“But see, Madame—he has a tail!”
That tail was a morsel that stuck in Dunoisse’s throat. Another thing, as difficult to swallow, was the undeniable, apparent fact of the amiable, even affectionate relations existing between Madame de Roux and her fiery-faced, dyed, bandoliered and corseted mate.... A further, even more indigestible discovery, was, that although the springs of the young bride’s heart had been so early frozen at their sources by etc., etc., the union of the couple had been blessed by children.
Three little girls in pigtails with ribbon bows, and Scotch plaid pelisses, ending in the dreadful frilled-cambric funnels that more adult skirts concealed, and which were known as pantalettes. Happening to come across a daguerreotyped group of these darlings—Henriette had been turning out a drawer in her writing-table—Dunoisse inquired who the children were? And was horribly discomfited at her reply:
“They are mine. Didn’t you know? Do you think them like me?”
They certainly were not like her. Nor did they resemble de Roux. And she kissed the three glassy countenances, and murmured caressingly:
“My treasures!”
Adding, as Dunoisse looked round, uncertain whether the treasures might not appear in answer to this ebullition of maternal tenderness:
“They do not live with us, but with their foster-mother at Bagneres: an excellent person—married to a market-gardener. They had measles when last I heard of them, so of course I cannot go there just now. When they are well again you must see them. Ah! how I hope they will love you!... Dear, what is the matter now?”