Then, dear, there is a harmony running through all.  What a gait! what a voice!  We have not forgotten how our grandmother’s skirts fell into place without a touch.  In a word, I am lovely and charming.  When the mood comes, I can laugh one of our good old laughs, and no one will think the less of me; the dimples, impressed by Comedy’s light fingers on my fair cheeks, will command respect.  Or I can let my eyes fall and my heart freeze under my snowy brows.  I can pose as a Madonna with melancholy, swan-like neck, and the painters’ virgins will be nowhere; my place in heaven would be far above them.  A man would be forced to chant when he spoke to me.

So, you see, my panoply is complete, and I can run the whole gamut of coquetry from deepest bass to shrillest treble.  It is a huge advantage not to be all of one piece.  Now, my mother is neither playful nor virginal.  Her only attitude is an imposing one; when she ceases to be majestic, she is ferocious.  It is difficult for her to heal the wounds she makes, whereas I can wound and heal together.  We are absolutely unlike, and therefore there could not possibly be rivalry between us, unless indeed we quarreled over the greater or less perfection of our extremities, which are similar.  I take after my father, who is shrewd and subtle.  I have the manner of my grandmother and her charming voice, which becomes falsetto when forced, but is a sweet-toned chest voice at the ordinary pitch of a quiet talk.

I feel as if I had left the convent to-day for the first time.  For society I do not yet exist; I am unknown to it.  What a ravishing moment!  I still belong only to myself, like a flower just blown, unseen yet of mortal eye.

In spite of this, my sweet, as I paced the drawing-room during my self-inspection, and saw the poor cast-off school-clothes, a queer feeling came over me.  Regret for the past, anxiety about the future, fear of society, a long farewell to the pale daisies which we used to pick and strip of their petals in light-hearted innocence, there was something of all that; but strange, fantastic visions also rose, which I crushed back into the inner depths, whence they had sprung, and whither I dared not follow them.

My Renee, I have a regular trousseau!  It is all beautifully laid away and perfumed in the cedar-wood drawers with lacquered front of my charming dressing-table.  There are ribbons, shoes, gloves, all in lavish abundance.  My father has kindly presented me with the pretty gewgaws a girl loves—­a dressing-case, toilet service, scent-box, fan, sunshade, prayer-book, gold chain, cashmere shawl.  He has also promised to give me riding lessons.  And I can dance!  To-morrow, yes, to-morrow evening, I come out!

My dress is white muslin, and on my head I wear a garland of white roses in Greek style.  I shall put on my Madonna face; I mean to play the simpleton, and have all the women on my side.  My mother is miles away from any idea of what I write to you.  She believes me quite destitute of mind, and would be dumfounded if she read my letter.  My brother honors me with a profound contempt, and is uniformly and politely indifferent.