The old lady fixed her eyes with an appraising gaze on her godson's English friend.
"Permit me to embrace you," she exclaimed suddenly. "You are a very pretty creature! And though no doubt young lips often tell you this, the compliments of the old have the merit of being quite sincere!"
She bent down, and Sylvia, to her confusion and surprise, felt her cheeks lightly kissed by the withered lips of Paul de Virieu's godmother.
"Madame Bailey's rouge is natural; it does not come off!" the old lady exclaimed, and a smile crept over her parchment-coloured face. "Not but what a great deal of nonsense is talked about the usage of rouge, my dear children! There is no harm in supplementing the niggardly gifts of nature. You, for instance, Marie-Anne, would look all the better for a little rouge!" She spoke in a high, quavering voice.
The Duchesse smiled. Her brother had always been the old Marquise's favourite.
"But I should feel so ashamed if it came off," she said lightly; "if, for instance, I felt one of my cheeks growing pale while the other remained bright red?"
"That would never happen if you used what I have often told you is the only rouge a lady should use, that is, the sap of the geranium blossom—that gives an absolutely natural tint to the skin, and my own dear mother always used it. You remember how Louis XVIII. complimented her on her beautiful complexion at the first Royal ball held after the Restoration? Well, the Sovereign's gracious words were entirely owing to the geranium blossom!"
