t manner of man
he could be that would turn his father's widow out of her house; but I
think Benoit may hand the gentleman his wine, not I." And Victorine
sauntered saucily to the window and looked out.

"A plague on all their tempers!" thought Jeanne, impatiently. Her plans
seemed to be thwarted when she least expected it. For a few moments she
was silent, revolving in her mind the wisdom of taking Victorine into
her counsels, and confiding to her the motive she had for wishing her to
be seen by Willan Blaycke. But she dreaded lest this might defeat her
object by making the girl self-conscious. Jeanne was perplexed; and in
her perplexity her face took on an expression as if she were grieved.
Victorine, who was much dismayed by her aunt's seeming acquiescence in
her refusal to serve the supper, exclaimed now,--

"Nay, nay, Aunt Jeanne, do not look grieved. I will indeed go down and
serve the supper, if thou takest it so to heart. The man is nothing to
me, that I need fear to see him."

"Thou art a good girl," replied Jeanne, much relieved, and little
dreaming how she had been gulled by Mademoiselle Victorine,--"thou art a
good girl, and thou shalt have my lavender-colored paduasoy gown if
thou wilt lay thyself out to see that all is at its best, both in the
bedrooms and for the supper. I would have Willan Blaycke perceive that
one may live as well outside of his house as in it. And, Victorine," she
added, with an attempt at indifference in her tone, "wear thy white gown
thou hadst on last Sunday. It pleased me better than any gown thou hast
worn this year,--that, and thy black silk apron with the red lace; they
become thee."

So Victorine had arrayed herself in the white gown; it was of linen
quaintly woven, with a tiny star thrown up in the pattern, and shone
like damask. The apron was of heavy black silk, trimmed all around with
crimson lace, and crimson lace on the pockets. A crimson rose in
Victorine's black hair and crimson ribbons at her throat and on her
sleeves completed the toilet. It was ravishing; and nobody knew it
better than Mademoiselle Victorine herself, who had toiled many an hour
in the convent making the crimson lace for the precise purpose of
trimming a black apron with it, if ever she escaped from the convent,
and who had chosen out of fifty rose-bushes at the last Parish Fair the
one whose blossoms matched her crimson lace. There is a picture still to
be seen of Victorine in this costume; and m