Our readers may, perhaps, be equally astonished when we describe the thing.
Imagine a sort of Polish cap, of black velvet, with a small peak, ornamented with a bunch of white feathers fastened to the side by a large boss of poppy-coloured satin, and the whole jauntily placed a little on one side of Madame Girard's head; her hair, which was brown, being crepéd in great bunches.
With this thing Madame Girard wore a high velvet gown of bright orange colour, with tight body, like a riding-habit, and decorated with silken brandebourgs to match.
This attire had nothing absolutely ridiculous in itself, but completed by the cap and feathers, it looked so extremely odd, that it actually created quite a sensation in the theatre, and all the lorgnettes were directed towards Madame Girard, who did not feel herself entirely at ease, whilst Bertha blushed with confusion.
M. de Brévannes was so much annoyed, that he bit his lips, when he saw himself and his wife as it were stared at in consequence of Madame Girard's inconceivable head-gear, and he could not help saying to Girard, in a low voice, "What a devilish strange head-dress your wife has selected, Girard; she who is usually such a remarkably good dresser."
The poor spouse gave M. de Brévannes a nudge with his elbow, and said, in a whisper, and with a look of alarm, "Hush!"
During this time Madame Girard, leaning out of her box, looked all round the house with an expression of impatience.
"Alphonsine," cried M. Girard to her with an affectionate look, "are you looking for any one?"
"Of course, I am," replied the dear Alphonsine, with a simpering, self-sufficient air, in which a triumphant feeling joined. "I am looking for the Marquise de Luceval. Oh! how furious she will be!"
"Why, madame?" said Bertha, hardly knowing what to say or do.