The first big white reception room of the Maison contains a long table usually littered with samples, some chairs, and a large mirror lit like that of a star's dressing room. There is a mantelpiece covered with photographs of singers of all grades of celebrity, each dedicated with a message of admiring affection to Marie Muelle. Around the wall are various armoires, one containing a library of works on costume, another a glittering collection of stage jewelry, a third many portfolios of water-colour designs for every sort and kind of theatrical garment for every rôle.
Oh! those designs! A young soprano has won an engagement in Monte Carlo and wants a stage wardrobe for her repertoire. Out comes the "Modern French" portfolio with a bewildering series of blonde and sinuous Thaises, Moyen-Age Mélisandes, a scintillating Ariane in contrast to a demure little work-a-day Louise; and the lady spends a delightful afternoon in selecting her favourites.
Then Muelle sends for an armful of samples—
"Crêpe de chine, of course, for the Thais. Yes, in flesh pink with plenty of embroidery. Here is an échantillon"—and she pins it to the drawing.
The singer picks out a scrap of heavy, lustrous crêpe—
"No, not that quality. That is something special, and there is no more to be had for love or money."
Colours and fabrics are decided upon, all tested for becomingness under the bunched electric lights, which mimic the strong light of the stage. Each design has an assortment of tags of material pinned where many others have been pinned before. Muelle is an expert in colours for the stage. She doesn't talk learnedly of synthetic dyes, processes, or German competition, but she can give you a bright blue that is warranted to stay blue, no matter what vagaries of lighting a stage manager may indulge in.
Her pale colours never turn insipid, nor her dark ones muddy. She keeps a special dyeing establishment busy with her orders alone, and twenty-four hours seems time enough to obtain any shade known to the palette.
The textiles once chosen, Camille is called to "take measures" and arrange for the fittings.
"And now, one question," says Mademoiselle, "Is your stage level, or does it slope towards the back? Very well, that is all."