She remains forever absorbed in the latrian worship which she believes due to herself.

She deigns to speak but to God, and He must indeed be a kind and merciful God if He listens to her.
Under the nominal patronage of this mystic duenna, the Little Countess enjoys an absolute independence, which she uses to excess.

After spending the winter in Paris, where she kills off regularly two horses and a coachman every month for the sole gratification of waltzing ten minutes every night in half a dozen different balls, Madame de Palme feels the necessity of seeking rest in the peace of rural life.

She arrives at her aunt's, she jumps upon a horse, and she starts at full gallop.

It matters not which way she goes, provided she keeps going.