Ricard's own rooms.
However, this first evening I could hardly see how the rooms
looked, for the lining of humanity which ran round all the
walls. There was a shimmer as of every colour in the rainbow;
and a buzz that could only come from a hive full. I, who had
lived all my life where people spoke softly, and where many
never spoke together, was bewildered.
The buzz hushed suddenly, and I saw Mme. Ricard's figure going
slowly down the rooms. She was in the uttermost contrast to
all her household. Ladylike always, and always dignified, her
style was her own, and I am sure that nobody ever felt that
she had not enough. Yet Mme. Ricard had nothing about her that
was conformed to the fashions of the day. Her dress was of a
soft kind of serge, which fell around her or swept across the
rooms in noiseless yielding folds. Hoops were the fashion of
the day; but Mme. Ricard wore no hoops; she went with ease and
silence where others went with a rustle and a warning to clear
the way. The back of her head was covered with a little cap as
plain as a nun's cap; and I never saw an ornament about her.
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