In the evening they would make up again, and
amidst laughter which resounded louder than ever,
Celestine's voice would bawl out:
"I should say the Countess was a rude slut!"
One day Juliette said to me:
"Your little wifie has nothing to put on. She is as naked as a new born child, the poor thing!"
And so there were new visits to the dressmaker's, to the milliner's, to the linen shop; and she again became gay, vivacious, affectionate. The shadow of boredom which had crossed her countenance disappeared. . . . In the midst of materials, laces, among plumes and gewgaws, her whole being expanded and shone forth. Her tender fingers experienced a physical delight in handling satin, in touching crepe, in stroking velvet, in losing themselves in the milky white waves of fine batiste. The smallest piece of silk, when she draped it into something, at once assumed the pretty appearance of a living thing; out of braid and lace trimmings she could draw the most exquisite harmonies. Although I was very much alarmed by these expensive whims, I could not refuse Juliette anything, and I abandoned myself to the joy of seeing her so happy, to the delight of seeing her so charming her, whose beauty rendered all inanimate objects about her beautiful, her, who put the breath of gracious life into everything she touched!
For more than a month packages and strange cases were being delivered to us every evening. . . . Dresses followed dresses, hats followed cloaks, umbrellas and embroidered chemises; the most expensive linens accumulated in heaps and filled all the drawers, presses, wardrobes.
"You see, my dear," Juliette explained to me, discerning amazement in my glance. "You see I did not have anything. . . . This is all I need. From now
