The costumes and stuffs of
the latest fashion spread out their dazzling attractions in the shop
windows without claiming her attention; on, on she goes like the
faithful animal who follows the invisible tracks of his master; she is
deaf to all compliments, blind to all glances, insensible even to the
light touch of the crowd, which is inevitable amid the circulation of
Parisian humanity. Oh, how deeply she feels the value of a minute! Her
gait, her toilet, the expression of her face, involve her in a
thousand indiscretions, but oh, what a ravishing picture she presents
to the idler, and what an ominous page for the eye of a husband to
read, is the face of this woman when she returns from the secret place
of rendezvous in which her heart ever dwells! Her happiness is
impressed even on the unmistakable disarray of her hair, the mass of
whose wavy tresses has not received from the broken comb of the
celibate that radiant lustre, that elegant and well-proportioned
adjustment which only the practiced hand of her maid can give. And
what charming ease appears in her gait! How is it possible to describe
the emotion which adds such rich tints to her complexion!--which robs
her eyes of all their assurance and gives to them an expression of
mingled melancholy and delight, of shame which is yet blended with
pride!
These observations, stolen from our Meditation, _Of the Last
Symptoms_, and which are really suggested by the situation of a woman
who tries to conceal everything, may enable you to divine by analogy
the rich crop of observation which is left for you to harvest when
your wife arrives home, or when, without having committed the great
crime she innocently lets out the secrets of her thoughts.
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