"As she walks she gives herself a little concentric and harmonious
twist, which makes her supple or dangerous slenderness writhe under
the stuff, as a snake does under the green gauze of trembling grass.
Is it to an angel or a devil that she owes the graceful undulation
which plays under her long black silk cape, stirs its lace frill,
sheds an airy balm, and what I should like to call the breeze of a
Parisienne? You may recognize over her arms, round her waist, about
her throat, a science of drapery recalling the antique Mnemosyne.
"Oh! how thoroughly she understands the /cut/ of her gait--forgive the
expression. Study the way she puts her foot forward moulding her skirt
with such a decent preciseness that the passer-by is filled with
admiration, mingled with desire, but subdued by deep respect. When an
Englishwoman attempts this step, she looks like a grenadier marching
forward to attack a redoubt. The women of Paris have a genius for
walking. The municipality really owed them asphalt footwalks.
"Our Unknown jostles no one. If she wants to pass, she waits with
proud humility till some one makes way.
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