Sometimes she wore so-called laced shoes, sometimes buttoned ones. However, most of the time they were neither laced nor buttoned. Whether she wore black stockings with large holes in them or soiled white ones, they were constantly coming down. It was a perpetual joy to the girls to see her reach down, casually, to haul the slipping stocking back into place. As Madame sat at a small table in the center of the class room, with the girls on a long bench against the wall, this amusing operation, though it took place beneath the table, was always plainly visible.
Buttons were missing from her tight-fitting black frock, showing many hued undergarments not supposed to be seen. Bits of ragged petticoats always dangled below the bottom of her skirt. Her neck, her ears and her finger nails were visibly dirty.
Madame’s face, however, was quite a different matter. Her shapely countenance, from ear to ear, from brow to chin, was carefully plastered with powder, her cheeks and lips were rouged and a dab of blue decorated each eyelid. But, with the exception of her rather handsome face, her whole person was woefully neglected.
As a horrible example, Madame proved decidedly useful. No girl could look upon that lady and fail to bathe. No girl could note that lady’s dangling petticoats of green or cerise silk or soiled white cotton with torn lace and fail to fasten her own neat underskirt securely into place. Even Mabel, it was noticed, began at once to take pains to braid her own troublesome locks more tidily.
“It isn’t because she’s poor,” said Henrietta. “I’ve seen lots of poor people right in France and most of them are just as neat as wax; and so clever about making the most of what they have. And it isn’t because she doesn’t have time to mend her clothes or to bathe or wash her hair. She has all her afternoons and evenings, except when she has papers to correct—that doesn’t take so very much of her time.”
“She’s just naturally that way,” said Anne Blodgett, sagely.
“She bathes in perfume,” explained Sallie.
“It’s the one thing she does bathe in,” breathed Anne.
“Well,” laughed Sallie, “she has enough to fill a small bathtub. There are ten bottles on her dresser and you know how horribly she smells of the stuff. Isn’t she just awful! She never makes her bed or hangs up her clothes and she smokes cigarettes—they’re all over the place. She doesn’t even do that like a lady.”
“Oh, she isn’t a lady,” said Henrietta. “Was she here last year?”