Mme. Derline, through a half-open door, saw a sombre and severe but luxurious room—­an ambassador’s office.  On the walls the great European powers were represented by photographs—­the Empress Eugenie, the Princess of Wales, a grand-duchess of Russia, and an archduchess of Austria.  M. Arthur was there taking a few moments’ rest, seated in a large arm-chair, with an air of lassitude and exhaustion, and with a newspaper spread out over his knees.  He arose on seeing Mme. Derline enter.  In a trembling voice she repeated her wish.

“Oh, madame, a ball-dress—­a beautiful ball-dress—­for Thursday!  I couldn’t make such a promise—­I couldn’t keep it.  There are responsibilities to which I never expose myself.”

He spoke slowly, gravely, as a man conscious of his high position.

“Oh, I am so disappointed.  It was a particular occasion and I was told that you alone could—­”

Two tears, two little tears, glittered on her eye-lashes.  M. Arthur was moved.  A woman, a pretty woman, crying there, before him!  Never had such homage been paid to his genius.

“Well, madame, I am willing to make an attempt.  A very simple dress—­”

“Oh no, not simple.  Very brilliant, on the contrary—­everything that is most brilliant.  Two of my friends are customers of yours (she named them), and I am Mme. Derline—­”

“Mme. Derline!  You are Mme. Derline?”

The two Mme. Derlines were followed by a glance and a smile—­the glance was at the newspaper and the smile was at Mme. Derline; but it was a discreet, self-contained smile—­the smile of a perfectly gallant man.  This is what the glance and smile said with admirable clearness: 

“Ah I you are Mme. Derline—­that already celebrated Mme. Derline—­who yesterday at the opera—­I understand, I understand—­I was reading just now in this paper—­words are no longer necessary—­you should have told your name at once—­yes, you need me; yes, you shall have your dress; yes, I want to divide your success with you.”

M. Arthur called: 

“Mademoiselle Blanche, come here at once!  Mademoiselle Blanche!”

And turning towards Mme. Derline, he said: 

“She has great talent, but I shall myself superintend it; so be easy—­yes, I myself.”

Mme. Derline was a little confused, a little embarrassed by her glory, but happy nevertheless.  Mademoiselle Blanche came forward.

“Conduct madame,” said M. Arthur, “and take the necessary measures for a ball-dress, very low, and with absolutely bare arms.  During that time, madame, I am going to think seriously of what I can do for you.  It must be something entirely new—­ah! before going, permit me—­”

He walked very slowly around Mme. Derline, and examined her with profound attention; then he walked away, and considered her from a little distance.  His face was serious, thoughtful, and anxious.  A great thinker wrestling with a great problem.  He passed his hand over his forehead, raised his eyes to the sky, getting inspiration by a painful delivery; but suddenly his face lit up—­the spirit from above had answered.