I will, therefore, acknowledge that these bathing scenes shocked me greatly, the first time I heard them spoken of. I resented it with a species of disgust easy to understand, while I positively refused to take part in them. To speak the truth, I was chafed a little; still, these worldly railleries could not touch me, and had no effect on my determination. Yesterday, however, about five in the afternoon, the Marchioness sent for me, and managed the affair so neatly, that it was impossible for me not to act as her escort. We started. The maid carried the bathing costumes both of the Marchioness and of my sister, who was to join us later. “I know,” said my cousin, “that you swim well; the fame of your abilities has reached us here from your college. You are going to teach me to float, eh, Robert?” “I do not set much store by such paltry physical acquirements, cousin,” I replied; “I swim fairly, nothing more.” And I turned my head to avoid an extremely penetrating aroma with which her hair was impregnated. You know very well that I am subject to nervous attacks. “But, my dear child, physical advantages are not so much to be despised.” This “dear child” displeased me much. My cousin is twenty-six, it is true, but I am no longer, properly speaking, a “dear child,” and besides, it denoted a familiarity which I did not care for. It was, on the part of the Marchioness, one of the consequences of that frivolity of mind, that carelessness of speech which I mentioned above, and nothing more; still, I was shocked at it. She went on: “Exaggerated modesty is not good form in society,” she said, turning toward me with a smile. “You will, in time, make a very handsome cavalier, my dear Robert, and that which you now lack is easy to acquire. For instance, you should have your hair dressed by the Marquis’s valet. He will do it admirably, and then you will be charming.” You must understand, my dear Claude, that I met these advances with a frigidity of manner that left no doubt as to my intentions. “I repeat, my cousin,” said I to her, “I attach to all this very little importance,” and I emphasized my words by a firm and icy look. Then only, for I had not before cast my eyes on her, did I notice the peculiar elegance of her toilette, an elegance for which, unhappily, the perishable beauty of her person served as a pretext and an encouragement. Her arms were bare, and her wrists covered with bracelets; the upper part of her neck was insufficiently veiled by the too slight fabric of a transparent gauze; in short, the desire to please was displayed in her by all the details of her appearance. I was stirred at the aspect of so much frivolity, and I felt myself blush for pity, almost for shame.