“Run down and tell Wilson to give him some wine and cake!” she said, peremptorily.  “It’s all Fanchette’s fault—­odious creature!—­running it to the last like this—­after all her promises!”

The housemaid went, and soon sped back.  For no boy on earth would she have been long defrauded of the sight of her ladyship’s completed gown.

“Did Wilson feed him?” Kitty flung her the question as she bent, alternately frowning and jubilant, over the creation before her.

“Yes, my lady.  It was quite a little fellow.  He said his legs were just run off his feet,” said the girl, growing confused as the moon-robe unfolded.

“Poor wretch!” said Kitty, carelessly.  “I’m glad I’m not an errand—­Blanche! you know Fanchette may be an old demon, but she has got taste!  Just look at these folds, and the way she’s put on the pearls!  Now then—­make haste!”

Off flew the peignoir, and, with the help of the excited maids, Kitty slipped into her dress.  Ten times, over did she declare that it was hopeless, that it didn’t fit in the least, that it wasn’t one bit what she had ordered, that she couldn’t and wouldn’t go out in it, that it was simply scandalous, and Fanchette should never be paid a penny.  Her maids understood her, and simply went on pulling, patting, fastening, as quickly as their skilled fingers could work, till the last fold fell into its place, and the under-housemaid stepped back with clasped hands and an “Oh, my lady!” couched in a note of irrepressible ecstasy.

“Well?” said Kitty, still frowning—­“eh, Blanche?”

The maid proper would have scorned to show emotion; but she nodded approval.  “If you ask me, my lady, I think you have never looked so well in anything.”

Kitty’s brow relaxed at last, as she stood gazing at the reflection in the large glass before her.  She saw herself as Artemis—­a la Madame de Longueville—­in a hunting-dress of white silk, descending to the ankles, embroidered from top to toe in crescents of seed pearls and silver, and held at the waist by a silver girdle.  Her throat was covered with magnificent pearls, a Tranmore family possession, lent by Lady Tranmore for the occasion.  The slim ankles and feet were cased in white silk, cross-gartered with silver and shod with silver sandals.  Her belt held her quiver of white-winged arrows; her bow of ivory inlaid with silver was slung at her shoulder, while across her breast, the only note of color in the general harmony of white, fell a scarf of apple-green holding the horn, also of ivory and silver, which, like the belt and bow, had been designed for her in Madame de Longueville’s Paris.

But neither she nor her model would have been finally content with an adornment so delicately fanciful and minute.  Both Kitty and the goddess of the Fronde knew that they must hold their own in a crowd.  For this there must be diamonds.  The sleeves, therefore, on the white arms fell back from diamond clasps; the ivory spear in her right hand was topped by a small genius with glittering wings; and in the masses of her fair hair, bound with pearl fillets, shone the large diamond crescent that Lady Tranmore had foreseen, with one small attendant star at either side.