But Valentine, Seguin's wife, came in, laughing and making an exhibition
of masculine ways, which it had cost her much trouble to acquire.

"Ah! you people; you must not bear me any malice, you know. That girl
Celeste takes such a time over everything!"

At five-and-twenty Valentine was short, slight, and still girlish. Fair,
with a delicate face, laughing blue eyes, and a pert little nose, she
could not claim to be pretty. Still she was charming and droll, and very
free and easy in her ways; for not only did her husband take her about
with him to all sorts of objectionable places, but she had become quite
familiar with the artists and writers who frequented the house. Thus it
was only in the presence of something extremely insulting that she again
showed herself the last of the Vaugelades, and would all at once draw
herself up and display haughty contempt and frigidity.

"Ah! it's you, Monsieur Froment," she said amiably, stepping towards
Mathieu and shaking his hand in cavalier fashion. "Is Madame Froment in
good health? Are the children flourishing as usual?"

Seguin was examining her dress, a gown of white silk trimmed with
unbleached lace, and he suddenly gave way to one of those horribly rude
fits which burst forth at times amid all his great affectation of
politeness. "What! have you kept us waiting all this time to put that rag
on? Well, you never looked a greater fright in your life!"

And she had entered the room convinced that she looked charming! She made
an effort to control herself, but her girlish face darkened and assumed
an expression of haughty, vindictive revolt. Then she slowly turned her