“You really mean Blackfern? Yvonne’s habit came from Blackfern’s!” Yvonne d’Etaples was the incarnation of chic--of fashionable elegance--in Jacqueline’s eyes. Her heart beat with pleasure when she thought how Belle and Dolly would envy her when she told them: “I have a myrtle-green riding-habit, just like Yvonne’s.” She danced rather than walked as they went together to Blackfern’s. A habit was much nicer than a long gown. A quarter of an hour later they were in the waiting-room, where the last creations of the great ladies’ tailor, were displayed upon lay figures, among saleswomen and ‘essayeuses’, the very prettiest that could be found in England or the Batignolles, chosen because they showed off to perfection anything that could be put upon their shoulders, from the ugliest to the most extravagant. Deceived by the unusual elegance of these beautiful figures, ladies who are neither young nor well-shaped allow themselves to be beguiled and cajoled into buying things not suited to them. Very seldom does a hunchbacked dowager hesitate to put upon her shoulders the garment that draped so charmingly those of the living statue hired to parade before her. Jacqueline could not help laughing as she watched this way of hunting larks; and thought the mirror might have warned them, like a scarecrow, rather than have tempted them into the snare. The head tailor of the establishment made them wait long enough to allow the pretty showgirls to accomplish their work of temptation. They fascinated Jacqueline’s father by their graces and their glances, while at the same time they warbled into his daughter’s ear, with a slightly foreign’ accent: “That would be so becoming to Mademoiselle.” For ladies going to the seaside there were things of the most exquisite simplicity: this white fur, trimmed with white velvet, for instance; that jacket like the uniform of a naval officer with a cap to match--“All to please Fred,” said Jacqueline, laughing. M. de Nailles, while they waited for the tailor, chose two costumes quite as original as those of Mademoiselle d’Etaples, which delighted Jacqueline all the more, because she thought it probable they would displease her stepmother. At last the magnificent personage, his face adorned with luxuriant whiskers, appeared with the bow of a great artist or a diplomatist; took Jacqueline’s measure as if he were fulfilling some important function, said a few brief words to his secretary, and then disappeared; the group of English beauties saying in chorus that Mademoiselle might come back that day week and try it on.