“MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. B. People are afraid of her that no one has ever dared to make fun of her. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words. A stomacher, fastened by imitationdiamond buckles, girded that part of her person, which should have been a waist; a coral necklace encircled her throat, and a few black patches, or mouches, as they were termed, served as a foil to the bloom of her cheek and chin. Our ideal had fallen.
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