appearance at eighteen is thus described by
her niece:--

"A figure flexible and elegant; neck and shoulders admirably formed and
proportioned; a well-poised head; a small, rosy mouth, pearly teeth,
charming arms, though a little small, and black hair that curled
naturally. A nose delicate and regular, but _bien francais_, and an
incomparable brilliancy of complexion. A countenance full of candor, and
sometimes beaming with mischief, which the expression of goodness
rendered irresistibly lovely. There was a shade of indolence and pride
in her gestures, and what Saint Simon said of the Duchess of Burgundy is
equally applicable to her: 'Her step was that of a goddess on the
clouds.'"

Madame Recamier retained her beauty longer than is usual even with
Frenchwomen, nor did she seek to repair it by any artificial means. "She
did not struggle," says Sainte-Beuve, "she resigned herself gracefully
to the first touch of Time. She understood, that, for one who had
enjoyed such success as a beauty, to seem yet beautiful was to make no
pretensions. A friend who had not seen her for many years complimented
her upon her looks. 'Ah, my dear friend,' she replied, 'it is useless
for me to deceive myself. From the moment I noticed that the little
Savoyards in the street no longer turned to look at me, I comprehended
that all was over.'" There is pathos in this simple acknowledgment, this
quiet renunciation. Was it the result of secret struggles which taught
her that all regret was vain, and that to contrast the present with the
past was but a useless and torturing thing for a woman?

But at the time of which we write Madame Recamier had no sad realities
to ponder. She was surrounded by admirers, with the liberty which French
society accords to married women, and the freedom of heart of a young
girl. She was still content to be simply admired. She understood neither
the world nor her own heart. Her life was too gay for reflection, nor
had the time arrived for it: "all analysis comes late." It is not until
we have in a measure ceased to be actors, and have accepted the more
passive _role_ of spectators, that we begin to reflect upon ourselves
and upon life. And Madame Recamier had not tired of herself, or of the
world. She was too young to be heart-weary, and she knew nothing yet of
the burdens and perplexities of life. All her wishes were gratified
before they were fairly expressed, and she had neither anxieties nor
cares.

Her firs