Adele, who appeared to be still under the influence of a most solemnising impression, sat down, without a word, on the footstool I pointed out to her.  I retired to a window-seat, and taking a book from a table near, endeavoured to read.  Adele brought her stool to my feet; ere long she touched my knee.

“What is it, Adele?”

“Est-ce que je ne puis pas prendrie une seule de ces fleurs magnifiques, mademoiselle?  Seulement pour completer ma toilette.”

“You think too much of your ‘toilette,’ Adele:  but you may have a flower.”  And I took a rose from a vase and fastened it in her sash.  She sighed a sigh of ineffable satisfaction, as if her cup of happiness were now full.  I turned my face away to conceal a smile I could not suppress:  there was something ludicrous as well as painful in the little Parisienne’s earnest and innate devotion to matters of dress.

A soft sound of rising now became audible; the curtain was swept back from the arch; through it appeared the dining-room, with its lit lustre pouring down light on the silver and glass of a magnificent dessert-service covering a long table; a band of ladies stood in the opening; they entered, and the curtain fell behind them.

There were but eight; yet, somehow, as they flocked in, they gave the impression of a much larger number.  Some of them were very tall; many were dressed in white; and all had a sweeping amplitude of array that seemed to magnify their persons as a mist magnifies the moon.  I rose and curtseyed to them:  one or two bent their heads in return, the others only stared at me.

They dispersed about the room, reminding me, by the lightness and buoyancy of their movements, of a flock of white plumy birds.  Some of them threw themselves in half-reclining positions on the sofas and ottomans:  some bent over the tables and examined the flowers and books:  the rest gathered in a group round the fire:  all talked in a low but clear tone which seemed habitual to them.  I knew their names afterwards, and may as well mention them now.

First, there was Mrs. Eshton and two of her daughters.  She had evidently been a handsome woman, and was well preserved still.  Of her daughters, the eldest, Amy, was rather little:  naive, and child-like in face and manner, and piquant in form; her white muslin dress and blue sash became her well.  The second, Louisa, was taller and more elegant in figure; with a very pretty face, of that order the French term minois chiffone:  both sisters were fair as lilies.

Lady Lynn was a large and stout personage of about forty, very erect, very haughty-looking, richly dressed in a satin robe of changeful sheen:  her dark hair shone glossily under the shade of an azure plume, and within the circlet of a band of gems.

Mrs. Colonel Dent was less showy; but, I thought, more lady-like.  She had a slight figure, a pale, gentle face, and fair hair.  Her black satin dress, her scarf of rich foreign lace, and her pearl ornaments, pleased me better than the rainbow radiance of the titled dame.