first years. Just as in her childhood she had never been thwarted in
the satisfaction of her playful desires, so now, at fourteen, she was
still obeyed when she rushed into the whirl of fashion.

Thus, accustomed by degrees to the enjoyment of money, elegance of
dress, of gilded drawing-rooms and fine carriages, became as necessary
to her as the compliments of flattery, sincere or false, and the
festivities and vanities of court life. Like most spoiled children,
she tyrannized over those who loved her, and kept her blandishments
for those who were indifferent. Her faults grew with her growth, and
her parents were to gather the bitter fruits of this disastrous
education. At the age of nineteen Emilie de Fontaine had not yet been
pleased to make a choice from among the many young men whom her
father's politics brought to his entertainments. Though so young, she
asserted in society all the freedom of mind that a married woman can
enjoy. Her beauty was so remarkable that, for her, to appear in a room
was to be its queen; but, like sovereigns, she had no friends, though
she was everywhere the object of attentions to which a finer nature
than hers might perhaps have succumbed. Not a man, not even an old
man, had it in him to contradict the opinions of a young girl whose
lightest look could rekindle love in the coldest heart.

She had been educated with a care which her sisters had not enjoyed;
painted pretty well, spoke Italian and English, and played the piano
brilliantly; her voice, trained by the best masters, had a ring in it
which made her singing irresistibly charming. Clever, and intimate
with every branch of literature, she might have made folks believe
that, as Mascarille says, people of quality come into the world
knowing everything. She could argue fluently on Italian or Flemish
painting, on the Middle Ages or the Renaissance; pronounced at