“You can do so,” the young woman said with a laugh. My companion’s banter, though not very flattering to me, had already transformed her. “You will allow me to tidy up a little?” she went on as with almost incredible rapidity she spread a clean towel over a basin of soapy water in which she had just washed her hands. She rolled up and threw under the dressing-table several other dirty towels. She put the lids on three or four boxes of pomade, and hung a red wrapper over a chair, on which I had noticed a well worn pair of common corsets, which she generally wore for economy’s sake. She did all this with a smile, and then noticed a pair of pale green stockings which she wore upon the stage. These she picked up with wonderful quickness, and I thought I could detect a tremor of shame in her as she did so. Those silk stockings which still displayed the shape of her fine leg and tiny foot were a small part of her nudity. She concealed them in the first object which came to hand, and it turned out to be a hat-box. “That is all,” she said as she turned to Jacques. “Do you think I anticipated your visit and changed my costume in ten minutes, watch in hand? You will not have to endure the presence of my dresser, who, poor woman, displeases you.” She went on in a caressing and frightened tone: “Were you satisfied with me this evening? Did I play my great scene well?” If she had seduced me the moment I saw her on the stage by her charming finesse and ingenuous grace, how the charm worked with more powerful magic in these common surroundings still more unworthy of her! This simple dressing-room, so untidy, so lacking in embroidery and ornaments, where everything seemed a makeshift for the sake of economy, recalled to me by its contrast the sumptuousness and luxury of the dressing-room where Colette Regaud reigned at the Français. Ah, if Colette had only had for Claude, when I accompanied that unfortunate fellow to her dressing-room, the evident love which the Blue Duchess showed for Jacques Molan even in the tones of her most ordinary conversation, the ardour of her most fleeting glances, and the fever of her smallest gestures! She was a delightful child, who loved as she gave herself, with her whole being, naturally and spontaneously. What divine tenderness my companion enjoyed simply out of vanity! I felt how delighted he was while talking to his mistress, at directing this little performance! His eyes became shining instead of tender. I could see that he was studying me in a mirror in front of us, instead of looking at the love-sick girl as he answered her— “You were exquisite as you always are. Ask Vincent if I did not say so?” “Is that true?” she asked. “Quite true,” I replied. “He echoed my remarks too, I assure you,” Jacques continued. “Then I really acted my scene well,” she said, with a naïve gleam of contentment in her eyes; then she knitted her brows and nodding her pretty head said: “ah, well, I am surprised at it.”