What a transformation!
St. Udo stood in speechless surprise.
A woman with a stout figure, keen, dark face, and pale, green eyes.
Where were the graceful, lissome figure, the dainty complexion, the passion-darkened eyes.
And madam's hair was gray as Thoms' grizzly locks—no waving tresses of serpentine gold saw he. Madam's lips were blue with fright, no longer thin, scarlet beauty-lines with a string of pearls between. Madam was old, awkward, and spoke nothing but French.
Puzzled in the extreme, St. Udo was obliged to content himself by watching the next incident of interest, Madam Estvan's behavior to Colonel Calembours.
They met—he with round, suspicious eyes snapping with eagerness, she with downcast lids and brassy brow, and each performed a charming obeisance.
"Le Chevalier de Calembours," says he.
"Madam Estvan, at your service, messieurs," returns she.
They bow again, retire a pace, their eyes meet—they both smile a little; but Calembours' color fades to a sickly yellow, and madam's face reddens under the brown.