"Impossible!" she murmured, "impossible! But, my
poor child, what did you do for fashions--for patterns?"
The immense importance she attached to the matter was so manifest
that Marguerite could not refrain from smiling. "I was probably
not a very close follower of the fashions," she replied. "The
dress that I am wearing now----."
"Is very pretty, my child, and it becomes you extremely; that's
the truth. Only, to be frank, I must confess that this style is
no longer worn--no--not at all. You must have your new dresses
made in quite a different way."
"But I already have more dresses than I need, madame."
"What! black dresses?"
"I seldom wear anything but black."
Evidently her hostess had never heard anything like this before.
"Oh! all right," said she, "these dresses will doubtless do very
well for your first months of mourning--but afterward? Do you
suppose, my poor dear, that I'm going to allow you to shut
yourself up as you did at the Hotel de Chalusse? Good heavens! how
dull it must have been for you, alone in that big house, without
society or friends."
A tear fell from Marguerite's long lashes. "I was very happy
there, madame," she murmured.
"You think so; but you will change your mind. When one has never
tasted real pleasure, one cannot realize how gloomy one's life
really is. No doubt, you were very unhappy alone with M.
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