She held out her full, round arm, on the surface of which was spread that light and charming down, symbol of maturity. I applied the wet sponge. “Oh! oh! oh!” exclaimed the Baroness; “it is like ice, a regular shower-bath, and you want to put that all over me?” Just then there was a knock at the door which led out of the Baron’s dressing-room, and instinctively I turned toward it. “Who’s there? Oh! you are letting it splutter all over me!” exclaimed the Baroness. “You can’t come in; what is it?” “What is the matter, aunt?” “You can’t come in,” exclaimed some one behind the screen; “my cuirass has split. Marie, Rosine, a needle and thread, the gum.” “Oh! there is a stream all down my back, your horrid white is running down,” said the Baroness, in a rage. “I will wipe it. I am really very sorry.” “Can you get your hand down my back, do you think?” “Why not, aunt?” “Why not, why not! Because where there is room for a drop of water, there is not room for the hand of a lancer.” Another knock, this time at the door opening from the passage. “What is it now?” “The torches have come, Madame,” said a footman. “Will you have them lighted?” “Ah! the torches of Mesdemoiselles de N., who are dressing in the boudoir. No, certainly not, do not light them, they are not wanted till the second tableau.” “Do not stir, aunt, I beg of you. Mesdemoiselles de N. appears too, then?” “Yes, with their mamma; they represent ‘The Lights of Faith driving out Unbelief,’ thus they naturally require torches. You know, they are tin tubes with spirits of wine which blazes up. It will be, perhaps, the prettiest tableau of the evening. It is an indirect compliment we wish to pay to the Cardinal’s nephew; you know the dark young man with very curly hair and saintly eyes; you saw him last Monday. He is in high favor at court. The Comte de Geloni was kind enough to promise to come this evening, and then Monsieur de Saint P. had the idea of this tableau. His imagination is boundless, Monsieur de Saint P., not to mention his good taste, if he would not break his properties.” “Is he not also a Chevalier of the Order of Saint Gregory?” “Yes, and, between ourselves, I think that he would not be sorry to become an officer in it.” “Ah! I understand, ‘The Lights of Faith driving out,’ et cetera. But tell me, aunt, am I not brushing you too hard? Lift up your arm a little, please. Tell me who has undertaken the part of Unbelief?”