Adele，who appeared to be still under the influence of a most solemnising impression，sat down，without a word，on the footstool I pointed out to her. I retired to a window-seat，and taking a book from a table near，endeavoured to read. Adele brought her stool to my feet; ere long she touched my knee.

"What is it，Adele?"

"Est-ce que je ne puis pas prendre une seule de ces fleurs magnifiques，mademoiselle? Seulement pour pleter ma toilette."

"You think too much of your "toilette," Adele: but you may have a flower." And I took a rose from a vase and fastened it in her sash.

She sighed a sigh of ineffable satisfaction，as if her cup of happiness were now full. I turned my face away to conceal a smile I could not suppress: there was something ludicrous as well as painful in the little parisienne"s earnest and innate devotion to matters of dress.

A soft sound of rising now became audible; the curtain was swept back from the arch; through it appeared the dining-room，with its lit lustre pouring down light on the silver and glass of a magnificent dessert-service covering a long table; a band of ladies stood in the opening; they entered，and the curtain fell behind them.

There were but eight; yet，somehow，as they flocked in，they gave the impression of a much larger number. Some of them were very tall; many were dressed in white; and all had a sweeping amplitude of array that seemed to magnify their persons as a mist magnifies the moon. I rose and curtseyed to them: one or two bent their heads in return，the others only stared at me.