heeks.
The throng of jealous and hateful sentiments, which inspired her with
regard to Adrienne, had so troubled the clearness of her ordinarily calm
judgment, that, instead of the plain and quiet style, in which, as a
woman of tact and taste, she was generally attired, she now committed
the folly of wearing a dress of changing hues, and a crimson hat,
adorned with a magnificent bird of paradise. Hate, envy, the pride of
triumph--for she thought of the skillful perfidy with which she had
sent to almost certain death the daughters of Marshal Simon--and the
execrable hope of succeeding in new plots, were all expressed in the
countenance of the Princess de Saint-Dizier, as she entered her niece's
apartment.

Without advancing to meet her aunt, Adrienne rose politely from the sofa
on which she was seated, made a half-curtsey, full of grace and dignity,
and immediately resumed her former posture. Then, pointing to an arm
chair near the fireplace, at one corner of which sat Mother Bunch, and
she herself at the other, she said: "Pray sit down, your highness."
The princess turned very red, remained standing, and cast a disdainful
glance of insolent surprise at the sempstress, who, in compliance with
Adrienne's wish, only bowed slightly at the entrance of the Princess de
Saint-Dizier, without offering to give up her place. In acting thus, the
young sempstress followed the dictates of her conscience, which told her
that the real superiority did not belong to this base, hypocritical, and
wicked princess, but rather to such a person as herself, the admirable
and devoted friend.

"Let me beg your highness to sit down," resumed Adrienne, in a mild
tone, as she pointed to the vacant chair.

"The interview I have demanded, niece," said the princess "must be a
private one."

"I have no secrets, madame, from my best friend; you may speak in the
presence of this young lady."

"I have long known," replied Madame de Saint-Dizier, with bitter irony,
"that in all things you care little for secrecy, and that you are easy
in the choice of what you call your friends. But you will permit me to
act differently from you. If you have no secrets, madame, I have--and I
do not choose to confide them to the first comer."

So saying, the pious lady glanced contemptuously at the sempstress. The
latter, hurt at the insolent tone of the princess, answered mildly and
simply:

"I do not see what can be the great difference between the first and the