There was no answer, but Danaë’s brows were drawn together in a more pronounced frown. Angeliké tried again, becoming bolder.
“It is good thick cloth, like a man’s coat, but not so fine as our silks. Are you going to put it on now?”
“No!” burst explosively from Danaë.
“On Sunday, then? Not? But when?”
“Never!”
“But what a waste! If you are afraid of what our father will say, let us each put on half of it. You can choose whether you will wear the coat or the skirt, and I will have the other.”
“Are you mad? If any Europeans saw us they would die of laughing. The whole thing must be worn together.”
“But why don’t you wear it, then? Or if you won’t, you might let me. Oh, sister mine, do! You would show me how to put it on properly, and our father might beat me black and blue afterwards, if only I got to church in it first.”
“I would sooner tear it to pieces!” cried Danaë wrathfully. “No one shall wear it. It belongs to the Lady Zoe, to my Princess, and she herself helped me to put it on. Then I had to take it off, and I vowed that neither I nor anyone else should wear it until I saw her again. As for you—why, I would let one of the girls from the kitchen wear it rather than you.”
“Oh, very well, my lady! I’ll pay you out for that!” said Angeliké venomously, and slipped out of the room. A moment later, a wild tumult of shrieks and screams proclaimed to Danaë that her sister was in one of her fits of passion—which were credibly supposed in the household to be due to temporary demoniacal possession. In them Angeliké would tear her clothes, knock herself vehemently against the wall, and otherwise do as much damage as was compatible with avoiding obvious disfigurement. Danaë herself had been subject to similar attacks, of a somewhat less violent character, in the past, but now she went on calmly with her work of straightening the contents of her box, which Angeliké had disarranged, and laying the green gown carefully at the top. Suddenly the door burst open, and two stalwart women-servants paused rather sheepishly on the threshold. A stentorian shout pursued them up the stairs, however, “Hurry, children!” and ended their hesitation, and they marched across the room, banged down the lid of the box, and seizing it by the handles, carried it off.