eleven at night
In one of the finest houses of the rue Neuve-des-Mathurins , at half-past eleven at night , two young women were sitting before the fireplace of a boudoir hung with blue velvet of that tender shade , with shimmering reflections , which French industry has lately learned to fabricate . Over the doors and windows were draped soft folds of blue cashmere , the tint of the hangings , the work of one of those upholsterers who have just missed being artists . A silver lamp studded with turquoise , and suspended by chains of beautiful workmanship , hung from the centre of the ceiling . The same system of decoration was followed in the smallest details , and even to the ceiling of fluted blue silk , with long bands of white cashmere falling at equal distances on the hangings , where they were caught back by ropes of pearl .