ver show herself,
nor receive any company, before she felt quite settled in her home and
had thoroughly studied the inhabitants, and, above all, her taciturn
husband. When, one spring morning in 1825, pretty Madame de la Baudraye
was first seen walking on the Mall in a blue velvet dress, with her
mother in black velvet, there was quite an excitement in Sancerre. This
dress confirmed the young woman's reputation for superiority, brought
up, as she had been, in the capital of Le Berry. Every one was afraid
lest in entertaining this phoenix of the Department, the conversation
should not be clever enough; and, of course, everybody was constrained
in the presence of Madame de la Baudraye, who produced a sort of terror
among the woman-folk. As they admired a carpet of Indian shawl-pattern
in the La Baudraye drawing-room, a Pompadour writing-table carved and
gilt, brocade window curtains, and a Japanese bowl full of flowers on
the round table among a selection of the newest books; when they heard
the fair Dinah playing at sight, without making the smallest demur
before seating herself at the piano, the idea they conceived of her
superiority assumed vast proportions. That she might never allow herself
to become careless or the victim of bad taste, Dinah had determined to
keep herself up to the mark as to the fashions and latest developments
of luxury by an active correspondence with Anna Grossetete, her bosom
friend at Mademoiselle Chamarolles' school.

Anna, thanks to a fine fortune, had married the Comte de Fontaine's
third son. Thus those ladies who visited at La Baudraye were perpetually
piqued by Dinah's success in leading the fashion; do what they would,
they were always behind, or, as they say on the turf, distanced.

While all these trifles gave rise to malignant envy in the ladies of
Sancerre, Dinah's conversation and wit engendered absolute aversion.
In her ambition to keep her mind on the level of Parisian brilliancy,
Madame de la Baudraye allowed no vacuous small talk in her presence, no
old-fashioned compliments, no pointless remarks; she would never endure
the yelping of tittle-tattle, the backstairs slander which forms the
staple of talk in the country. She liked to hear of discoveries in
science or art, or the latest pieces at the theatres, the newest poems,
and by airing the cant words of the day she made a show of uttering
thoughts.

The Abbe Duret, Cure of Sancerre, an old man of a lost type of clergy
in F