All these circumstances which I had so often witnessed came back to my
memory, and I regretted her death as one might regret the destruction of
a beautiful work of art.
It was impossible to see more charm in beauty than in that of
Marguerite. Excessively tall and thin, she had in the fullest degree the
art of repairing this oversight of Nature by the mere arrangement of the
things she wore. Her cashmere reached to the ground, and showed on each
side the large flounces of a silk dress, and the heavy muff which she
held pressed against her bosom was surrounded by such cunningly arranged
folds that the eye, however exacting, could find no fault with the
contour of the lines. Her head, a marvel, was the object of the most
coquettish care. It was small, and her mother, as Musset would say,
seemed to have made it so in order to make it with care.
Set, in an oval of indescribable grace, two black eyes, surmounted by
eyebrows of so pure a curve that it seemed as if painted; veil these
eyes with lovely lashes, which, when drooped, cast their shadow on the
rosy hue of the cheeks; trace a delicate, straight nose, the nostrils
a little open, in an ardent aspiration toward the life of the senses;
design a regular mouth, with lips parted graciously over teeth as white
as milk; colour the skin with the down of a peach that no hand
has touched, and you will have the general aspect of that charming
countenance. The hair, black as jet, waving naturally or not, was
parted on the forehead in two large folds and draped back over the head,
leaving in sight just the tip of the ears, in which there glittered two
diamonds, worth four to five thousand francs each. How it was that her
ardent life had left on Marguerite's face the virginal, almost childlike
expression, which characterized it, is a problem which we can but state,
without attempting to solve it.
Marguerite had a marvellous portrait of herself, by Vidal, the only man
whose pencil could do her justice. I had this portrait by me for a few
days after her death, and the likeness was so astonishing that it has
helped to refresh my memory in regard to some points which I might not
otherwise have remembered.
Some among the details of this chapter did not reach me until later,
but I write them here so as not to be obliged to return to them when the
story itself has begun.
Marguerite was always present at every first night, and passed every
evening either at the theatre or the ball. Whenever there was a new
piece she was certain to be seen, and she invariably had three things
with her on the ledge of her ground-floor box: her opera-glass, a bag of
sweets, and a bouquet of camellias.