Mme. d'Aiglemont's dress harmonized with the haunting thought that
informed the whole woman. Her hair was gathered up into a tall coronet
of broad plaits, without ornament of any kind; she seemed to have
bidden farewell for ever to elaborate toilettes. Nor were any of the
small arts of coquetry which spoil so many women to be detected in
her. Perhaps her bodice, modest though it was, did not altogether
conceal the dainty grace of her figure, perhaps, too, her gown looked
rich from the extreme distinction of its fashion, and if it is
permissible to look for expression in the arrangement of stuffs,
surely those numerous straight folds invested her with a great
dignity. There may have been some lingering trace of the indelible
feminine foible in the minute care bestowed upon her hand and foot;
yet, if she allowed them to be seen with some pleasure, it would have
tasked the utmost malice of a rival to discover any affectation in her
gestures, so natural did they seem, so much a part of old childish
habit, that her careless grace absolved this vestige of vanity.

All these little characteristics, the nameless trifles which combine
to make up the sum of a woman's prettiness or ugliness, her charm or
lack of charm, can only be indicated, when, as with Mme. d'Aiglemont,
a personality dominates and gives coherence to the details, informing
them, blending them all in an exquisite whole. Her manner was
perfectly in accord with her style of beauty and her dress. Only to
certain women at a certain age is it given to put language into their
attitude. Is it joy or is it sorrow that teaches a woman of thirty the
secret of that eloquence of carriage, so that she must always remain
an enigma which each interprets by the aid of his hopes, desires, or
theories?