Dearly should I like to know who was the giver of this dainty work of
art, which was such a favorite with her. How often have I seen the old
lady, her feet upon the bar, reclining in the easy-chair, with her
dress half raised in front, toying with the snuff-box, which lay upon
the ledge between her box of pastilles and her silk mits. What a
coquette she was! to the day of her death she took as much pains with
her appearance as though the beautiful portrait had been painted only
yesterday, and she were waiting to receive the throng of exquisites
from the Court! How the armchair recalls to me the inimitable sweep of
her skirts as she sank back in it!

These women of a past generation have carried off with them secrets
which are very typical of their age. The Princess had a certain turn
of the head, a way of dropping her glance and her remarks, a choice of
words, which I look for in vain, even in my mother. There was subtlety
in it all, and there was good-nature; the points were made without any
affectation. Her talk was at once lengthy and concise; she told a good
story, and could put her meaning in three words. Above all, she was
extremely free-thinking, and this has undoubtedly had its effect on my
way of looking at things.

From seven years old till I was ten, I never left her side; it pleased
her to attract me as much as it pleased me to go. This preference was
the cause of more than one passage at arms between her and my mother,
and nothing intensifies feeling like the icy breath of persecution.
How charming was her greeting, "Here you are, little rogue!" when
curiosity had taught me how to glide with stealthy snake-like
movements to her room. She felt that I loved her, and this childish
affection was welcome as a ray of sunshine in the winter of her life.