d never forgive an offence
when woman's vanity and self-love, with all that was best in her nature
perhaps, had been slighted, wounded in secret. Insult and injury in the
face of the world a woman loves to forget; there is a way open to her of
showing herself great; she is a woman in her forgiveness; but a secret
offence women never pardon; for secret baseness, as for hidden virtues
and hidden love, they have no kindness.

This was Mme la Duchesse de Langeais' real position, unknown to the
world. She herself did not reflect upon it. It was the time of the
rejoicings over the Duc de Berri's marriage. The Court and the Faubourg
roused itself from its listlessness and reserve. This was the real
beginning of that unheard-of splendour which the Government of the
Restoration carried too far. At that time the Duchess, whether for
reasons of her own, or from vanity, never appeared in public without a
following of women equally distinguished by name and fortune. As queen
of fashion she had her _dames d'atours_, her ladies, who modeled their
manner and their wit on hers. They had been cleverly chosen. None of her
satellites belonged to the inmost Court circle, nor to the highest
level of the Faubourg Saint-Germain; but they had set their minds upon
admission to those inner sanctuaries. Being as yet simple denominations,
they wished to rise to the neighbourhood of the throne, and mingle with
the seraphic powers in the high sphere known as _le petit chateau_. Thus
surrounded, the Duchess's position was stronger and more commanding and
secure. Her "ladies" defended her character and helped her to play her
detestable part of a woman of fashion. She could laugh at men at her
ease, play with fire, receive the homage on which the feminine nature is
nourished, and remain mistress of herself.

At Paris, in the highest society of all, a woman is a woman still; she
lives on incense, adulation, and honours. No beauty, however undoubted,
no face, however fair, is anything without admiration. Flattery and
a lover are proofs of power. And what is power without recognition?
Nothing. If the prettiest of women were left alone in a corner of a
drawing-room, she would droop. Put her in the very centre and summit of
social grandeur, she will at once aspire to reign over all hearts--often
because it is out of her power to be the happy queen of one. Dress and
manner and coquetry are all meant to please one of the poorest creatures
extant--the brainles