My mother lives in a suite on the ground floor, exactly corresponding
to mine, and in the same block. I am just over her head, and the same
secret staircase serves for both. My father's rooms are in the block
opposite, but are larger by the whole of the space occupied by the
grand staircase on our side of the building. These ancestral mansions
are so spacious, that my father and mother continue to occupy the
ground-floor rooms, in spite of the social duties which have once more
devolved on them with the return of the Bourbons, and are even able to
receive in them.
I found my mother, dressed for the evening, in her drawing-room, where
nothing is changed. I came slowly down the stairs, speculating with
every step how I should be met by this mother who had shown herself so
little of a mother to me, and from whom, during eight years, I had
heard nothing beyond the two letters of which you know. Judging it
unworthy to simulate an affection I could not possibly feel, I put on
the air of a pious imbecile, and entered the room with many inward
qualms, which however soon disappeared. My mother's tack was equal to
the occasion. She made no pretence of emotion; she neither held me at
arm's-length nor hugged me to her bosom like a beloved daughter, but
greeted me as though we had parted the evening before. Her manner was
that of the kindliest and most sincere friend, as she addressed me
like a grown person, first kissing me on the forehead.
"My dear little one," she said, "if you were to die at the convent, it
is much better to live with your family. You frustrate your father's
plans and mine; but the age of blind obedience to parents is past. M.
de Chaulieu's intention, and in this I am quite at one with him, is to
lose no opportunity of making your life pleasant and of letting you
see the world. At your age I should have thought as you do, therefore
I am not vexed with you; it is impossible you should understand what
we expected from you. You will not find any absurd severity in me; and
if you have ever thought me heartless, you will soon find out your
mistake. Still, though I wish you to feel perfectly free, I think
that, to begin with, you would do well to follow the counsels of a
mother, who wishes to be a sister to you."
I was quite charmed by the Duchess, who talked in a gentle voice,
straightening my convent tippet as she spoke. At the age of
thirty-eight she is still exquisitely beautiful. She has dark-blue eyes,
with silken lashes, a smooth forehead, and a complexion so pink and
white that you might think she paints. Her bust and shoulders are
marvelous, and her waist is as slender as yours. Her hand is milk-white
and extraordinarily beautiful; the nails catch the light in their
perfect polish, the thumb is like ivory, the little finger stands just
a little apart from the rest, and the foot matches the hand; it is the
Spanish foot of Mlle. de Vandenesse. If she is like this at forty, at
sixty she will still be a beautiful woman.