The Rodenham coach rolled up the High Street, dropping a serving-man at the Star on the way, and turned into a little side street towards the western end of the town not far from the old castle. Peter Gladden sprang down and appeared at the window. Across the narrow pavement at the corner of the street the round, white-framed windows of a sedate little shop, where coy hats and alluring scarfs showed through the panes of glass. A brown front-door carried a modest brass plate with “Madame Michael, Milliner,” inscribed thereon. Gladden, standing hat in hand, assured his master as to the excellence of the establishment. Jeffray could see a couple of girls peering down at the coach from an open window above. He stepped out of the coach and gave his hand to Bess. Opening the door and setting a bell tinkling as in maidenly trepidation, he found himself in a little room with the wood-work painted white, a pier-glass in one corner, hats and caps ranged round on brass stands, and shelves filled with rolls of gay stuffs, cotton, satin, silk, and rich brocade. A demure, yellow-faced woman in a black sack, and wearing a white cap over her beautifully ordered gray ringlets, came forward from an inner room, courtesied, and gazed with polite curiosity at Jeffray and at Bess. “Good-day, madame,” said the man, blushing, yet cherishing his dignity. The little French lady smiled sympathetically, her bright eyes darting comprehensive glances at Bess’s rough clothes and Jeffray’s grave and boyish face. “What can I do for you, sir?” she asked, with quaint and courtly composure. Jeffray, still red, and looking a little amused at his own novel responsibility, explained to madame how greatly they needed her help. It was no question of money; Jeffray desired to see the lady who was to be his wife dressed as charmingly as time and madame’s genius could contrive. Bess was standing in the middle of the room, looking very tall and stately despite her rough clothes and red stockings and her heavy shoes. She eyed the Frenchwoman a little haughtily, glanced at herself in the pier-glass, put back the stray strands of black hair over her ears, and smiled as her eyes met Jeffray’s. “I am afraid we are taxing your ingenuity, madame,” he said, to the aristocratic little lady, with a grave smile. The Frenchwoman, with her gray ringlets, gave a merry and meaning laugh, glided up to Bess, took off the gray cloak, her deft hands fluttering white and delicate about the girl’s body. “Ah, no, a pleasure, monsieur. A Frenchwoman is never taken by surprise. Come. It can be done, ma foi, yes—it is easy, very easy.” The pretty hats were whisked down from their brass pedestals by the little lady, and poised in succession upon Bess’s stately head. Strings, black, blue, and white, were tied deliciously under the round and pearly chin. Madame stood aside from time to time, striking little attitudes, glancing at Jeffray and clapping her hands.