John Galsworthy 
Tatterdemalion 

Her predilection for things French came from childish recollections of school-days in Paris, and a hasty removal thence by her father during the revolution of ’48, of later travels as a little maiden, by diligence, to Pau and the then undiscovered Pyrenees, to a Montpellier and a Nice as yet unspoiled. Unto her seventy-eighth year, her French accent had remained unruffled, her soul in love with French gloves and dresses; and her face had the pale, unwrinkled, slightly aquiline perfection of the ‚French marquise‘ type – it may, perhaps, be doubted whether any French marquise ever looked the part so perfectly.