ver
the dilemma in which we are placed by these troublesome plates."

"Not _premeditated_ vanity, I dare say," remarked the countess, dryly;
"only vanity so spontaneous, natural, and characteristic that
_premeditation_ is out of the question."

Madeleine remained silent, and went on with her task, dexterously
rolling around her slender fingers her aunt's soft, white curls, and
letting them lightly drop in the most becoming positions.

The toilet of the countess for her son's dinner-party was in process of
completion.

She wore a black velvet dress, which, after being on duty for a fabulous
number of years, and finally pronounced past all further active service,
had been resuscitated and remodelled, to suit the style of the day, by
Madeleine. We will not enter into a description of the adroit method by
which a portion of its primitive lustre had been restored to the worn
and pressed velvet, nor particularize the skilful manner in which the
corsage of the robe had been refashioned, and every trace of age
concealed by an embroidery of jet beads, which was so strikingly
tasteful that its double office was unsuspected. Enough that the
countess appeared to be superbly attired when she once more donned the
venerable but rejuvenated dress.

The snow-white curls being arranged to the best advantage, Madeleine
placed upon the head of her aunt a dainty cap, of the Charlotte Corday
form, composed of bits of very old and costly lace,--an heir-loom in the
de Gramont family,--such lace as could no longer be purchased for gold,
even if its members had been in a condition to exchange bullion for
thread. This cap was another of the young girl's achievements, and she
could not help smiling with pleasure when she saw its picturesque
effect. The countess, in spite of the anxious contraction of her dark
brows, looked imposingly handsome. Hers was an old age of positive
beauty,--a decadence which had all the lustre of

"The setting moon upon the western wave."

It was only when her features were accidentally contrasted with those of
such a mild, eloquent, and soul-revealing face as the one bending over
her that defects struck the eye,--defects which the ravages of time had
done less to produce than the workings of a stern and haughty character.

But Madeleine's countenance how shall we portray? The lineaments were
of that order which no painter could faithfully present by tracing their
outline correctly, and no writer conjure u