among all who recollected the act of wifely heroism by which she had
rescued her husband from the block.

Madame de Bourke bade the maids carry off the little Jacques, and
Ulysse followed; but Estelle, who had often listened with rapt
attention to the story of the escape, and longed to feast her eyes on
the heroine, remained in her corner, usefully employed in disentangling
the embroilment of silks, and with the illustrations to her beloved
Telemaque as a resource in case the conversation should be tedious.
Children who have hundreds of picture-books to rustle through can
little guess how their predecessors could once dream over one.

Estelle made her low reverence unnoticed, and watched with eager eyes
as the slight figure entered, clad in the stately costume that was
regarded as proper respect to her hostess; but the long loose sacque of
blue silk was faded, the feuille-morte velvet petticoat frayed, the
lace on the neck and sleeves washed and mended; there were no jewels on
the sleeves, though the long gloves fitted exquisitely, no gems in the
buckles of the high-heeled shoes, and the only ornament in the
carefully rolled and powdered hair, a white rose. Her face was thin
and worn, with pleasant brown eyes. Estelle could not think her as
beautiful as Calypso inconsolable for Ulysses, or Antiope receiving the
boar's a head. 'I know she is better than either,' thought the little
maid; 'but I wish she was more like Minerva.'

The Countesses met with the lowest of curtseys, and apologies on the
one side for intrusion, on the other for deshabille, so they concluded
with an embrace really affectionate, though consideration for powder
made it necessarily somewhat theatrical in appearance.