Barbara rose to try to see herself in the minute mirror.
She gasped in dismay.
"No, no! you dare to take it off! There are some more roses to come yet." (The victim made a comic face of resignation.) "I want profusion."
"You do!" said Barbara, sitting down to laugh. "Am I to wear this costume when we go to Les Baux to-morrow?" she asked.
"It depends on the weather."
But, alas! as soon as active opposition was withdrawn, Barbara removed the improvised costume, took the roses out of her hair and the vision of the ancient world faded away. When we went down to dinner we both of us had on our sombre prison garments.
And though Barbara laughed, I knew that the world was a sadder and a drearier place because of it!
CHAPTER XXI
LES BAUX
"C'est le Moyen-age tragique,—l'acropole de la Provence féodale."