But the French waiting-maid went on with her work, while Olympia stood by, directing her.
Not till she felt a soft touch on her cheek did the girl rebel. Then she started up, and, pushing the maid away, rubbed her cheek with a handkerchief so resolutely that the maid clapped her hands, declaring that it was enough—no roses could be more lovely.
Then she fell to her task again, muttering to herself:
"Oh, it will come in time! Youth is so satisfied with itself. But it all ends in that."
Here the maid nodded toward a tiny jar of rouge, as if to encourage it, and went on with her task.
"Now look at yourself!" said Olympia, tossing aside some garment that had been flung over the swinging-glass. "What do you think of that?"
Caroline looked, and saw a beautiful woman, with sweeping garments of rose-colored silk, and a cloud of frost-like lace flung over her head and trailing down her shoulders. Splendid jewels—whether real or false, she did not care to ask—twinkled like stars through the lace, both on her head and bosom. The pictures thus reflected were beautiful, but stormy.
Olympia saw that the rebellious spirit was but half subdued.
"What can I do?" she said, in her perplexity, addressing the maid, who lifted up both hands and shook her head as she answered:
"Ah, madame! if a toilet like that fails, who can say?"