The marchioness started up joyfully, with clasped hands, and an expression of deep gratitude. A servant entered with a note; she snatched it petulantly and tossed it into the card-basket unopened.
"How vexatious! Only a note! It is _too_ cruel! I shall never, never pardon Mademoiselle Melanie if she disappoints me. But that's easy enough to say, difficult enough to carry into execution. In reality I could not exist without her; and Mademoiselle Melanie knows _that_ as well as I do. She is so sought after that her exhibition-rooms are crowded from morning until night. It is now a favor for her to receive any new customers, and I believe she has some thirty or forty workwomen in her employment. Of course, you have heard of Mademoiselle Melanie?"
"I have not had that pleasure; she is a mantua-maker, I presume," returned Maurice, repressing a smile.
"I suppose that is what, strictly speaking, we must call her; but she is the very Queen of Taste, the Sovereign of Modistes. She has a genius that is extraordinary,--it is magic,--it is inspiration! A touch of her hand transforms every one who approaches her. What figures she has made for some of these American women! What charms she has developed in them! What an air and grace she has imparted to their whole appearance! She makes the most vulgar look elegant, and the elegant, divine! Another ring. Now Heaven grant it may be the dress at last!"
The marchioness was again disappointed: it was only another note, which shared the fate of the former.
"Oh, I shall not survive this!" she ejaculated, dropping into an arm-chair; "and that horrid little Mrs. Gilmer will triumph in my absence. You know Mrs. Gilmer?"
"I have not that honor," returned Maurice, who, impatient as he was to take his leave, found it impossible to depart while the marchioness chose to detain him.
"She attempts to pass herself off for a belle, and even tries to take precedence of _me_, ignoring all the customs of good society; but, doubtless, the poor thing is actually ignorant of them, and should be pardoned and pitied for her ill-breeding. She is the wife of Gilmer, the rich banker. It is to Mademoiselle Melanie that she is indebted for all her social success. Mademoiselle Melanie positively _created_ her, and she never wears anything made by any one else. It is all owing to Mademoiselle Melanie that the men surround her as they do, and try to persuade themselves that she is pretty. Pretty! with her turn-up nose, and colorless hair and eyes. Her husband is immensely rich; and, as wealth rules the day in this country, she takes good care that the depth of his purse shall be known; for that purpose she loads herself with diamonds,--always diamonds. She has not the least idea of varying her jewels; even Mademoiselle Melanie could not make her comprehend that art. I wonder she does not have a dress contrived of bank-notes! _That_ would be novel, and it would also prove a capital way of announcing her opulence!"