"Bon jour, miladi Lucy," she exclaimed as she entered Lady Lucy's sanctum; "need not inquire of health, you look si charmante. Oh, si belle!—that make you wear old clothes so longer dan oder ladies, and have so leetel for me to buy. Milady Lucy Ferrars know she look well in anyting, but yet she should not wear old clothes: no right—for example—for de trade, and de hoosband always like de wife well dressed—ha—ha!"
Poor Lady Lucy! Too sick at heart to have any relish for Madame Dalmas' nauseous compliments, and more than half aware of her cheats and falsehoods, she yet tolerated the creature from her own dire necessities.
"Sit down, Madame Dalmas," she said, "I am dreadfully in want of money; but I really don't know what I have for you."
"De green velvet, which you not let me have before Easter, I still give you four pounds for it, though perhaps you worn it very much since then."
"Only twice—only seven times in all—and it cost me twenty guineas," sighed Lady Lucy.
"Ah, but so old-fashioned—I do believe I not see my money for it. Voyez-vous, de Lady Lucy is one petite lady—si jolie, mais tres petite. If she were de tall grand lady, you see de great dresses could fit small lady, but de leetle dresses fit but ver few."
"If I sell the green velvet I must have another next winter!" murmured Lady Lucy.
"Ah!—vous avez raison—when de season nouveautes come in. I tell you what—you let me have also de white lace robe you show me once, the same time I bought from you one little old pearl brooch."
"My wedding-dress? Oh, no, I cannot sell my wedding-dress!" exclaimed poor Lady Lucy, pressing her hands conclusively together.
"What for not?—you not want to marry over again—I give you twenty-two pounds for it."