CHAPTER X
THE BOUDOIR OF MADAME
There was plenty of room in the Hôtel Montmirail when it
was opened at night for Madame's distinguished receptions.
Its screen of lights in front, its long rows of windows,
shedding lustrous radiance on the ground and second floors,
caused it to resemble, from outside, the enchanted palace of
the White Cat, in that well-known fairy tale which has
delighted childhood for so many generations. Within, room
after room stretched away in long perspective, one after
another, more polished, more decorated, more shining, each
than its predecessor. The waiting-room, the gallery, the
reception-room, the dining-hall, the two withdrawing-rooms,
all with floors inlaid by the most elaborate and slippery of
woodwork, all heavy with crimson velvet and massive
gilding in the worst possible taste, all adorned by mythological
pictures, bright of colour, cold of tone, and scant of
drapery, led the oppressed and dazzled visitor to Madame's
bedchamber, thrown open like every other apartment on the
floor for his or her admiration. Here the eye reposed at
last, on flowers, satin, ivory, mirrors, crystal, china—everything
most suggestive of the presence of beauty, its influence
and the atmosphere that seems to surround it in its home.
The bed, indeed, with lofty canopy, surmounted by ciphers
and coronets, was almost solemn in its magnificence; but
the bath of Madame, her wardrobe, above all, her toilet-table,
modified with their graceful, glittering elegance the
oppressive grandeur of this important article in a sleeping-apartment.
At each of the four corners strips of looking-glass reached
