father-in-law, Monsieur Cardot, two or three old bankers, and some
immaculate ladies--the arrangements, made necessary by the way in
which everything was packed away--the plate, the Dresden china, the
candlesticks, and the glass--made a variety in the monotonous lives of
the three women, who came and went and exerted themselves as nuns
would to receive their bishop. Then, in the evening, when all three
were tired out with having wiped, rubbed, unpacked, and arranged all
the gauds of the festival, as the girls helped their mother to
undress, Madame Guillaume would say to them, "Children, we have done
nothing today."

When, on very great occasions, "the portress nun" allowed dancing,
restricting the games of boston, whist, and backgammon within the
limits of her bedroom, such a concession was accounted as the most
unhoped felicity, and made them happier than going to the great balls,
to two or three of which Guillaume would take the girls at the time of
the Carnival.

And once a year the worthy draper gave an entertainment, when he
spared no expense. However rich and fashionable the persons invited
might be, they were careful not to be absent; for the most important
houses on the exchange had recourse to the immense credit, the
fortune, or the time-honored experience of Monsieur Guillaume. Still,
the excellent merchant's daughters did not benefit as much as might be
supposed by the lessons the world has to offer to young spirits. At
these parties, which were indeed set down in the ledger to the credit
of the house, they wore dresses the shabbiness of which made them
blush. Their style of dancing was not in any way remarkable, and their
mother's surveillance did not allow of their holding any conversation
with their partners beyond Yes and No. Also, the law of the old sign