"Yes. I advise you to think of something else, baron."
Frédérique threw her red handkerchief on the table, then ran again to the mirror, took a little comb from the pocket of her gown, and in an instant entirely rearranged her coiffure. She selected a beautiful white rose, put it in her hair, made curls much longer than before, and gave herself the aspect of one of those charming English faces of Lawrence, which have been freely reproduced in engravings, and which one cannot look at without the reflection that one would be very fortunate to possess the model.
A most extraordinary woman, this Madame Dauberny! How far I had been from imagining her as she then was! What a captivating succession of moods! First, a very madcap, laughing uproariously; then, of a sudden, serious, almost melancholy, stern even; free in her actions, reserved in her speech; one moment assuming the tone and manners of a man; then abruptly recurring to the graces and dainty ways of a woman! I was still uncertain what opinion to form of her; but the one thing of which I could entertain no doubt was her perfect frankness; I was perfectly certain that she never had any hesitation about saying exactly what she thought.
"Mirlidon, don, don, mirlidaine!" hummed the baron, between his teeth.
Frédérique resumed her place at the table, looked me squarely in the eye, and said:
"Well, comrade, what do you think of this arrangement of the hair? But, first of all, my dear fellow, be assured that there isn't the slightest coquetry in all this! It amuses me to vary my headdress, to give myself a serious, saucy, romantic, harum-scarum look, turn and turn about. I would have liked to be an actress, so that I might have changed my rôle constantly. Sometimes I am as much of a child as when I was twelve years old; but, I repeat, I don't do all this to make myself attractive; it is only to amuse myself."
"Suppose you were coquettish, where would be the harm? You are entitled to be."
"I know it, and that's just why I am not. Still, perhaps I am, unconsciously. They say one doesn't know one's self. Why don't you tell me how I look?"
"Because I am at a loss what to say. You were more alluring a moment ago. Now, your aspect inclines one more to reverie, which, I think, is more dangerous."
"And you, baron—what do you think of my new coiffure?"