which it secretly
imposes on our temperament. The harmony of furniture, walls, the style of
an ensemble, act immediately on our mental state, just as the air from
the woods, the sea or the mountains modifies our physical natures.

I sat down on a cushion-covered divan and felt myself suddenly carried
and supported by these little silk bags of feathers, as if the outline of
my body had been marked out beforehand on this couch.

Then I looked about. There was nothing striking about the room;
every-where were beautiful and modest things, simple and rare furniture,
Oriental curtains which did not seem to come from a department store but
from the interior of a harem; and exactly opposite me hung the portrait
of a woman. It was a portrait of medium size, showing the head and the
upper part of the body, and the hands, which were holding a book. She was
young, bareheaded; ribbons were woven in her hair; she was smiling sadly.
Was it because she was bareheaded, was it merely her natural expression?
I never have seen a portrait of a lady which seemed so much in its place
as that one in that dwelling. Of all those I knew I have seen nothing
like that one. All those that I know are on exhibition, whether the lady
be dressed in her gaudiest gown, with an attractive headdress and a look
which shows that she is posing first of all before the artist and then
before those who will look at her or whether they have taken a
comfortable attitude in an ordinary gown. Some are standing majestically
in all their beauty, which is not at all natural to them in life. All of
them have something, a flower or, a jewel, a crease in the dress or a
curve of the lip, which one feels to have been placed there for effect by
the artist. Whether they wear a hat or merely their hair one can
immediately notice that they are not entirely natural. Why? One cannot
say without knowing them, but the effect is there. They seem to be
calling somewhere, on people whom they wish to please and to whom they
wish to appear at their best advantage; and they have studied their
attitudes, sometimes modest, Sometimes haughty.

What could one say about this one? She was at home and alone. Yes, she
was alone, for she was smiling as one smiles when thinking in solitude of
something sad or sweet, and not as one smiles when one is being watched.
She seemed so much alone and so much at home that she made the whole
large apartment seem absolutely empty. She alone lived in it, fill