Then again, Helene was extraordinarily slow and extraordinarily fastidious that evening.

Nothing satisfied her, neither the hang of the girl's skirt, the folds of her sash, nor the arrangement of her hair.
"Come, Helene, be quick," said Celia.

"You know how madame hates to be kept waiting at these times.

You might be dressing me to go to meet my lover," she added, with a blush and a smile at her own pretty reflection in the glass; and a queer look came upon Helene Vauquier's face.

For it was at creating just this very impression that she aimed.
"Very well, mademoiselle," said Helene.