The least little things of her daily life acquired a charm.

Her boudoir, where she thought of him, became a sanctuary.

There was nothing there that did not rouse some sense of pleasure; even her ink-stand was the coming accomplice in the pleasures of correspondence; for she would now have letters to read and answer.
Dress, that splendid poesy of the feminine life, unknown or exhausted by her, appeared to her eyes endowed with a magic hitherto unperceived.

It suddenly became clear to her what it is to most women, the manifestation of an inward thought, a language, a symbol.

How many enjoyments in a toilet arranged to please _him_, to do _him_ honor! She gave herself up ingenuously to all those gracefully charming things in which so many Parisian women spend their lives, and which give such significance to all that we see about them, and in them, and on them.