“Well, aunt, I did not object to those eyes, and between ourselves they had a softness.”

“I do not deny that, they had a softness.”

“And at the same time such a strange brilliancy beneath that half shadow, an expression of such delicious languor.”

“Yes, certainly, but, after all, it is making an exhibition of one’s self.  But for that—­it is very pretty sometimes—­I have seen in the Bois charming creatures under their red, their black, and their blue, for they put on blue too, God forgive me!”

“Yes, aunt, Polish blue; it is put on with a stump; it is for the veins.”

With interest:  “They imitate veins!  It is shocking, upon my word.  But you seem to know all about it?”

“Oh, I have played so often in private theatricals; I have even quite a collection of little pots of color, hare’s-feet stumps, pencils, et cetera.”

“Ah! you have, you rascal!  Are you going to the fancy ball at the Embassy to-morrow?”

“Yes, aunt; and you, are you going in character?”

“One must, since every one else will.  They say the effect will be splendid.”  After a silence:  “I shall wear powder; do you think it will suit me?”

“Better than any one, my dear aunt; you will look adorable, I feel certain.”

“We shall see, you little courtier.”

She rose, gave me her hand to kiss with an air of exquisite grace, and seemed about to withdraw, then, seemingly changing her mind: 

“Since you are going to the Embassy to-morrow, Ernest, call for me; I will give you a seat in the carriage.  You can give me your opinion on my costume, and then,” she broke into a laugh, and taking me by the hand, added in my ear:  “Bring your little pots and come early.  This is between ourselves.”  She put her finger to her lip as a signal for discretion.  “Till tomorrow, then.”

The following evening my aunt’s bedroom presented a spectacle of most wild disorder.

Her maid and the dressmaker, with haggard eyes, for they had been up all night, were both on their knees, rummaging amidst the bows of satin, and feverishly sticking in pins.

“How late you are,” said my aunt to me.  “Do you know that it is eleven o’clock? and we have,” she continued, showing her white teeth, “a great many things to do yet.  The horses have been put to this last hour.  I am sure they will take cold in that icy courtyard.”  As she spoke she stretched out her foot, shod with a red-heeled slipper, glittering with gold embroidery.  Her plump foot seemed to overflow the side of the shoe a trifle, and through the openwork of her bright silk stocking the rosy skin of her ankle showed at intervals.

“What do you think of me, Monsieur Artist?”

“But, Countess, my dear aunt, I mean, I—­I am dazzled by this July sun, the brightest of all the year, you know.  You are adorable, adorable—­and your hair!”

“Is it not well arranged?  Silvani did it; he has not his equal, that man.  The diamonds in the hair go splendidly, and then this lofty style of head-dressing gives a majestic turn to the neck.  I do not know whether you are aware that I have always been a coquette as regards my neck; it is my only bit of vanity.  Have you brought your little color-pots?”