nothing else, Jacqueline felt herself half naked, though she was buttoned up to her throat.  She had taken an attitude on her wooden horse such as might have been envied by an accomplished equestrienne, her elbows held well back, her shoulders down, her chest expanded, her right leg over the pommel, her left foot in the stirrup, and never after did any real gallop give her the same delight as this imaginary ride on an imaginary horse, she looking at herself with entire satisfaction all the time in an enormous cheval-glass.

     ETEXT editor’s bookmarks: 

     Great interval between a dream and its execution
     Music—­so often dangerous to married happiness
     Old women—­at least thirty years old! 
     Seldom troubled himself to please any one he did not care for
     Small women ought not to grow stout
     Sympathetic listening, never having herself anything to say
     The bandage love ties over the eyes of men
     Waste all that upon a thing that nobody will ever look at
     Women who are thirty-five should never weep

JACQUELINE

By THERESE BENTZON (MME. BLANC)

BOOK 2.

CHAPTER VII

THE BLUE BAND

Love, like any other human malady, should be treated according to the age and temperament of the sufferer.  Madame de Nailles, who was a very keen observer, especially where her own interests were concerned, lent herself with the best possible grace to everything that might amuse and distract Jacqueline, of whom she had by this time grown afraid.  Not that she now dreaded her as a rival.  The attitude of coldness and reserve that the young girl had adopted in her intercourse with Marien, her stepmother could see, was no evidence of coquetry.  She showed, in her behavior to the friend of the family, a freedom from embarrassment which was new to her, and a frigidity which could not possibly have been assumed so persistently.  No! what struck Madame de Nailles was the suddenness of this transformation.  Jacqueline evidently took no further interest in Marien; she had apparently no longer any affection for herself—­she, who had been once her dear little mamma, whom she had loved so tenderly, now felt herself to be considered only as a stepmother.  Fraulein Schult, too, received no more confidences.  What did it all mean?

Had Jacqueline, through any means, discovered a secret, which, in her hands, might be turned into a most dangerous weapon?  She had a way of saying before the guilty pair:  “Poor papa!” with an air of pity, as she kissed him, which made Madame de Nailles’s flesh creep, and sometimes she would amuse herself by making ambiguous remarks which shot arrows of suspicion into a heart already afraid.  “I feel sure,” thought the Baroness, “that she has found out everything.  But, no! it seems impossible.  How can I discover what she knows?”