‘Come in, Monsieur Mouret, come through the little drawing room. That will be less formal.’
Mouret greeted the ladies, whom he knew. The room with its Louis XIV furniture and brocade embroidered with flowers, its gilded bronzes and its great green plants, had a soft, feminine intimacy despite the high ceilings; and through the two windows, you could see the chestnuts in the Tuileries, their leaves blown about by the October winds.
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