st have called for the
ring of some aristocratic alliance. At length you have a coat of arms.
But, we still prefer the one which youth gave to your beauty, when your
blue eyes and your pale face seemed to quarter azure on a lily field.
Noble or serf, you are ever charming, and I readily recognized you when
you passed by in the street the other evening, with rapid and well-shod
foot, aiding the wind with your gloved hand in lifting the skirts of
your new dress, partly in order not to let it be soiled, but a great
deal more in order to show your embroidered petticoats and open-worked
stockings. You had on a wonderful bonnet, and even seemed plunged in
deep perplexity on the subject of the veil of costly lace which floated
over this bonnet. A very serious trouble indeed, for it was a question
of deciding which was best and most advantageous to your coquetry, to
wear this veil up or down. By wearing it down, you risked not being
recognized by those of your friends whom you might meet, and who
certainly would have passed by you ten times without suspecting that
this costly envelope hid Mademoiselle Mimi. On the other hand, by
wearing this veil up, it was it that risked escaping notice, and in that
case, what was the good of having it? You had cleverly solved the
difficulty by alternately raising and lowering at every tenth step; this
wonderful tissue, woven no doubt, in that country of spiders, called
Flanders, and which of itself cost more than the whole of your former
wardrobe."

"Ah, Mimi! Forgive me--I should say, ah, vicomtess! I was quite right,
you see, when I said to you: 'Patience, do not despair, the future is
big with cashmere shawls, glittering jewels, supper parties, and the
like.' You would not believe me, incredulous one. Well, my predictions
are, however, realized, and I am worth as much, I hope, as your 'Ladies'
Oracle,' a little octavo sorcerer you bought for five sous at a
bookstall on the Pont Neuf, and which you wearied with external
questions. Again, I ask, was I not right in my prophecies; and would you
believe me now, if I tell you that you will not stop at this? If I told
you that listening, I can hear faintly in the depths of your future,
the tramp and neighing of the horses harnessed to blue brougham, driven
by a powdered coachmen, who lets down the steps, saying, 'Where to
madam?' Would you believe me if I told you, too, that later on--ah, as
late as possible, I trust--attaining the object of a lo