She pulled back the curtain again and peeped out, the Seine was now behind them, and they were going up la rue de la Mortellerie. Soon she would be in the clutches of Madame Cornuel, and then there would be no escape. Should she jump out of the sedan, or tell the porters to take her home? She longed to; but if she did, how was she to face the future? And what ingratitude it would be for the exquisite tact with which the gods had manipulated her meeting with Sappho! the porters swung on and on, and Madeleine leaned back and closed her eyes, hypnotised by the inevitable.
The shafts of the sedan were put down with a jerk, and Madeleine started up and shuddered. One of the porters came to the window. ‘Rue Saint-Antoine, Mademoiselle.’ Madeleine gave him a coin to divide with his companion, opened the door, and walked into the court. Madame Cornuel’s coach was standing waiting before the door.
She walked in and was shown by a valet into an ante-room. She sat down, and began mechanically repeating her litany. Suddenly, there was a rich rustle of taffeta, the door opened, and in swept a very handsomely-dressed young woman. Madeleine knew that it must be Mademoiselle le Gendre, the daughter of Monsieur Cornuel’s first wife. In a flash Madeleine took in the elegant continence of her toilette. While Madeleine had seven patches on her face, she had only three. Her hair was exquisitely neat, and she was only slightly scented, while her deep, plain collar à la Régente, gave an air of puritanic severity to the bright, cherry-coloured velvet of her bodice. Also, she was not nearly as décolletée as Madeleine.
Madeleine felt that all of a sudden her petite-oie had lost both its decorative and magical virtue and had become merely incongruous gawds on the patent shabbiness of her gown. For some reason there flashed through her head the words she had heard at the Fair: ‘As if all the purple and fine linen of Solomon himself could add an ounce of comeliness to his antic, foolish face.’
‘Mademoiselle Troqueville? My step-mother awaits us in the coach, will you come?’ said the lady. Her manner was haughty and unfriendly. Madeleine realised without a pang that it would all be like this. But after all, nothing in this dull reality really mattered.
‘Bestir yourself! ’Tis time we were away!’ shouted a voice from the carrosse. Mademoiselle le Gendre told Madeleine to get in.
‘Mademoiselle Troqueville? I am glad to make your acquaintance—pray get in and take the back seat opposite me.’ Madeleine humbly obeyed, indifferent to what in her imaginings she would have looked upon as an unforgivable insult, the putting her in the back seat.
‘Hôtel de Rambouillet,’ Madame Cornuel said to a lackey, who was waiting for orders at the window. The words left Madeleine quite cold.
Madame Cornuel and her step-daughter did not think it necessary to talk to Madeleine. They exchanged little remarks with each other at intervals, and laughed at allusions which she could not catch.