{creaks = probably a typographical error--Cooper's manuscript read
"cracks"}



CHAPTER IX.

I might have been a fortnight in the shop, when I heard a voice as gentle
and lady-like as that of Adrienne, inquiring for pocket-handkerchiefs.
My heart fairly beat for joy; for, to own the truth, I was getting to be
wearied to death with the garrulous folly of my companions. They had
so much of the couturieres about them! not one of the whole party ever
having been a regular employee in genteel life. Their niaisiries were
endless, and there was just as much of the low bred anticipation as to
their future purchases, as one sees at the balls of the Champs Elysee on
the subject of partners. The word "pocket-handkerchief," and that so
sweetly pronounced, drew open our drawer, as it might be, instinctively.
Two or three dozen of us, all of exquisite fineness, were laid upon the
counter, myself and two or three more of the better class being kept a
little in the back ground, as a skillful general holds his best troops in
reserve.

{couturieres = dress makers; niaisiries = should read niaiseries, French
for silliness}

The customers were sisters; that was visible at a glance. Both were
pretty, almost beautiful--and there was an air of simplicity about their
dress, a quiet and unobtrusive dignity in their manners, which at once
announced them to be real ladies. Even the tones of their voices were
polished, a circumstance that I think one is a little apt to notice in New