He narrated the details. Musadieu was tall and very thin; he wore
a white waistcoat and little diamond shirt-studs; he spoke without
gestures, with a correct air which allowed him to say the daring
things which he took delight in uttering. He was very near-sighted, and
appeared, notwithstanding his eye-glass, never to see anyone; and when
he sat down his whole frame seemed to accommodate itself to the shape
of the chair. His figure seemed to shrink into folds, as if his spinal
column were made of rubber; his legs, crossed one over the other, looked
like two rolled ribbons, and his long arms, resting on the arms of the
chair, allowed to droop his pale hands with interminable fingers. His
hair and moustache, artistically dyed, with a few white locks cleverly
forgotten, were a subject of frequent jests.

While he was explaining to the Duchess that the jewels of the murdered
prostitute had been given as a present by the suspected murderer to
another girl of the same stamp, the door of the large drawing-room
opened wide once more, and two blond women in white lace, a creamy
Mechlin, resembling each other like two sisters of different ages, the
one a little too mature, the other a little too young, one a trifle
too plump, the other a shade too slender, advanced, clasping each other
round the waist and smiling.

The guests exclaimed and applauded. No one, except Olivier Bertin, knew
of Annette de Guilleroy's return, and the appearance of the young girl
beside her mother, who at a little distance seemed almost as fresh
and even more beautiful--for, like a flower in full bloom, she had
not ceased to be brilliant, while the child, hardly budding, was only
beginning to be pretty--made both appear charming.

The Duchess, delighted, clapped her hands, exclaiming: "Heavens!