men
wear; cutting off the flowered borders, she had joined them together and
made a deep hem which she had sewn on her dark blue linen skirt. The
corsage was cut down at the back, and the front she had cut out in a deep
V shape, showing her creamy neck and the gentle rise of her breast. A
poor garment indeed, but the kerchiefs had been carefully collected, and
were all of the same delicate pink colour, and she had further softened
the lines round the contour of her neck by a folded white kerchief. At
her bosom she had fastened a spray of apple-blossom, and the petals
leaning against her white skin were not more delicate, more divinely
young than her breast. She looked like a blossom herself as the sunlight
touched her, and the men round the dinner-table gazed so eagerly at her,
that she knew she must be more beautiful than the ladies of the court,
albeit their gowns were of silk.

No dinner could be dull if Madame de Ruth was there; and Zollern, with
his courtly grace and witty talk, was a host in himself. Reischach was
silent, but his openly admiring looks at Wilhelmine pleased her more than
the phrases of a talkative gallant. As for Graevenitz, he talked loudly,
according to his wont, paying but little heed to the random answers of
Monsieur de Stafforth, who like Reischach was occupied with Wilhelmine.
But, unlike Reischach, Stafforth's admiration, though not so open, had
that touch of coarseness which is so often the mark of the bourgeois'
approval. Madame de Graevenitz, it was evident, entirely disapproved of
Wilhelmine. She was a pretty, colourless devotee, and she felt her
sister-in-law's beauty and obvious fascination to be almost indecorous.
Madame de Ruth chattered as usual, though at moments she paused to
whisper a comment to Zollern, who answered in a low voice by some subtle
irony which caused the lady much amusement. The dinner was very long, and
it was with relief that Wilhelmine saw her hostess rise from the table.
'Coffee in the garden, mes amis! and then Mademoiselle de Graevenitz
shall sing to us. There is a clavichord in the panelled room, and we will
leave the garden door open in order to hear the music. Come, Marie! what
a gloomy face! Why must the pious be gloomy? Lord, girl! forget your sins
for once, or you will exhaust the stock, and then there will be nothing
to repent of. Think, my dear,' she said, turning to Wilhelmine, 'your
sister-in-law is a saint. O Monseigneur, you shake a finger at me! B