conceit that was nevertheless courteous. The devil had not
allowed that hour which had elapsed since the lady's arrival to be
wasted. With Francine's assistance, Mademoiselle de Verneuil had armed
herself with a travelling-dress more dangerous, perhaps, than any
ball-room attire. Its simplicity had precisely that attraction which
comes of the skill with which a woman, handsome enough to wear no
ornaments, reduces her dress to the position of a secondary charm. She
wore a green gown, elegantly cut, the jacket of which, braided and
frogged, defined her figure in a manner that was hardly suitable for a
young girl, allowing her supple waist and rounded bust and graceful
motions to be fully seen. She entered the room smiling, with the
natural amenity of women who can show a fine set of teeth, transparent
as porcelain between rosy lips, and dimpling cheeks as fresh as those
of childhood. Having removed the close hood which had almost concealed
her head at her first meeting with the young sailor, she could now
employ at her ease the various little artifices, apparently so
artless, with which a woman shows off the beauties of her face and the
grace of her head, and attracts admiration for them.
Pages:
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122