Letters of Two Brides

THE SAME TO THE SAME

December.

My Darling,--Here I am ready to make my bow to the world. By way of

preparation I have been trying to commit all the follies I could think

of before sobering down for my entry. This morning, I have seen

myself, after many rehearsals, well and duly equipped--stays, shoes,

curls, dress, ornaments,--all in order. Following the example of

duelists before a meeting, I tried my arms in the privacy of my

chamber.

I wanted to see how I would look, and had no difficulty in

discovering a certain air of victory and triumph, bound to carry all

before it. I mustered all my forces, in accordance with that splendid

maxim of antiquity, "Know thyself!" and boundless was my delight in

thus making my own acquaintance. Griffith was the sole spectator of

this doll's play, in which I was at once doll and child. You think you

know me?

You are hugely mistaken.

Here is a portrait, then, Renee, of your sister, formerly disguised as

a Carmelite, now brought to life again as a frivolous society girl.

She is one of the greatest beauties in France--Provence, of course,

excepted. I don't see that I can give a more accurate summary of this

interesting topic.

True, I have my weak points; but were I a man, I should adore them.

They arise from what is most promising in me. When you have spent a

fortnight admiring the exquisite curves of your mother's arms, and

that mother the Duchesse de Chaulieu, it is impossible, my dear, not

to deplore your own angular elbows. Yet there is consolation in

observing the fineness of the wrist, and a certain grace of line in

those hollows, which will yet fill out and show plump, round, and well

modeled, under the satiny skin. The somewhat crude outline of the arms

is seen again in the shoulders. Strictly speaking, indeed, I have no

shoulders, but only two bony blades, standing out in harsh relief. My

figure also lacks pliancy; there is a stiffness about the side lines.

Poof! There's the worst out. But then the contours are bold and

delicate, the bright, pure flame of health bites into the vigorous

lines, a flood of life and of blue blood pulses under the transparent

skin, and the fairest daughter of Eve would seem a Negress beside me!

I have the foot of a gazelle! My joints are finely turned, my features

of a Greek correctness. It is true, madame, that the flesh tints do

not melt into each other; but, at least, they stand out clear and

bright. In short, I am a very pretty green fruit, with all the charm

of unripeness. I see a great likeness to the face in my aunt's old

missal, which rises out of a violet lily.