"Mademoiselle's hair has got loose and looks like a Huron's," said
her maid Lizette, as her nimble fingers rearranged the rich dark-
golden locks of Angelique, which reached to the floor as she sat
upon her fauteuil.
"No matter, Lizette; do it up a la Pompadour, and make haste. My
brain is in as great confusion as my hair. I need repose for an
hour. Remember, Lizette, I am at home to no one to-night except the
Chevalier de Repentigny."
"The Chevalier called this afternoon, Mademoiselle, and was sorry he
did not find you at home," replied Lizette, who saw the eyelashes of
her mistress quiver and droop, while a flush deepened for an instant
the roseate hue of her cheek.
"I was in the country, that accounts for it! There, my hair will
do!" said Angelique, giving a glance in the great Venetian mirror
before her. Her freshly donned robe of blue silk, edged with a foam
of snowy laces and furbelows, set off her tall figure. Her arms,
bare to the elbows, would have excited Juno's jealousy or Homer's
verse to gather efforts in praise of them.
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