“A French chemist. He has it of all colours, and can flood a scene in golden light, or the rose of dawn, or the crimson of sunset, or a pale silvery blueness that you would swear was moonshine. It has been used in all the Court ballets. I saw Madame once look as ghastly as death itself, and all the Court was seized with terror. Some blundering fool had burnt the wrong powder, which cast a greenish tint over the faces, and Henriette’s long thin features had a look of death. It seemed the forecast of an early grave; and some of us shuddered, as at a prophecy of evil.”
“You might expect the worst in her case, knowing the wretched life she leads with Monsieur.”
“Yes, when she is with him; but that is not always. There are compensations.”
“If you mean scandal, I will not hear a word. She is adorable. The most sympathetic person I know—good even to her enemies—who are legion.”
“You had better not say that, for I doubt she has only one kind of enemy.”
“As how?”
“The admirers she has encouraged and disappointed. Yes, she is adorable, wofully thin, and, I fear, consumptive, but royal: and adorable, ‘douceur et lumière,’ as Bossuet calls her. But to return to my ghost-party.”
“If you were wise, you would abandon the notion. I doubt that in spite of your powders your friends will never believe in a ghost.”
“Oh yes, they will. It shall be my business to get them in the proper temper.”
That idea of figuring in a picturesque habit, and in a halo of churchyard light, was irresistible. Hyacinth promised to conform to Malfort’s plans, and to be ready to assume her phantom rôle whenever she was called upon.