"Oh, well, that's something at any rate."
"Sit down," said Bijou, pushing Mademoiselle Dubuisson into a cosy arm-chair.
Jeanne sat down, and looked round at the pretty room. The walls were hung with pale pink cretonne, with a design of large white poppies. The ceiling, too, was pink, and the Louis Seize furniture was lacquered pink. There were flowers everywhere, in strange-shaped glass vases, and the air was laden with a delicious, penetrating perfume, a mixture of chypre, iris, and a scent like new-mown hay.
Jeanne inhaled this perfume with delight.
"What do you put in your room to make it smell like this?" she asked.
"Does it smell of something? I do not smell anything—anyhow, I don't use scent for it," answered Bijou, sniffing the air around her with all her might.
"Oh! why, that's incredible!" exclaimed Jeanne astounded. "But do you mean truly that you do not put anything at all to scent your room?"
"Absolutely nothing."
Denyse was moving about, getting everything she required before changing her dress. She was not long in putting on her habit, and as she stood before the long glass, putting a few finishing touches to her toilette, Jeanne could not help admiring her.
"How well it fits you!" she said. "It looks as though it had been moulded on you—it really is perfection! And then, too, you have such a pretty figure!"