"Now we are friends," she said, and sat down indolently
in a chair placed by the worktable.
"Friends," repeated Mademoiselle Virginie, with another laugh.
"And now for business," she continued, getting a row of pins
ready for use by putting them between her teeth. "I am here, I
believe, for the purpose of ruining the late forewoman, who has
set up in opposition to us? Good! I _will_ ruin her. Spread out
the yellow brocaded silk, my dear, and pin that pattern on at
your end, while I pin at mine. And what are your plans, Brigida?
(Mind you don't forget that Finette is dead, and that Virginie
has risen from her ashes.) You can't possibly intend to stop here
all your life? (Leave an inch outside the paper, all round.) You
must have projects? What are they?"
"Look at my figure," said Brigida, placing herself in an attitude
in the middle of the room.
"Ah," rejoined the other, "it's not what it was. There's too much
of it. You want diet, walking, and a French stay-maker," muttered
Mademoiselle Virginie through her chevaus-defrise of pins.
"Did the goddess Minerva walk, and employ a
French stay-maker? I thought she rode upon clouds, and lived at
a period before waists were invented."
"What do you mean?"
"This--that my present project is to try if I can't make my
fortune by sitting as a model for Minerva in the studio of the
best sculptor in Pisa.
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