“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
throwing herself into the armchair before the mirror. “I ’m getting old!—and tired!”
“Madame!" cried Fantine. “You look but twenty! There is no one like you. But your bath is ready. Madame will dress?”
In the glass Lily saw the dragged look on her face that now came there so often. Any over-exertion, any nervousness or anxiety, any slight indisposition, might bring it—the dawn of old age. Five years ago, she thought, I could do anything! And now! She turned away gloomily.
“I ’ll show them!” she cried angrily. “I ’ll show them whether I ’m an old woman or not!”
And in a moment more a gentle plashing in the next room told Fantine that her mistress was in her bath.
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