"It is wonderful the taste of the Comtesse," cried Madame. "She sees at once what will suit you, chère Madame."
"The Comtesse! That little girl a Comtesse!" cried the astonished red-faced American lady.
"Ah, oui, Madame. She is the young Comtesse St. Juste and her taste it is of the most exquisite. Paris itself cannot touch her."
"Why does she come here?" asked the American. "But get me the brown hat with the brown feather. She looks like a child who has pretty taste."
Little Margot stood very silent. She was not going to laugh. Having given her idea she stuck to it. Her grave and lovely eyes were fixed on the American's face. The brown hat was produced in a twinkling. It was tried on. It was pronounced perfect.
"I will have a fan to match," said the American.
"Ah, oui, c'est bon," said little Margot. "I will myself choose it for you, Madame."
She chose a fan made of brown feathers with a long tortoise-shell handle.
"Here, behold!" said little Margot.