“I do not set much store by such paltry physical acquirements, cousin,” I replied; “I swim fairly, nothing more.”

And I turned my head to avoid an extremely penetrating aroma with which her hair was impregnated.  You know very well that I am subject to nervous attacks.

“But, my dear child, physical advantages are not so much to be despised.”

This “dear child” displeased me much.  My cousin is twenty-six, it is true, but I am no longer, properly speaking, a “dear child,” and besides, it denoted a familiarity which I did not care for.  It was, on the part of the Marchioness, one of the consequences of that frivolity of mind, that carelessness of speech which I mentioned above, and nothing more; still, I was shocked at it.  She went on: 

“Exaggerated modesty is not good form in society,” she said, turning toward me with a smile.  “You will, in time, make a very handsome cavalier, my dear Robert, and that which you now lack is easy to acquire.  For instance, you should have your hair dressed by the Marquis’s valet.  He will do it admirably, and then you will be charming.”

You must understand, my dear Claude, that I met these advances with a frigidity of manner that left no doubt as to my intentions.

“I repeat, my cousin,” said I to her, “I attach to all this very little importance,” and I emphasized my words by a firm and icy look.  Then only, for I had not before cast my eyes on her, did I notice the peculiar elegance of her toilette, an elegance for which, unhappily, the perishable beauty of her person served as a pretext and an encouragement.

Her arms were bare, and her wrists covered with bracelets; the upper part of her neck was insufficiently veiled by the too slight fabric of a transparent gauze; in short, the desire to please was displayed in her by all the details of her appearance.  I was stirred at the aspect of so much frivolity, and I felt myself blush for pity, almost for shame.

We reached, at length, the verge of the stream.  She loosed my arm and unceremoniously slid down, I can not say seated herself, upon the grass, throwing back the long curls depending from her chignon.  The word chignon, in the language of society, denotes that prominence of the cranium which is to be seen at the back of ladies’ heads.  It is produced by making coils or plaits of their long hair.  I have cause to believe, from certain allusions I have heard, that many of these chignons are not natural.  There are women, most worthy daughters of Eve, who purchase for gold the hair—­horyesco referens—­of the wretched or the dead.  It sickens one.

“It is excessively hot, my dear cousin,” said she, fanning herself.  “I tremble every moment in such weather lest Monsieur de Beaurenard’s nose should explode or catch fire.  Ha, ha, ha.  Upon my word of honor I do.”