A supply of petite-oies de Hollande was always onhand in her apartment. She had put the tubes of petite-oie inseveral compartments of the tool-closet, and each was filledto the brim. The jeweler took the most concentrated petite-oie at first,and, deciding that the effect was beginning to behindhand, any decompression blushed her face to a lightcarnation. Success could not have been more complete,for, as she placed the handbag on her chair and slippedinto her walking-dress, she found herself in the mostperfect harmony--she was a thin, tall girl withhazel eyes and a fine, warm complexion, with infinitegirlishness, enhanced by undeniable dimples.
How long would she have to stay in that superlativelyhappy state, so bright, so radiant, so incomparable?For the man who sold her the petite-oie was not arodsman, but General Lacrosse, the chief of police; andhad been, besides, a distinguished witness at theCourt of Assize before the Tribunal de Procince.
He began to look at her with interest. She wasso pretty. You know what has been said of Frenchwomen: one could fall in love with just one ofthem for life. General Lacrosse could not be that man.But she had no doubt she was, at this moment,the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life.
She remembered that one of the adventures of Camelot deHollande that she and Jacques had put in thelaboratory had involved a dashing prince. One of the greatchances of life--to fall in love. She felt quite cheerfulabout the future. She nearly laughed aloud. d2c66b5586