A good old classic poet，then famous，a good fellow who had an Eleonore，M.le Chevalier de Labouisse，as he strolled that day beneath the chestnut-trees of Saint-Cloud，saw them pass about ten o'clock in the morning，and exclaimed，'There is one too many of them，'as he thought of the Graces.Favourite，Blachevelle's friend，the one aged three and twenty，the old one，ran on in front under the great green boughs，jumped the ditches，stalked distractedly over bushes，and presided over this merry-making with the spirit of a young female faun.Zephine and Dahlia，whom chance had made beautiful in such a way that they set each off when they were together，and completed each other，never left each other，more from an instinct of coquetry than from friendship，and clinging to each other，they assumed English poses；the first keepsakes had just made their appearance，melancholy was dawning for women，as later on，Byronism dawned for men；and the hair of the tender sex began to droop dolefully.
Zephine and Dahlia had their hair dressed in rolls.
Listolier and Fameuil，who were engaged in discussing their professors，explained to Fantine the difference that existed between M.Delvincourt and M.Blondeau.
Blachevelle seemed to have been created expressly to carry Favourite's single-bordered，imitation India shawl of Ternaux's manufacture，on his arm on Sundays.
Tholomyes followed，dominating the group.
He was very gay，but one felt the force of government in him；there was dictation in his joviality；his principal ornament was a pair of trousers of elephant-leg pattern of nankeen，with straps of braided copper wire；he carried a stout rattan worth two hundred francs in his hand，and，as he treated himself to everything，a strange thing called a cigar in his mouth.Nothing was sacred to him；he smoked.
'That Tholomyes is astounding！'said the others，with veneration.'What trousers！
What energy！'
As for Fantine，she was a joy to behold.
Her splendid teeth had evidently received an office from God，——laughter.
She preferred to carry her little hat of sewed straw，with its long white strings，in her hand rather than on her head.
Her thick blond hair，which was inclined to wave，and which easily uncoiled，and which it was necessary to fasten up incessantly，seemed made for the flight of Galatea under the willows.
Her rosy lips babbled enchantingly.The corners of her mouth voluptuously turned up，as in the antique masks of Erigone，had an air of encouraging the audacious；but her long，shadowy lashes drooped discreetly over the jollity of the lower part of the face as though to call a halt.
There was something indescribably harmonious and striking about her entire dress.She wore a gown of mauve barege，little reddish brown buskins，whose ribbons traced an X on her fine，white，open-worked stockings，and that sort of muslin spencer，a Marseilles invention，whose name，canezou，a corruption of the words quinze aout，pronounced after the fashion of the Canebiere，signifies fine weather，heat，and midday.The three others，less timid，as we have already said，wore low-necked dresses without disguise，which in summer，beneath flower-adorned hats，are very graceful and enticing；but by the side of these audacious outfits，blond Fantine's canezou，with its transparencies，its indiscretion，and its reticence，concealing and displaying at one and the same time，seemed an alluring godsend of decency，and the famous Court of Love，presided over by the Vicomtesse de Cette，with the sea-green eyes，would，perhaps，have awarded the prize for coquetry to this canezou，in the contest for the prize of modesty.The most ingenious is，at times，the wisest.
This does happen.
Brilliant of face，delicate of profile，with eyes of a deep blue，heavy lids，feet arched and small，wrists and ankles admirably formed，a white skin which，here and there allowed the azure branching of the veins to be seen，joy，a cheek that was young and fresh，the robust throat of the Juno of AEgina，a strong and supple nape of the neck，shoulders modelled as though by Coustou，with a voluptuous dimple in the middle，visible through the muslin；a gayety cooled by dreaminess；sculptural and exquisite——such was Fantine；and beneath these feminine adornments and these ribbons one could divine a statue，and in that statue a soul.
Fantine was beautiful，without being too conscious of it.Those rare dreamers，mysterious priests of the beautiful who silently confront everything with perfection，would have caught a glimpse in this little working-woman，through the transparency of her Parisian grace，of the ancient sacred euphony.
This daughter of the shadows was thoroughbred.
She was beautiful in the two ways——style and rhythm.
Style is the form of the ideal；rhythm is its movement.
We have said that Fantine was joy；she was also modesty.
To an observer who studied her attentively，that which breathed from her athwart all the intoxication of her age，the season，and her love affair，was an invincible expression of reserve and modesty.She remained a little astonished.
This chaste astonishment is the shade of difference which separates Psyche from Venus.Fantine had the long，white，fine fingers of the vestal virgin who stirs the ashes of the sacred fire with a golden pin.
Although she would have refused nothing to Tholomyes，as we shall have more than ample opportunity to see，her face in repose was supremely virginal；a sort of serious and almost austere dignity suddenly overwhelmed her at certain times，and there was nothing more singular and disturbing than to see gayety become so suddenly extinct there，and meditation succeed to cheerfulness without any transition state.This sudden and sometimes severely accentuated gravity resembled the disdain of a goddess.
