They are always washing, I am told.

And certainly they have that air--like a garment that has been too often to the blanchisseuse and has lost its substance.

A beautiful skin, I allow you.

But so thin--so thin." "The skin, madame ?" inquired the Abbe Touvent, with that gentle and cackling humour in which the ordained of any Church may indulge after a good dinner.
The Abbe Touvent had, as a matter of fact, been Madame de Chantonnay's most patient listener through the months of suspense that followed Loo Barebone's sudden disappearance.

Needless to say he agreed ardently with whatever explanation she put forward.