and her hands were hidden in the folds of her ample dress. My gaze went back to her eyes, and within
them was a sparkle of the mocking contempt I had seen in those of the girl. She spoke, and I knew that
the vital vibrancy I had heard in the girl's voice had been an echo of those sonorously sweet, deep tones.
"What my niece has shown does not please you?"
I gathered my wits. I said: "They are all beautiful, Madame-Madame-"
"Mandilip," she said, serenely. "Madame Mandilip. You do not know the name, eh?"
"It is my ill fortune," I answered, ambiguously. "I have a grandchild-a little girl. I want something
peculiarly fine for her seventh birthday. All that I have been shown are beautiful-but I was wondering
whether there was not something-"
"Something-peculiarly-" her voice lingered on the word-"more beautiful. Well, perhaps there is. But