She was a member of the Chantal household, and nothing more. But why, on what footing?—She was a tall, thin person, who kept herself in the background, but was not insignificant. They treated her friendly, better than a housekeeper, not so well as a relative. Now, however, on a sudden I grasped some fine distinctions which I had not troubled about before! Madame Chantal said “Perle,” the girls, “Mademoiselle Perle,” and Chantal always called her “Mademoiselle,” though perhaps more respectfully than they did.
I began to consider her.—What was her age? Forty? Yes, forty.—She was not an old maid, she was growing old. This observation suddenly occurred to me. She did her hair, dressed, adorned herself in a ridiculous fashion, yet for all that she was not ridiculous, she had such a simple, natural grace about her, a veiled grace, studiously concealed. What a strange creature, to be sure! Why had I never observed her better? She did her hair in a grotesque fashion, in little, droll, old-fashioned ringlets. Yet under this antiquated Virgin’s hairdressing appeared a broad, calm forehead, scored by two deep wrinkles, two wrinkles of long-continued griefs, then two blue eyes, large and gentle, so timid, so startled, so humble, two beautiful eyes that had remained so innocent; so full of maiden astonishment, of youthful sensations, and also of disappointments that had entered into them and softened without troubling them.
Her whole face was intelligent and discreet, one of those faces which have toned down without being worn out or faded by the fatigues or the great emotions of life.
What a pretty mouth! and what pretty teeth! Yet one would have said that she dared not smile!
And suddenly I compared her with Madame Chantal! Why, to be sure! Mademoiselle Perle was handsomer, a hundred times handsomer, more intelligent, more noble, more dignified.
I was stupefied with the result of my observations. Champagne was poured out. I held my glass towards the queen, and proposed her health in a well-turned compliment. She would have liked, I could see, to hide her face in her napkin. Then, as she dipped her lips in the clear wine, every one cried, “The queen drinks, the queen drinks!” At that she blushed all over and choked; but I could see that she was greatly beloved in that house.
III
As soon as dinner was over, Chantal took me by the arm. It was the hour for his cigar, a sacred hour. When he was alone, he went out to smoke it in the street; when he had any one to dinner, they went up to the billiard-room, and he smoked as he played. This evening they had even lighted a fire in the billiard-room in honour of Twelfth-night, and my old friend took his cue, a very thin cue, which he chalked with great care, then he said:
“You lead off, my boy!”
For he always called me “my boy,” in spite of my five-and-twenty years; but then he had seen me when I was a baby.