"It is not his fault—I ought not to have let him measure you."
"Ha! Did I not tell you so?" Triumph softened her anger. "He has mixed up the two measurements!"
"Yes. I suspected as much when I went in to inquire the other day; but I was afraid to tell you, lest it shouldn't even fit you."
"Fit me!" breathed Madame Valière.
"But whom else?" replied Madame Dépine, impatiently, as she whipped off the "Princess's" wig. "If only it fits you, one can pardon him. Let us see. Stand still, ma chère," and with shaking hands she seized the grey wig.
"But—but—" The "Princess" was gasping, coughing, her ridiculous scalp bare.
"But stand still, then! What is the matter? Are you a little infant? Ah! that is better. Look at yourself, then, in the mirror. But it is perfect!" "A true Princess," she muttered beatifically to herself. "Ah, how she will show up the fruit-vendor's daughter!"
As the "Princess" gazed at the majestic figure in the mirror, crowned with the dignity of age, two great tears trickled down her pendulous cheeks.
"I shall be able to go to the wedding," she murmured chokingly.
"The wedding!" Madame Dépine opened her eyes. "What wedding?"