Miss Osmond, indeed, in the bloom of her juvenility, had a hint of the rococo which Rosier, whose taste was predominantly for that manner, could not fail to appreciate.
That he esteemed the productions of comparatively frivolous periods would have been apparent from the attention he bestowed upon Madame Merle's drawing-room, which, although furnished with specimens of every style, was especially rich in articles of the last two centuries.

He had immediately put a glass into one eye and looked round; and then "By Jove, she has some jolly good things!" he had yearningly murmured.

The room was small and densely filled with furniture; it gave an impression of faded silk and little statuettes which might totter if one moved.
Rosier got up and wandered about with his careful tread, bending over the tables charged with knick-knacks and the cushions embossed with princely arms.

When Madame Merle came in she found him standing before the fireplace with his nose very close to the great lace flounce attached to the damask cover of the mantel.

He had lifted it delicately, as if he were smelling it.
"It's old Venetian," she said; "it's rather good." "It's too good for this; you ought to wear it." "They tell me you have some better in Paris, in the same situation." "Ah, but I can't wear mine," smiled the visitor.
"I don't see why you shouldn't! I've better lace than that to wear." His eyes wandered, lingeringly, round the room again.