Those lessons—­those excursions which took her abroad in all weathers, though with praiseworthy and serious motives, into the fashionable parts of Paris, from which she had exiled herself by her own will—­were greatly enjoyed by Jacqueline.  Everything amused her, being seen from a point of view in which she had never before contemplated it.  She seemed to be at a play, all personal interests forgotten for the moment, looking at the world of which she was no longer a part with a lively, critical curiosity, without regrets but without cynicism.  The world did not seem to her bad—­only man’s higher instincts had little part in it.  Such, at least, was what she thought, so long as people praised her for her courage, so long as the houses in which another Jacqueline de Nailles had been once so brilliant, received her with affection as before, though she had to leave in an anteroom her modest waterproof or wet umbrella.  They were even more kind and cordial to her than ever, unless an exaggerated cordiality be one form of impertinence.  But the enthusiasm bestowed on splendid instances of energy in certain circles, to which after all such energy is a reproach, is superficial, and not being genuine is sure not to last long.  Some people said that Jacqueline’s staid manners were put on for effect, and that she was only attempting to play a difficult part to which she was not suited; others blamed her for not being up to concert-pitch in matters of social interest.  The first time she felt the pang of exclusion was at Madame d’Avrigny’s, who was at the same moment overwhelming her with expressions of regard.  In the first place, she could see that the little family dinner to which she had been so kindly invited was attended by so many guests that her deep mourning seemed out of place among them.  Then Madame d’Avrigny would make whispered explanations, which Jacqueline was conscious of, and which were very painful to her.  Such words as:  “Old friend of the family;” “Is giving music lessons to my daughter;” fell more than once upon her ear, followed by exclamations of “Poor thing!” “So courageous!” “Chivalric sentiments!” Of course, everyone added that they excused her toilette.  Then when she tried to escape such remarks by wearing a new gown, Dolly, who was always a little fool (there is no cure for that infirmity) cried out in a tone such as she never would have dared to use in the days when Jacqueline was a model of elegance:  “Oh, how fine you are!” Then again, Madame d’Avrigny, notwithstanding the good manners on which she prided herself, could not conceal that the obligation of sending home the recluse to the ends of the earth, at a certain hour, made trouble with her servants, who were put out of their way.  Jacqueline seized on this pretext to propose to give up the Monday music-lesson, and after some polite hesitation her offer was accepted, evidently to Madame d’Avrigny’s relief.