The chapeaux arrived, all in good time. The ladies arranged themselves in fear and trembling; saw that they could appear with perfect ease as _les jeunes_ demoiselles; and went to bed that night with hearts beating high with excitement. Ah, but the revenge was good, and the adventure of the whole thing was exciting. They scarcely slept that night for thinking of their triumph. Early the next morning, by the explicit directions of Louise, they attired themselves in dresses of pure white with little sashes of blue. The ravishing hats were perched on their heads, the slight touch of rouge was delicately applied to each faded cheek, and then large veils were put on to cover any possible defects. They were naturally slight in figure. Sharp at ten in the morning, at the very hour when Louise told them it would be right for them to go, they started on their mission to the Château St. Juste. Louise had sent one of her father's cars for them. This was to wait to bring them back again. Madame la Comtesse was always out at that hour. She was in reality occupied in the back premises of the _établissement_; for Madame Marcelle was little better than a figurehead. The old Comte was alone. He felt well and happy--the day was a mild one. He thought he would enjoy the outside air. He would even go in the direction of the peach garden. Suddenly, as he was approaching it, he raised his delicate old hand to protect his sunken, dark eyes, and to watch in surprise an automobile which was coming quickly down the avenue. He wanted to fly; but a check string was applied, the chauffeur stopped _à l'instant_, and two pretty girls approached--the Marquises Odile, connections of his. Ah, yes, assuredly. They introduced themselves, they talked, they chatted. One Marquise, the Marquise Clotilde, insisted on his taking her arm; the Marquise Rose walked at his other side. He forgot his peach garden in the pleasure of talking to them. He called them _très douce et très belle_. He had not the faintest suspicion that they were the withered and ugly _gouvernantes_ whom he had turned away with scorn a little while ago. "Ah, but I must call on your esteemed father, Marquise Clotilde. He is younger than I am, alas, but I will call, _certainement_; and for you, _ma belle_ Rose, let me see if I can give you something as ravishing out of my garden as those roses which you wear in your chapeau." "Did you ever see a chapeau more _très belle_?" said the Marquise Rose. "It is of the most perfect," said the old Comte. "There is a wondrous lady who sells these things," said Marquise Clotilde. "She sells them at an _établissement_ kept by a certain Madame Marcelle. We buy our things there. We have reconstructed ourselves since we came to Arles. The young m'selle, _si jeune et si belle_, does better for us than any of the Parisian _magasins_." "I can scarcely believe that," said le Comte.