"Your _chef_ is a real Watteau, Monsieur--a marvel at design."
"He doubtless dreamt what stars were to beam over his landscape, Madame," he answered, for he had at least kept grip of his wits.
"My lady's eyes, n'est-ce pas?" he answered.
The stars thus eulogised brimmed with smiles and searched his face.
"Monsieur," said the Canoness, who was not quite so young, but very pretty, "you should have applied that compliment to _all_ of our eyes. I am in the habit of pleading for the community, as we do in my convent."
"None of these ladies, including yourself, Madame, have any need of compliments, in my humble opinion."
"You deserve a reward, sir. Our Chapter is giving some Arcadian receptions, and you shall be one of the shepherds. We have absolute idylls of white sheep in our garden, though we cannot go to the length, of course, of wearing those old costumes of the nymphs and shepherdesses. How entrancing those costumes were," she added with a careless sigh.
The Canoness was an extraordinary curiosity to him. She was _pétite_ and fair. Though a _réligieuse_, she wore crinoline and large paniers, and, was elegantly furbelowed. The colours of her dress were mainly white and gold, but a long light robe of black crape was thrown over her shoulders, and the jewelled cross of an order ornamented her breast.
"Did the ancient nymphs know any better?" cried Mademoiselle de Richeval, who sat a couple of places further on. "Do you not believe that if they lived to-day they would patronise our fashions?"
"Know any better? Do you think they were unconscious that to carry a crook is becoming to the arm? No, they were as careful of their crooks as we of our rouges. What is _your_ judgment, Monsieur de Répentigny?"
"It is a Judgment of Paris you require," he exclaimed, "and I have not been there yet."
Cyrène de la Roche Vernay touched her lovely hand quickly upon the table and turned to him with a delighted little laugh.
"As for me, I shall be glad if these tiresome fine clothes are ever to be banished," she murmured, twisting her wine-glass.
"Baroness, you have been reading the wicked Rousseau and his 'Social Contract,'" de Blair, who sat next to her, bantered.
"It surely ought to cost something to be noble," pronounced the Canoness, in whose convent every candidate was required to prove sixteen quarterings of arms, and received the title of countess.