"Bien, Madame." The maid passed into the dressing-room adjoining, where a looped-up curtain of rose-coloured silk revealed an elaborately fitted bath.
"The ermine scarf—no! The gray fox." She still studied her pale face—"and I want those new combs from Lalique—and long gray gloves and my violet toque."
She glanced as she spoke at the little clock which pointed to half-past six, and, with a sigh of relief, leaned back comfortably in her chair.
To pass the time while the maid came and went between the cupboards of the two rooms, Mrs. Merrod opened her manicure case, and began to polish her pink nails.
Then, as the door closed at last behind Mélanie's brisk step, she stirred herself and started upon the lengthy business of her toilette.
Into a saucer she poured from a bottle a thick creamy-looking liquid, and, with a broad camel's hair brush, spread it smoothly over her face. She waited for the skin to absorb it, then, with a piece of chamois leather, she polished the whitened surface lightly, added a faint dust of powder and peered again into the glass.
Satisfied with the result, she drew out the nearest drawer of the satin-wood dressing table, disclosing a number of pencils and lip-salves and little pots of cosmetic.
She hunted for a tiny brush, dipped it in a dark powder and, holding back each eyelid, proceeded to brush the lashes upward. Next a black pencil for her eyebrows, the merest line, traced with skill; then another, this time blue to accentuate the length of her eyes.
Finally, with care, she selected a lip-salve case from among many and held it thoughtfully for a moment against the creamy-white face.
"Too red." Fantine sighed. Her weakness was for carmine lips, but she feared McTaggart's critical gaze, those keen and mischievous blue eyes.