sing the exhibition at the neighboring
hippodrome had arrived, visitors came pouring into Madame de Nailles's
reception--tall, graceful women, dressed with taste and elegance, as
befitted ladies who were interested in horsemanship. The tone of the
conversation changed. Nothing was talked about but superb horses, leaps
over ribbons and other obstacles. The young girls interested themselves
in the spring toilettes, which they either praised or criticised as they
passed before their eyes.

"Oh! there is Madame Villegry," cried Jacqueline; "how handsome she is! I
should like one of these days to be that kind of beauty, so tall and
slender. Her waist measure is only twenty-one and two thirds inches. The
woman who makes her corsets and my mamma's told us so. She brought us one
of her corsets to look at, a love of a corset, in brocatelle, all over
many-colored flowers. That material is much more 'distingue' than the old
satin--"

"But what a queer idea it is to waste all that upon a thing that nobody
will ever look at," said Dolly, her round eyes opening wider than before.

"Oh! it is just to please herself, I suppose. I understand that! Besides,
nothing is too good for such a figure. But what I admire most is her
extraordinary hair."

"Which changes its color now and then," observed the sharpest of the
three Wermant sisters. "Extraordinary is just the word for it. At present
it is dark red. Henna did that, I suppose. Raoul--our brother--when he
was in Africa saw Arab women who used henna. They tied their heads up in
a sort of poultice made of little leaves, something like tea-leaves. In
twenty-four hours the hair will be dyed red, and will stay red for a year
or more. You can try it if you like. I think it is disgusting."

"Oh! look, there is Madame de Sternay. I recognized her by her perfume
before I had even seen her. What delightful things good perfumes are!"

"What is it? Is it heliotrope or jessamine?" asked Yvonne d'Etaples,
sniffing in the air.

"No--it is only orris-root--nothing but orris-root; but she puts it
everywhere about her--in the hem of her petticoat, in the lining of her
dress. She lives, one might say, in the middle of a sachet. The thing
that will please me most when I am married will be to have no limit to my
perfumes. Till then I have to satisfy myself with very little," sighed
Jacqueline, drawing a little bunch of violets from the loose folds of her
blouse, and inhaling their fragrance with deli