“No, no, it would embarrass me,” she said.
The Duchess embraced her, and examined her with all the interest of a connoisseur.
“Look me in the face, my child,” she said. “Yes, you have exactly the same expression as your mother; you won't be so bad by-and-by, when you have acquired more polish. And you must grow a little plumper—not very much, but a little. You are very thin.”
“Oh, don't say that!” exclaimed the Countess.
“Why not?”
“It is so nice to be slender. I intend to reduce myself at once.”
But Madame de Mortemain took offense, forgetting in her anger the presence of a young girl.
“Oh, of course, you are all in favor of bones, because you can dress them better than flesh. For my part, I belong to the generation of fat women! To-day is the day of thin ones. They make me think of the lean kine of Egypt. I cannot understand how men can admire your skeletons. In my time they demanded more!”
She subsided amid the smiles of the company, but added, turning to Annette:
“Look at your mamma, little one; she does very well; she has attained the happy medium—imitate her.”