"From this point of view, July 1830 inaugurated an era not unlike the
time of the Empire, when a waiting woman was received at Court in the
person of Mme. Garat, a chief-justice's 'lady.' Tullia had completely
broken, as you may guess, with all her old associates; of her former
acquaintances, she only recognized those who could not compromise her.
At the time of her marriage she had taken a very charming little hotel
between a court and a garden, lavishing money on it with wild
extravagance and putting the best part of her furniture and du Bruel's
into it. Everything that she thought common or ordinary was sold. To
find anything comparable to her sparkling splendor, you could only
look back to the days when Sophie Arnould, a Guimard, or a Duthe, in
all her glory, squandered the fortunes of princes.

"How far did this sumptuous existence affect du Bruel? It is a
delicate question to ask, and a still more delicate one to answer. A
single incident will suffice to give you an idea of Tullia's
crotchets. Her bed-spread of Brussels lace was worth ten thousand
francs. A famous actress had another like it. As soon as Claudine
heard this, she allowed her cat, a splendid Angora, to sleep on the
bed. That trait gives you the woman. Du Bruel dared not say a word; he
was ordered to spread abroad that challenge in luxury, so that it
might reach the other. Tullia was very fond of this gift from the Duc
de Rhetore; but one day, five years after her marriage, she played
with her cat to such purpose that the coverlet--furbelows, flounces,
and all--was torn to shreds, and replaced by a sensible quilt, a quilt
that was a quilt, and not a symptom of the peculiar form of insanity
which drives these women to make up by an insensate luxury for the
childish days when they lived on raw apples, to quote the expression
of a journalist. The day when the bed-spread was torn to tatters
marked a new epoch in her married life.