It was morning. The long night with its wretchedness and discomfort had passed, and the bright sunshine full of cheer streamed into the room, athwart the bed where Beatrice lay, her features still hidden under the beautifying mask. She stirred uneasily and then opened her eyes.
"Why, it's morning," she exclaimed, jumping up briskly. "Thank goodness, I can take off this horrible thing at last. I ought to be fair as a lily after all I've gone through. My, my how funny my face feels!" She untied the fastenings with a sigh of relief, and threw off the poultice thankfully.
"My skin is sticky and tight," she mused, passing one hand over her face. "I won't look at myself until I am dressed, and then I can tell just how I shall affect father. Let me see! I'll wear white. Adele looks best in white. Fair people always do, I think."
True to her resolve she bathed and dressed without once approaching the mirror. At length she was ready. She had no doubts as to the result. Beatrice was possessed with a child's faith; still, her heart began to beat quickly as she turned slowly and went toward the glass, keeping her eyes downcast.
"It's just like a butterfly breaking out of the chrysalis," she told herself nervously. "I have been an ugly grub for so long that I'm afraid to try my new wings. Now, ready, Beatrice! One, two, three!—Look, and see how beautiful you have become."
Smilingly she raised her eyes. The smile froze on her lips, and consternation swept over her face. Her features were distorted and swollen, and her skin was as yellow as saffron. With her dark eyes, bleached hair, and white dress the effect was startling. For one long moment the girl stared at her reflection, and then, as the full realization of the transformation came home to her, she flung herself upon the bed with a cry of anguish.
"It's no use," she wailed. "Everything is against me. I look worse than ever. What shall I do? What shall I do?"
A knock sounded on the door just then, and Bee started up, fearing that it was her father.
"Yes?" she called.