There had even been some
exchange of ideas on the subject between the Baroness and Amedee, to
which the Baron's apparent nonentity gave some certainty.
Mademoiselle de Watteville, to whom her enormous prospective fortune
at that time lent considerable importance, had been brought up
exclusively within the precincts of the Hotel de Rupt--which her
mother rarely quitted, so devoted was she to her dear Archbishop--and
severely repressed by an exclusively religious education, and by her
mother's despotism, which held her rigidly to principles. Rosalie knew
absolutely nothing. Is it knowledge to have learned geography from
Guthrie, sacred history, ancient history, the history of France, and
the four rules all passed through the sieve of an old Jesuit? Dancing
and music were forbidden, as being more likely to corrupt life than to
grace it. The Baroness taught her daughter every conceivable stitch in
tapestry and women's work--plain sewing, embroidery, netting. At
seventeen Rosalie had never read anything but the _Lettres edifiantes_
and some works on heraldry. No newspaper had ever defiled her sight.
She attended mass at the Cathedral every morning, taken there by her
mother, came back to breakfast, did needlework after a little walk in
the garden, and received visitors, sitting with the baroness until
dinner-time. Then, after dinner, excepting on Mondays and Fridays, she
accompanied Madame de Watteville to other houses to spend the evening,
without being allowed to talk more than the maternal rule permitted.
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