“Excuse me,” said Rochefort, “but if I may be allowed to give my advice, I would say to you, do not prevent them; let them carry out their plan.” “And let them take my carriage?” “And the dress!” cried Mademoiselle Fontrailles. “And the hairdresser!” put in Jean. “Precisely,” said Rochefort. “With that power which is at your disposal, madame, can you not have a new dress created, a new carriage obtained, and a new hairdresser found in the course of the few hours before us? My reason is this. Should they fancy that their plan is successful they will try nothing else. Should we thwart them openly, I would not say at what they would stop.” “Certainly,” cried Jean, “there’s truth in that. Can we not find a carriage, a dress and a coiffeur! Let us think—let us think!” He walked up and down the room, twisting his ruffles. “No one can dress my hair like Lubin,” said the Countess. “Excuse me,” said Rochefort, “but I believe there is a man whom I know who is a genius in the art. He is unknown; but the day after to-morrow, should you employ him, I believe he will be known to all Europe.” “As to the dress,” said Mademoiselle Fontrailles, “you know, dear madame, that I was to be presented also. And our figures, are they not nearly the same?” “_Dame_!” cried Jean, hitting himself a smack on the forehead. “I have the carriage! It is at Vaudrin’s, in the Rue de la Madeleine. I saw it yesterday. It has been made to the order of the Comtesse Walewski, who, it seems, has not arrived yet; and all it requires is that the Dubarry arms should be painted over those of the Comtesse. We only want a loan of it, and five thousand francs will pay the bill.” The Comtesse turned to Rochefort. “Monsieur Rochefort, I can trust your taste as I trust your friendship. All I ask you as a woman is this: Are you sure of your hairdresser?” “Absolutely, madame; he is an artist to the tips of his fingers. I will stake my reputation on him.” The Comtesse inclined her head. She turned to Mademoiselle Fontrailles. “Camille, have you thought that this act of generosity will ruin your presentation, for if I am to wear your dress, which is divinely beautiful and has cost you a hundred thousand francs, how, then, are you to appear before his Majesty?” “Madame,” said the girl, “I will have a cold; my presentation will be put off, that is all. And I esteem it a very small sacrifice to make for one who has benefited my family so deeply. Besides, madame, even if my presentation never occurred, it would not give me a sleepless night. The world has very few attractions for me.” Her dark eyes met those of Rochefort for a moment. There are seconds of time that carry in them the essence of years, and it seemed to Rochefort, in these few seconds, that some magic in the dark gaze of the eyes that held him had seized upon his mind, indelibly altering it. The Comtesse’s only reply was to lay her hand in a caressing way upon the beautiful arm of her friend. She turned to Jean: