“But, Mademoiselle,” said Aline, raising her large blue eyes, which were on the verge of tears, “it is vacation now, and there is no wrong in my playing a game of billiards with my brother; we have no billiards at the ‘Sacred Heart,’ and it is such fun!  It is like riding; the doctor said that it would be very healthful for me, and Christian hoped that it might make me grow a little.”

As she said these words, the young girl glanced into the mirror in order to see whether her brother’s hopes had been realized; for her small stature was her sole anxiety.  But this glance was as quick as a flash, for she feared that the severe old maid would make this act of coquetry serve as the text for another sermon.

“You are not my niece, and I am thankful for it,” continued the old lady.  “I am too old to begin another education; thank goodness, one is quite enough!  I have no authority over you, and your conduct is your brother’s concern.  The advice which I give you is entirely disinterested; your amusements are not such as seem to me proper for a young girl of good birth.  It may be possible that it is the fashion today, so I will say no more about it; but there is one thing more serious, upon which I should advise you to reflect.  In my youth, a young lady never was allowed to write letters except to her father and mother.  Your letters to your cousin d’Artigues are inconsiderate—­do not interrupt me—­they are inconsiderate, and I should advise you to mend your ways.”

Mademoiselle de Corandeuil arose, and, as she had found an opportunity to read three sermons in one forenoon, she could not say, like Titus, “I have wasted my morning.”  She left the room with a majestic step, escorted by her dog and satisfied with herself, bestowing an ironical curtsey on the young girl, which the latter did not think it necessary to return.

“How hateful your aunt is!” exclaimed Mademoiselle de Bergenheim to her sister-in-law, when they were alone.  “Christian says that I must pay no attention to her, because all women become like her if they never marry.  As for myself, I know very well that if I am an old maid I shall try not to hurt others’ feelings—­I, inconsiderate!  When she can think of nothing more to say, she scolds me about my cousin.  It is hardly worth while, for what we write about!  Alphonse wrote of nothing, in his last letter, but of the partridge he had shot and his hunting costume; he is such a boy!  But why do you not say something?  You sit there speechless; are you angry with me, too?”

She approached Clemence and was about to seat herself in her lap, when the latter arose to avoid this loving familiarity.

“So you really have beaten Christian,” said she, in a listless tone; “are you going for a ride now?  Your habit is very becoming.”

“Truly? oh!  I am so glad!” replied the young girl, planting herself before the glass to look at her pretty figure.  She pulled down her waist, adjusted the folds of the skirt of her dress and arranged her veil, placed her hat on her head with a little more jaunty air, turned three quarters around to get a better view of her costume; in one word, she went through the coquettish movements that all pretty women learn upon entering society.  On the whole, she seemed very well pleased with her examination, for she smiled and showed a row of small teeth which were as white as milk.