The
courtesans could never dispense with these two kings of ready wit. No
supper, no dinner, was possible without them.
Seraphine Sinet, _dite_ Carabine, as the mistress _en titre_ of the
Amphitryon, was one of the first to arrive; and the brilliant lighting
showed off her shoulders, unrivaled in Paris, her throat, as round as
if turned in a lathe, without a crease, her saucy face, and dress of
satin brocade in two shades of blue, trimmed with Honiton lace enough
to have fed a whole village for a month.
Pretty Jenny Cadine, not acting that evening, came in a dress of
incredible splendor; her portrait is too well known to need any
description. A party is always a Longchamps of evening dress for these
ladies, each anxious to win the prize for her millionaire by thus
announcing to her rivals:
"This is the price I am worth!"
A third woman, evidently at the initial stage of her career, gazed,
almost shamefaced, at the luxury of her two established and wealthy
companions. Simply dressed in white cashmere trimmed with blue, her
head had been dressed with real flowers by a coiffeur of the
old-fashioned school, whose awkward hands had unconsciously given
the charm of ineptitude to her fair hair. Still unaccustomed to any
finery, she showed the timidity--to use a hackneyed phrase
--inseparable from a first appearance. She had come from Valognes to
find in Paris some use for her distracting youthfulness, her innocence
that might have stirred the senses of a dying man, and her beauty,
worthy to hold its own with any that Normandy has ever supplied to the
theatres of the capital.
Pages:
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521