The Cousins, volume II

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Two women were sitting in the huge living room of one of those enormous mansions, a half-palace, with which the environs of Paris are so richly endowed. Occasionally they exchanged a few words. They were occupied with needlepoint, that seemingly endless task which was about as exciting and never ending as the many love stories which are spun out in the newspapers of Paris.

One was a beautiful brunette about twenty-five years old, with a marvelous, soft complexion, dark sparkling eyes and full, red lips which betrayed the sensual nature of their charming owner.

The other one, a blonde, seemed to be around twenty years old. Her face was like that of an angel, framed by golden hair. Her slender body, her hazel eyes, and the innocent smile completed the picture of perfect innocence. It was the sort of innocence that drives men wild and makes them contemplate deeds of which their bodies are not always capable.

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