"Saints defend us!" I pettishly exclaimed. "Is there no one in the world with an atom of brains? I don't want to go as 'Night' or 'Morning,' nor as 'Marguerite' or 'Pierrette,' or 'Madame la Pompadour'; I want something original!" And I stamped my foot to give emphasis to the remark.
"Shall it be as 'Carmen,' madame?"
I sank into a chair in dismay. "Carmen!" This was the creature's idea of originality. It was too ludicrous for anger. I laughed, and then, as I raised my eyes to Madame Virot's indignantly bewildered countenance, my glance fell upon a dress in a wardrobe behind her, and I pointed to it in a flutter of excitement.
"Some one has originality, after all," I cried. "What does that dress represent?"
"An ice palace, madame."
"Mon Dieu! It is superb."
"Mais oui, madame, c'est magnifique, c'est un miracle," and then, carried away with enthusiasm, she brought it forth and dilated upon it. A pale green dress, covered with a shimmering, sparkling net-work that looked like frost itself.
"You see, madame, the head-dress forms the snowy pinnacle of the tower, and the eau de Nil embroidered skirt follows the frosted outlines of the building, which is a fac-simile of the ice palace raised last winter upon the Neva. An emerald satin mask, with tiny crystal icicles hanging from the edge, in place of the usual fringe of lace, completes the costume."
"I must have it," I cried; "it is incomparable."
"It is sold, madame."