Chapter 5

The holidays were over, without there being any material revival of
trade, when my deliverance unexpectedly occurred. It was in February,
and I do believe our mistress had abandoned the expectation of
disposing of us that season, when I heard a gentle voice speaking near
the counter, one day, in tones which struck me as familiar. It was a
female, of course, and her inquiries were about a piece of cambric
handkerchiefs, which she said had been sent to this shop from a
manufactory in Picardie. There was nothing of the customary alertness
in the manner of our mistress, and, to my surprise, she even showed the
customer one or two pieces of much inferior quality, before we were
produced. The moment I got into the light, however, I recognized the
beautifully turned form and sweet face of Adrienne de la Rocheaimard.
The poor girl was paler and thinner than when I had last seen her,
doubtless, I thought, the effects of her late illness; but I could not
conceal from myself the unpleasant fact that she was much less
expensively clad. I say less expensively clad, though the expression is
scarcely just, for I had never seen her in attire that could properly be
called expensive at all; and, yet, the term mean would be equally
inapplicable to her present appearance. It might be better to say that,
relieved by a faultless, even a fastidious neatness and grace, there was
an air of severe, perhaps of pinched economy in her present attire. This
it was that had prevented our mistress from showing her fabrics as fine
as we, on the first demand. Still I thought there was a slight flush on the
cheek of the poor girl, and a faint smile on her features, as she instantly
recognized us for old acquaintances. For one, I own I was delighted at
finding her soft fingers again brushing over my own exquisite surface,
feeling as if one had been expressly designed for the other. Then
Adrienne hesitated; she appeared desirous of speaking, and yet
abashed. Her color went and came, until a deep rosy blush settled on
each cheek, and her tongue found utterance.

"Would it suit you, madame," she asked, as if dreading a repulse, "to
part with one of these?"

"Your pardon, mademoiselle; handkerchiefs of this quality are seldom
sold singly."

"I feared as much--and yet I have occasion for only ONE. It is to be
worked--if it--"

The words came slowly, and they were spoken with difficulty. At that
last uttered, the sound of the sweet girl's voice died entirely away. I fear
it was the dullness of trade, rather than any considerations of
benevolence, that induced our mistress to depart from her rule.

"The price of each handkerchief is five and twenty francs,
mademoiselle--" she