"All the courage of her house seemed to gleam from the great lady's
brilliant eyes, such courage as women use to repel audacity or
scorn, for they were full of tenderness and gentleness. The
outline of that little head, . . . the delicate, fine features,
the subtle curve of the lips, the mobile face itself, wore an
expression of delicate discretion, a faint semblance of irony
suggestive of craft and insolence. It would have been difficult to
refuse forgiveness to those two feminine failings in her in
thinking of her misfortunes, of the passion that had almost cost
her her life. Was it not an imposing spectacle (still further
magnified by reflection) to see in that vast, silent salon this
woman, separated from the entire world, who for three years had
lived in the depths of a little valley, far from the city, alone
with her memories of a brilliant, happy, ardent youth, once so
filled with fetes and constant homage, now given over to the
horrors of nothingness? The smile of this woman proclaimed a high
sense of her own value."

In the postscript to the _Physiologie du Mariage_, Balzac mentions a
gesture of one of these "intellectual" women, who interrupts herself
to touch one of her nostrils with the forefinger of her right hand in
a coquettish manner. In _La Femme abandonnee_, Madame de Beauseant has
the same gesture. Another gesture of Madame de Beauseant in _La Femme
abandonnee_ indicates that Balzac had in mind the Duchesse d'Abrantes:
". . . Then, with her other hand, she made a gesture as if to pull the
bell-rope. The charming gesture, the gracious threat, no doubt, called
up some sad thought, some memory of her happy life, of the time when
she could be wholly charming and graceful, when the gladness of her
heart justified every caprice, and gave one more charm to her