“Ha, charming, is it not, monsieur? Look in the glass, mademoiselle; see, is it not beautiful? It is the face, the handsome face. Ah, that is quite ravishing. Does not monsieur like it?” Yes, Jeffray admired the first, the second, the third, and so forth. He would have them all; yes, madame might set them aside as sold. Gowns and petticoats? Madame had a number ready. Of course, that was woman’s business. Would mademoiselle step into the back room? The gentleman would wait, yes, he could not enter such a sanctuary, and the little Frenchwoman rippled with smiles. The lady should come forth and show herself in the dresses. She would look ravishing; yes, monsieur should not be disappointed. Perhaps an hour passed, Jeffray scrutinizing Madame Michael’s merchandise with the prejudiced eye of a man in love. These pretty stuffs had no significance beyond Bess’s beauty. They were interesting by reason of the honor they might receive in being suffered to clothe the body of the one woman in Christendom. A crowd of small boys and two or three busybodies had gathered round the coach, gaping at Peter Gladden, who remained at his post, chin in air, like a Roman sentinel whom nothing could disturb. Madame Michael’s girl-apprentices were giggling and chattering in the room above. Jeffray went to the semicircular window and looked out. He could see across High Street, down a narrow alley a distant view of glimmering green downs and blue-throated corn-fields ablaze with poppies. There was the sound of a door opening, a rustle of silks. Jeffray, turning with a quick smile, saw Bess standing in the middle of the room, wearing a summer gown cut low at the bosom, and made of some gauzy blue stuff dusted with green trefoils. A white satin petticoat showed below it, looped with blue silk. She had a band of black velvet about her throat, black mittens reaching nearly to her bare elbows, and one of Madame Michael’s adorable hats upon her head. Madame had even rearranged Bess’s hair, the black and gleaming splendor of it contrasting with the brown and pearly neck. Bess stood looking at her lover, blushing very deeply, her eyes fixed questioningly on his. As for Jeffray, he looked at her, and could not look enough, so stately and adorable did she appear in all these pretty trappings. The wild, sleek beauty of Pevensel seemed to glorify these fine clothes in a way that would have set many a round-backed and short-legged countess weeping. The little Frenchwoman glided forward and clapped her hands. She had been watching the pair with her black, twinkling eyes, and enjoying the charm of it with sympathetic vivacity. “Monsieur is pleased? Yes, to be sure, never have I had such a figure to show my gowns off. It is superb, superb. This gown, sir, and the others—were made but two weeks ago for a fine lady who disappointed me at the eleventh hour. Mademoiselle has a finer figure; they suit her to perfection.”