wear only bows. Feathers demand a carriage; flowers are too showy.
Beneath it you see the fresh unworn face of a woman who, without
conceit, is sure of herself; who looks at nothing, and sees
everything; whose vanity, satiated by being constantly gratified,
stamps her face with an indifference which piques your curiosity. She
knows that she is looked at, she knows that everybody, even women,
turn round to see her again. And she threads her way through Paris
like a gossamer, spotless and pure.

"This delightful species affects the hottest latitudes, the cleanest
longitudes of Paris; you will meet her between the 10th and 110th
Arcade of the Rue de Rivoli; along the line of the Boulevards from the
equator of the Passage des Panoramas, where the products of India
flourish, where the warmest creations of industry are displayed, to
the Cape of the Madeleine; in the least muddy districts of the citizen
quarters, between No. 30 and No. 130 of the Rue du Faubourg
Saint-Honore. During the winter, she haunts the terrace of the
Feuillants, but not the asphalt pavement that lies parallel. According
to the weather, she may be seen flying in the Avenue of the
Champs-Elysees, which is bounded on the east by the Place Louis XV.,
on the west by the Avenue de Marigny, to the south by the road, to the
north by the gardens of the Faubourg Saint-Honore. Never is this
pretty variety of woman to be seen in the hyperborean regions of the
Rue Saint-Denis, never in the Kamtschatka of miry, narrow, commercial
streets, never anywhere in bad weather. These flowers of Paris,
blooming only in Oriental weather, perfume the highways; and after
five o'clock fold up like morning-glory flowers. The women you will
see later, looking a little like them, are would-be ladies; while the
fair Unknown, your Beatrice of a day, is a 'perfect lady.'