I finished twisting up the last coil of my hair, and turned and kissed her affectionately.  She was the most sweet-tempered and generous of women, and she would have placed any one of her elaborate costumes at my disposal had I expressed the least desire in that direction.  I answered: 

“No, dear; I certainly have no regular ball ‘fixings,’ for I never expected to dance here, or anywhere for that matter.  I did not bring the big trunks full of Parisian toilettes that you indulge in, you spoilt bride!  Still I have something that may do.  In fact it will have to do.”

“What is it?  Have I seen it?  Do show!” and her curiosity was unappeasable.

The discreet Alphonse tapped at the door again just at this moment.

“Entrez!” I answered; and our tea, prepared with the tempting nicety peculiar to the Hotel de L——­, appeared.  Alphonse set the tray down with his usual artistic nourish, and produced a small note from his vest-pocket.

“For mademoiselle,” he said with a bow; and as he handed it to me, his eyes opened wide in surprise.  He, too, perceived the change in my appearance.  But he was dignity itself, and instantly suppressed his astonishment into the polite impassiveness of a truly accomplished waiter, and gliding from the room on the points of his toes, as was his usual custom, he disappeared.  The note was from Cellini, and ran as follows: 

“If mademoiselle will be so good as to refrain from choosing any flowers for her toilette this evening, she will confer a favour on her humble friend and servant,

“Raffaello Cellini.”

I handed it to Amy, who was evidently burning with inquisitiveness to know its contents.

“Didn’t I say he was a queer young man?” she exclaimed, as she perused the missive attentively.  “This is only his way of saying that he means to send you some flowers himself.  But what puzzles me is to think how he could possibly know you were going to make any special ‘toilette’ this evening.  It is really very mysterious when I come to think of it, for Madame Didier said plainly that she would not ask Cellini to the dance till she saw him at the table d’hote to-night.”

“Perhaps Alphonse has told him all about it,” I suggested.

My friend’s countenance brightened.

“Of course!  That is it; and Mr. Cellini takes it for granted that a girl of your age would not be likely to refuse a dance.  Still there is something odd about it, too.  By-the-bye, I forgot to ask you how the picture got on?”

“Oh, very well, I believe,” I replied evasively.  “Signor Cellini only made a slight outline sketch as a beginning.”

“And was it like you?—­a really good resemblance?”

“I really did not examine it closely enough to be able to judge.”

“What a demure young person you are!” laughed Mrs. Everard.  “Now, I should have rushed straight up to the easel and examined every line of what he was doing.  You are a model of discretion, really!  I shan’t be anxious about leaving you alone any more.  But about your dress for to-night.  Let me see it, there’s a good girl.”