In her person, however, this lady of the fifth story did no discredit to her portrait. She had white and delicate hands, which from time to time she rubbed together, as if to endeavor to put some warmth into them; her foot also, which was encased in a rather coquettish velvet slipper, was small and pretty.
The wind whistled through all the old doors, and penetrated the crevices of the shaking windows; and the old servant kept glancing sadly towards the empty grate. Her lady continued her occupation, talking aloud as she did so.
“Madame de Misery,” she murmured; “first lady of the bedchamber to her majesty—I cannot expect more than six louis from her, for she has already given to me once.” And she sighed. “Madame Patrick, lady’s-maid to her majesty, two louis; M. d’Ormesson, an audience; M. de Calonne, some good advice, M. de Rohan, a visit; at least, we will try to induce him,” said she, smiling at the thought. “Well, then, I think I may hope for eight louis within a week.” Then, looking up, “Dame Clotilde,” she said, “snuff this candle.”
The old woman did as she was bid, and then resumed her place. This kind of inquisition seemed to annoy the young lady, for she said, “Pray go and look if you cannot find the end of a wax candle for me; this tallow is odious.”
“There is none,” replied the old woman.
“But just look.”
“Where?”
“In the ante-chamber.”
“It is so cold there.”
“There is some one ringing,” said the young lady.