“You’ve forgotten my crown.”
“I’ll put it on when you’re posed. Come on.”
The three girls hurried to get away, the boys squatted in a corner of the room, where they could not be seen, and Paul helped Freddie to climb on to the stage.
Marie, who, like Lili, was not yet draped, talked through the closed window with the fireman, who was waiting, muffled up, in the snowy garden, to let off the Bengal light. A great reflector stared through the window like a pale, lustreless sun.
“First white, then green, then red,” Marie called out, and the fireman nodded.
The now deserted dressing-room was dark, barely lit by the lamp which Bet held in her hand, while Dien stood at the door.
“Carefully, Freddie, carefully,” said Paul.
Frédérique sank down gently into the cushions of the couch; Paul arranged her draperies, her chains, her hair, her diadem, and placed a flower here and there. [[3]]
“Will that do?” she asked with tremulous voice, taking up the pose she had studied beforehand.
“You’re delicious; beautiful! Now then, Marie, Lili, come here.”