Dress, that splendid poesy of the feminine life, unknown
or exhausted by her, appeared to her eyes endowed with a magic
hitherto unperceived. It suddenly became clear to her what it is to
most women, the manifestation of an inward thought, a language, a
symbol. How many enjoyments in a toilet arranged to please _him_, to
do _him_ honor! She gave herself up ingenuously to all those gracefully
charming things in which so many Parisian women spend their lives, and
which give such significance to all that we see about them, and in
them, and on them. Few women go to milliners and dressmakers for their
own pleasure and interest. When old they never think of adornment. The
next time you meet in the street a young woman stopping for a moment
to look into a shop-window, examine her face carefully. "Will he think
I look better in that?" are the words written on that fair brow, in
the eyes sparkling with hope, in the smile that flickers on the lips.
Lady Dudley's ball took place on a Saturday night. On the following
Monday the countess went to the Opera, feeling certain of seeing
Raoul, who was, in fact, watching for her on one of the stairways
leading down to the stalls. With what delight did she observe the
unwonted care he had bestowed upon his clothes. This despiser of the
laws of elegance had brushed and perfumed his hair; his waistcoat
followed the fashion, his cravat was well tied, the bosom of his shirt
was irreproachably smooth.
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