"It is to go to New Orleans, madame," replied Ruth. "It was ordered by Mrs. Senator la Motte, and is to be worn at some grand wedding."
"No matter—I tell you I must have it! Where is Mademoiselle Victorine?"
Ruth summoned the forewoman. Victorine advanced very deliberately, and her bearing had a touch of patronage and condescension.
Mrs. Gilmer pleaded hard for the possession of the dress; but Mademoiselle Victorine appeared to take the greatest satisfaction in making her understand that its becoming hers was an impossibility. The more earnestly Mrs. Gilmer prayed, the more inflexible became the forewoman. As for repeating a design which had been invented for one particular person, that, she asserted, was against all rules of art. The original design might be feebly, imperfectly copied by other mantua-makers, but its duplicate could not be sent forth from an establishment of the standing of Mademoiselle Melanie's.
Mrs. Gilmer, whose white brow was knitted with something very like a frown, remarked that she would talk to Mademoiselle Melanie on the subject, by and by.
"Mademoiselle Melanie does not usually reverse my decisions," replied the piqued forewoman, with an extravagant show of dignity.
"We shall see!" retorted Mrs. Gilmer. "Now let me choose a head-dress for the opera to-night; something original. What can you invent for me?"
"Really," answered Victorine, who was not a little irate at the suggestion that there could be any appeal from her verdict; "I do not feel inspired at this moment; I am quite dull; nothing occurs to me out of the usual line."
"Oh! you must think!" pleaded the volatile lady. "Invent me something never before seen; something with flowers will do; but let me have impossible flowers,—flowers which have no existence, and which I shall not behold upon every one's else head. Price is no object; my husband never refuses me anything! Especially," she added in a lower tone, to M. de Bois, "when he is jealous; and I find it very useful, absolutely necessary, to begin the season by exciting a series of Othello pangs through which he becomes manageable. I feed the jealous flame all winter, and add fresh fuel in the spring, when I wish to indulge in various extravagances."
"A very diplomatic arrangement," remarked M. de Bois.