"So it seems," said Philip irritably. "Tom, for God's sake, have done!" His uncle chuckled. "I've finished, never fear. Jean, that is wonderful!" Le Marquis de Château-Banvau stepped back to view his handiwork. "I am not altogether satisfied," he said musingly. Philip warded him off. "No, no, m'sieur! I am sure it is perfection!" The Marquis disregarded him. Once more his nimble fingers busied themselves amongst the folds of soft lace. His eyes gleamed suddenly. "It is well! François, the sapphire pin! Quickly!" The valet held it out. He and Tom watched anxiously as the Marquis' hand hovered, uncertain. Philip felt that this was a supreme moment; he held his breath. Then the pin was fixed with one unerring movement, and the two onlookers drew deep breaths of relief. The Marquis nodded. "Yes, Tom, you are right. It is a triumph. Sit down, Philippe." Philip sank into a chair by the dressing-table. "What now? Have you nearly finished?" "Now the rouge. François, haste!" Philip tried to rebel. "I will not be painted and powdered!" The Marquis fixed him with a cold eye. "_Plaît--il?_" "M'sieur--I--I will not!" "Philippe--if it were not for the love I bear your papa, I would leave you zis minute. You will do as I say, _hein_?" "But, m'sieur, can I not go without paint?" "You can not." Philip smiled ruefully. "Then do your worst!" "It is not my worst, _ingrat_. It is my best!" "Your best, then. I am really very grateful, sir." The Marquis' lips twitched. He signed to François. Under his deft hands Philip squirmed and screwed up his face. He complained that the haresfoot tickled him, and he winced when the Marquis pressed two patches on his face. When François dusted his cheeks with powder he sneezed, and when a single sapphire ear-ring was placed in his left ear he scowled and muttered direfully. But the supreme torture was to come. He discovered that it required the united energies of the three men to coax him into his coat. When at last it was on he assured them it would split across the shoulders if he so much as moved a finger. The Marquis found him _fort amusant_, but troublesome. "Forget it, little fool!" "Forget it?" cried Philip. "How can I forget it when it prevents my moving?" "_Quelle absurdité!_ The sword, Tom!" "How can I dance in a sword?" protested Philip. "It is _de rigueur_," said the Marquis. Philip fingered the jewelled hilt. "A pretty plaything," he said. "I have never spent so much money on fripperies before." François arranged the full skirts of his coat about the sword, and Tom slipped rings on to Philip's fingers. A point-edged hat was put into his hand, an enamelled snuff-box, and a handkerchief. Thomas looked at the Marquis, the Marquis nodded complacently. He led Philip to a long glass. "Well, my friend?"