such a vulgar horror in the scarlet satin trimmed with green
beetle-wings and gold fringe, that the Duchesse de Melun might fail to
recognize Lys d'Angely.

CHAPTER XXVII

I dusted and shook out every cell in my brain, during the night, in the
hope of finding any inspiration which might save me from the servants'
ball; but I could think of nothing, except that I might suddenly come
down with a contagious disease. The objection to this scheme was that a
doctor would no doubt be sent for, and would read my secret in my lack
of temperature.

When morning came, I was sullenly resigned to the worst. "Kismet!" said
I, as I unfolded her ladyship's dresses, and was blinded by the glare of
the scarlet satin.

"Try it on," commanded my mistress. "I want to get an idea how you will
look."

Naturally, the red thing was a Directoire thing; and putting it on over
my snug little black frock, I was like a cricket crawling into an empty
lobster-shell. But to my surprise and annoyance, the lobster-shell was
actually becoming to the cricket.

I didn't want to look nice and be a credit to Lady Turnour. I wanted to
look a fright, and didn't care if I were a disgrace to her. But the
startling scarlet satin was Liberty satin, and therefore had a sheen,
and a soft way of folding that redeemed it somewhat. Its bright poppy
colour, its emerald beetle-wings shading to gold, and its glittering
fringes that waved like a wheat-field stirred by a breeze, all gave a
bizarre sort of "value," as artists say, to my pale yellow hair and dark
eyes. I couldn't help seeing that the dreadful dress made my skin pearly
white; and I was afraid that, when I had altered the thing, instead of
looking like a frump, I should only present the appearance of a rather
fast little actress. I should be looked at in my scarlet abomination.
People would stare, and smile. The Duchesse de Melun would say to the
Marquise de Roquemartine: "Who is that young person? She looks exactly
like someone I know--that little Lys d'Angely the millionaire-man,
Charretier, is so silly about."

"You see, you can alter it very easily," said Lady Turnour.

"Yes, miladi."

"Have you got any dancing slippers?"

"No--that is--I don't know--"

"Don't be stupid. I will give you ten francs to buy yourself a pair of
red stockings and red slippers to match. The stockings needn't be silk.
They won't show much. Dane can take you in the car to Clermont-Ferrand
this afternoon. I wan