Mrs. Marsuple grew quite lyric over the dear little person, and pecked at her arms with kisses.
"Dear Tongue, you must really behave yourself," said Helen, and called Millamant to bring her the slippers.
The tray was freighted with the most exquisite and shapely pantoufles, sufficient to make Cluny a place of naught. There were shoes of grey and black and brown suede, of white silk and rose satin, and velvet and sarcenet; there were some of sea-green sewn with cherry blossoms, some of red with willow branches, and some of grey with bright-winged birds. There were heels of silver, of ivory, and of gilt; there were buckles of very precious stones set in most strange and esoteric devices; there were ribbons tied and twisted into cunning forms; there were buttons so beautiful that the button-holes might have no pleasure till they closed upon them; there were soles of delicate leathers scented with maréchale, and linings of soft stuffs scented with the juice of July flowers. But Helen, finding none of them to her mind, called for a discarded pair of blood-red maroquin, diapered with pearls. These looked very distinguished over her white silk stockings.
Meantime, La Popelinière stepped forward with the frock.
"I shan't wear one to-night," said Helen. Then she slipped on her gloves.
When the toilet was at an end all her doves clustered round her feet loving to froler her ankles with their plumes, and the dwarfs clapped their hands, and put their fingers between their lips and whistled. Never before had Helen been so radiant and compelling. Spiridion, in the corner, looked up from his game of Spellicans and trembled.
Just then, Pranzmungel announced that supper was ready upon the fifth terrace. "Ah!" cried Helen, "I'm famished!"
[CHAPTER III]
She was quite delighted with Fanfreluche, and, of course, he sat next her at supper.