Is not the youth of all these things still your own ?" She made no answer, but sat musing, drumming lightly on the chair arm.
I was reaching for her cloak.

Then at once I caught a glimpse of her stockinged foot, the toe of which slightly protruded from beneath her ball gown.

She saw the glance and laughed.
"Poor feet," she said.

"Ah, _mes pauvres pieds la_! You would like to see them bruised by the hard going in some heathen country?
See you have no carriage, and mine is gone.

I have not even a pair of shoes.