A Vapor

She wore a diaphanous gown, falling from her pale shoulders into an Empire waist. She scented herself with violets, every droplet resonant with meaning. Her hair fell in dark curls around her face, complimenting her full lips. She regarded herself in a mirror briefly and turned away blushing.

"Are you ready to go?" Courfeyrac called.

"Just a moment," Prouvaire answered, and kissed her lightly. "You'll be fine, Marie, truly."

"I'll try, Jehan -- Jeannette," she said shakily, and stood, wavering in unfamiliar slippers.

Courfeyrac greeted her with a chuckle.

"You're radiant, mademoiselle Pontmercy," said Feuilly, more restrainedly, and took her arm.

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