Caroline could not help smiling. The man's flattery had no doubt
revived in her mind the memory of the passionate praises lavished by
her lover on the beauty of her hair, which he delighted in.

The hairdresser having done, a waiting-maid came and held counsel with
her as to the dress in which Roger would like best to see her. It was
the beginning of September 1816, and the weather was cold; she chose a
green _grenadine_ trimmed with chinchilla. As soon as she was dressed,
Caroline flew into the drawing-room and opened a window, out of which
she stepped on to the elegant balcony, that adorned the front of the
house; there she stood, with her arms crossed, in a charming attitude,
not to show herself to the admiration of the passers-by and see them
turn to gaze at her, but to be able to look out on the Boulevard at
the bottom of the Rue Taitbout. This side view, really very comparable
to the peephole made by actors in the drop-scene of a theatre, enabled
her to catch a glimpse of numbers of elegant carriages, and a crowd of
persons, swept past with the rapidity of _Ombres Chinoises_. Not
knowing whether Roger would arrive in a carriage or on foot, the
needlewoman from the Rue du Tourniquet looked by turns at the
foot-passengers, and at the tilburies--light cabs introduced into Paris
by the English.

Expressions of refractoriness and of love passed by turns over her
youthful face when, after waiting for a quarter of an hour, neither
her keen eye nor her heart had announced the arrival of him whom she
knew to be due. What disdain, what indifference were shown in her
beautiful features for all the other creatures who were bustling like
ants below her feet. Her gray eyes, sparkling with fun, now positively
flamed. Given over to her passion, she avoided admiration with as much