When she had finished, being satisfied with my hair, she asked: "Is that your prettiest gown?" "Yes, Madame." "It is not much, your prettiest gown. I will give you some of mine which you can make over. And your underwear?" She raised my skirt, and turned it up slightly. "Yes, I see," said she; "that will not do at all. And your linen, is it suitable?" Vexed by this invasive inspection, I answered, in a dry voice: "I do not know what Madame means by suitable." "Show me your linen; go and get me your linen. And walk a little ... again ... come back ... turn round ... she walks well, she has style." As soon as she saw my linen, she made a face: "Oh, this cotton cloth, these stockings, these chemises,--horrible! And this corset! I do not wish to see that in my house. I do not wish you to wear that in my house. Wait, Mary; help me." She opened a pink lacker wardrobe, pulled out a large drawer full of fragrant garments, and emptied its contents, pell-mell, on the carpet. "Take that, Mary; take it all. You will see there are some stitches to be taken, some repairs to be made, some little places to be mended. You will attend to that. Take it all; there is a little of everything; there is enough there to fit you out with a pretty wardrobe, a suitable _trousseau_. Take it all." Indeed, there was everything,--silk corsets, silk stockings, silk and fine linen chemises, loves of drawers, delicious ruffs, and ornamented petticoats. A strong odor, an odor of _peau d'Espagne_, of jasmine, of well-groomed woman, in short, an odor of love, rose from these piled-up garments whose soft, faded, or violent colors glistened on the carpet like a basket of flowers in a garden. I could not get over it; I stood thoroughly stupefied, contented and embarrassed at once, before this pile of pink, mauve, yellow, and red stuffs, in which there still were ribbons of brighter shades and delicate bits of lace. And Madame stirred up these old things that were still so pretty, these undergarments that were scarcely worn, showed them to me, selected for me, and advised me, indicating her preferences. "I like the women in my service to be coquettish, elegant; I like to have them smell good. You are a brunette; here is a red skirt that will become you marvelously. Moreover, all these things will become you very well. Take them all." I was in a state of profound stupefaction. I knew not what to do; I knew not what to say. Mechanically, I repeated: "Thank you, Madame. How good Madame is! Thank you, Madame." But Madame did not leave me time to get a clear idea of my own thoughts. She talked and talked, by turns familiar, shameless, maternal, pandering, and so strange! "It is like cleanliness, Mary, care of the body, private toilets. Oh! I insist upon that, above all things. On this point I am exacting,--exacting to the point of mania."