"I suppose that is what, strictly speaking, we must call her; but she is the very Queen of Taste, the Sovereign of Modistes. She has a genius that is extraordinary,—it is magic,—it is inspiration! A touch of her hand transforms every one who approaches her. What figures she has made for some of these American women! What charms she has developed in them! What an air and grace she has imparted to their whole appearance! She makes the most vulgar look elegant, and the elegant, divine! Another ring. Now Heaven grant it may be the dress at last!"
The marchioness was again disappointed: it was only another note, which shared the fate of the former.
"Oh, I shall not survive this!" she ejaculated, dropping into an arm-chair; "and that horrid little Mrs. Gilmer will triumph in my absence. You know Mrs. Gilmer?"
"I have not that honor," returned Maurice, who, impatient as he was to take his leave, found it impossible to depart while the marchioness chose to detain him.
"She attempts to pass herself off for a belle, and even tries to take precedence of me, ignoring all the customs of good society; but, doubtless, the poor thing is actually ignorant of them, and should be pardoned and pitied for her ill-breeding. She is the wife of Gilmer, the rich banker. It is to Mademoiselle Melanie that she is indebted for all her social success. Mademoiselle Melanie positively created her, and she never wears anything made by any one else. It is all owing to Mademoiselle Melanie that the men surround her as they do, and try to persuade themselves that she is pretty. Pretty! with her turn-up nose, and colorless hair and eyes. Her husband is immensely rich; and, as wealth rules the day in this country, she takes good care that the depth of his purse shall be known; for that purpose she loads herself with diamonds,—always diamonds. She has not the least idea of varying her jewels; even Mademoiselle Melanie could not make her comprehend that art. I wonder she does not have a dress contrived of bank-notes! That would be novel, and it would also prove a capital way of announcing her opulence!"
"A rather dangerous costume!" returned Maurice, laughing.
"At all events it would be original; and, as originality is sure to produce an effect, the saucy little parvenue might afford to follow my advice, even though it came from an enemy."
Maurice could not help exclaiming with a comical intonation,—for there was something irresistibly ludicrous in the puny fierceness of the dressed doll,—"An enemy!"
"Oh, there is no concealment about it!" exclaimed Madame de Fleury with the air of a Liliputian belligerent. "It is open warfare; we are at swords' points, and all the world knows our animosity. And Mrs. Gilmer has the impertinence to pretend that our styles are quite similar, and that the same modes become us. She even declares that such has been Mademoiselle Melanie's verdict, and from the judgment of Mademoiselle Melanie nobody dares to appeal."
"This Mademoiselle Melanie is a Parisian, I presume?" asked Maurice, more because it seemed polite to say something, than from any interest in the answer to his question.