It was a very young and petite lady, whose perfectly developed form predicted an inclination to stoutness in the future.  She belonged to the Bergenheim family, if one could credit the resemblance between her characteristic features and several of the old portraits in the room; she wore a dark-brown riding-habit, a gray hat perched on one side, showing on the left a mass of very curly, bright blond hair.  This coiffure and the long green veil, floating at each movement like the plume in a helmet, gave a singularly easy air to the fresh face of this pretty amazon, who brandished, in guise of a lance, a billiard cue.

“Clemence,” she exclaimed, “I have just beaten Christian; I made the red ball, I made the white, and then the double stroke; I made all!  Mademoiselle, I have just beaten Christian two games; is it not glorious?  He made only eighteen points in a single game.  Pere Rousselet, I have just beaten Christian!  Do you know how to play billiards?”

“Mademoiselle Aline, I am absolutely ignorant of the game,” replied the old man, with as gracious a smile as was possible, while he tried to recover his equilibrium.

“You are needed no longer, Rousselet,” said Mademoiselle de Corandeuil; “close the door as you go out.”

When she had been obeyed, the old maid turned gravely toward Aline, who was still dancing about the room, having seized her sister-in-law’s hands in order to force her to share her childish joy.

“Mademoiselle,” said she in a severe tone, “is it the custom at the ‘Sacred Heart’ to enter a room without greeting the persons who are in it, and to jump about like a crazy person? a thing that is never permitted even in a peasant’s house.”

Aline stopped short in the midst of her dance and blushed a trifle; she caressed the pug dog, instead of replying, for she knew as well as Rousselet that it was the surest way of softening the old maid’s heart.  The cajolery was lost this time.

“Do not touch Constance, I beg of you,” exclaimed the aunt, as if a dagger had been raised against the object of her love, “do not soil this poor beast with your hands.  What dreadful thing have you on your fingers?  Have you just come out of an indigo bag?”

The young girl blushed still deeper and gazed at her pretty hands, which were really a little daubed, and began to wipe them with an embroidered handkerchief which she took from her pocket.

“It was the billiards,” she said, in a low voice, “it is the blue chalk they rub the cue with in order to make good shots and caroms.”

“Make good shots!  Caroms!  Will you be so good as to spare us your slang speeches,” continued Mademoiselle de Corandeuil, who seemed to become more crabbed as the young girl’s confusion increased.  “What a fine education for a young lady! and one who has just come from the ’Sacred Heart’!  One that has taken five prizes not fifteen days ago!  I really do not know what to think of those ladies, your teachers!  And now I suppose you are going to ride.  Billiards and horses, horses and billiards!  It is fine!  It is admirable!”