“What can I do for you, ma’am?” she asked, in a confidential whisper. “Don’t speak loud! there is somebody in the next room.” “I want to look my best,” I said, “and I have sent for you to help me.” “I understand, ma’am.” “What do you understand?” She nodded her head significantly, and whispered to me again. “Lord bless you, I’m used to this!” she said. “There is a gentleman in the case. Don’t mind me, ma’am. It’s a way I have. I mean no harm.” She stopped, and looked at me critically. “I wouldn’t change my dress if I were you,” she went on. “The color becomes you.” It was too late to resent the woman’s impertinence. There was no help for it but to make use of her. Besides, she was right about the dress. It was of a delicate maize-color, prettily trimmed with lace. I could wear nothing which suited me better. My hair, however, stood in need of some skilled attention. The chambermaid rearranged it with a ready hand which showed that she was no beginner in the art of dressing hair. She laid down the combs and brushes, and looked at me; then looked at the toilet-table, searching for something which she apparently failed to find. “Where do you keep it?” she asked. “What do you mean?” “Look at your complexion, ma’am. You will frighten him if he sees you like that. A touch of color you _must_ have. Where do you keep it? What! you haven’t got it? you never use it? Dear, dear, dear me!” For a moment surprise fairly deprived her of her self-possession. Recovering herself, she begged permission to leave me for a minute. I let her go, knowing what her errand was. She came back with a box of paint and powders; and I said nothing to check her. I saw, in the glass, my skin take a false fairness, my cheeks a false color, my eyes a false brightness--and I never shrank from it. No! I let the odious conceit go on; I even admired the extraordinary delicacy and dexterity with which it was all done. “Anything” (I thought to myself, in the madness of that miserable time) “so long as it helps me to win the Major’s confidence! Anything, so long as I discover what those last words of my husband’s really mean!” The transformation of my face was accomplished. The chambermaid pointed with her wicked forefinger in the direction of the glass. “Bear in mind, ma’am, what you looked like when you sent for me,” she said. “And just see for yourself how you look now. You’re the prettiest woman (of your style) in London. Ah what a thing pearl-powder is, when one knows how to use it!” CHAPTER VIII. THE FRIEND OF THE WOMEN. I FIND it impossible to describe my sensations while the carriage was taking me to Major Fitz-David’s house. I doubt, indeed, if I really felt or thought at all, in the true sense of those words.