People are bored with Marie Antoinette.

I wish he'd taken another subject.

And as to her beauty--how could she have been beautiful, with those staring eyes, and that lower lip! I say so to Arthur--and he raves--and quotes Horace Walpole--and all sorts of people.

But one can see for one's self.

People are much prettier now than they ever were then! We should think nothing of their beauties.' And the delicate lips of this once lovely child, this flower withered before its time, made a cold gesture of contempt.
In Eugenie's eyes, as they rested upon her companion, there was a flash--was it of horror?
Was she jealous even of the dead women whom Arthur painted ?--no less than of his living friends?
Eugenie came close to her, took the irresponsive hand in hers, tucked the shawls closer round the wasted limbs, bent over her, chatting and caressing.