‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. With a view to raise recruits for his corps, the warlike woollen-draper started for Lancashire, under the colour of a journey on business. She wanted to be alone. The completest capitulation would not wipe out that trouble. I'm speaking of virtuous women—of WIVES, Madam. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed.
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