Rose-Pompon, formerly a fringe-maker, was about seventeen years old, and
had the prettiest and most winning little face imaginable. She was gayly
dressed in debardeur costume. Her powdered wig, over which was smartly
cocked on one side an orange and green cap laced with silver, increased
the effect of her bright black eyes, and of her round, carnation cheeks.
She wore about her neck an orange-colored cravat, of the same material as
her loose sash. Her tight jacket and narrow vest of light green velvet,
with silver ornaments, displayed to the best advantage a charming figure,
the pliancy of which must have well suited the evolutions of the Storm
blown Tulip. Her large trousers, of the same stuff and color as the
jacket, were not calculated to hide any of her attractions.

The Bacchanal Queen, being at the least a head taller, leaned with one
hand on the shoulder of Rose-Pompon. Mother Bunch's sister ruled, like a
true monarch, over this mad revelry, which her very presence seemed to
inspire, such influence had her own mirth and animation over all that
surrounded her.

She was a tall girl of about twenty years of age, light and graceful,
with regular features, and a merry, racketing air. Like her sister, she
had magnificent chestnut hair, and large blue eyes; but instead of being
soft and timid, like those of the young sempstress, the latter shone with
indefatigable ardor in the pursuit of pleasure. Such was the energy of
her vivacious constitution, that, notwithstanding many nights and days
passed in one continued revel, her complexion was as pure, her cheeks as
rosy, her neck as fresh and fair, as if she had that morning issued from
some peaceful home. Her costume, though singular and fantastic, suited
her admirably. It was composed of a tight, long-waisted bodice in cloth
of gold, trimmed with great bunches of scarlet ribbon, the ends of which