Madame de K.

It is possible that you know Madame de K.; if this be so, I congratulate you, for she is a very remarkable person.  Her face is pretty, but they do not say of her, “Ah, what a pretty woman!” They say:  “Madame de K.?  Ah! to be sure, a fine woman!” Do you perceive the difference? it is easy to grasp it.  That which charms in her is less what one sees than what one guesses at.  Ah! to be sure, a fine woman!  That is what is said after dinner when we have dined at her house, and when her husband, who unfortunately is in bad health and does not smoke, has gone to fetch cigars from his desk.  It is said in a low tone, as though in confidence; but from this affected reserve, it is easy to read conviction on the part of each of the guests.  The ladies in the drawing room do not suspect the charming freedom which characterizes the gossip of the gentlemen when they have gone into the smoking-room to puff their cigars over a cup of coffee.

“Yes, yes, she is a very fine woman.”

“Ah! the deuce, expansive beauty, opulent.”

“But poor De K. makes me feel anxious; he does not seem to get any better.  Does it not alarm you, Doctor?”

Every one smiles ‘sub rosa’ at the idea that poor De K., who has gone to fetch cigars, pines away visibly, while his wife is so well.

“He is foolish; he works too hard, as I have told him.  His position at the ministry—­thanks, I never take sugar.”

“But, really, it is serious, for after all he is not strong,” ventures a guest, gravely, biting his lips meanwhile to keep from laughing.

“I think even that within the last year her beauty has developed,” says a little gentleman, stirring his coffee.

“De K.’s beauty?  I never could see it.”

“I don’t say that.”

“Excuse me, you did; is it not so, Doctor?”

“Forsooth!”—­“How now!  Come, let us make the distinction.”—­“Ha, ha, ha!” And there is a burst of that hearty laughter which men affect to assist digestion.  The ice is broken, they draw closer to each other and continue in low tones: 

“She has a fine neck! for when she turned just now it looked as if it had been sculptured.”

“Her neck, her neck! but what of her hands, her arms and her shoulders!  Did you see her at Leon’s ball a fortnight ago?  A queen, my dear fellow, a Roman empress.  Neck, shoulders, arms—­”

“And all the rest,” hazards some one, looking down into his cup.  All laugh heartily, and the good De K. comes in with a box of cigars which look exceptional.

“Here you are, my friends,” he says, coughing slightly, “but let me recommend you to smoke carefully.”