Madame Aurore was little and wasted and shrill².  
She had deep scars in her neck, and dead-looking yellow hair.
 
She was drenched³ in cheap scent⁴.
 
Her untidy, helter-skelter dress gave no hint of the admirable taste she lavished⁵ upon others.
 
She saw at once what we ought to have, and she talked about our clothes with an enthusiasm as great as Betty's own.
 
"Ah, but Madame!" she remonstrated⁶ dramatically, when my mother showed her the new white satin, which was for me, and a creamy lace gown which was to be modernised for Bettina—"not böt vhite!"
 
My mother explained that my gown was to have rose-coloured garnishing⁷.
 
"Mais non! mais non!" Madame must pardon her for the liberty, but she, Madame Aurore, could not bring herself to see our chief advantage thrown away.[Pg 225]
 
What, then, was our chief advantage? Betty demanded.
 
What indeed, but the contrast between us. The moment she laid eyes on the hair of Mademoiselle Bettina she had said to herself: the frock of Mademoiselle Bettina should be that tender green of tilleul—with just a note of bleu de ciel. Oh, a dress of spring-time—an April dress, a gay little dress, for all its tenderness! A dress to make happy the heart of all who look thereon.
 
But "green!" We had sent all the way to London for the white satin, and we had no green.
 
Then 'twas in truth une bonne chance that Madame Aurore had! She often bought up bargains and gave her clients an opportunity to acquire them. She rushed out of the room, and returned with a piece of silk chiffon of the most adorable hue⁹. She showed us the effect over white satin. My satin. But then, as Madame Aurore said, we could so easily send to Stagg and Mantle's for more.
 
She looked at me out of snapping black eyes—eyes like animated¹⁰ boot-buttons. "Yes, yes; for you, Mademoiselle, ze note sall be sérénité ... hein? Zis priceless old lace over ivory satin.[Pg 226] Ah...." She struck an attitude. "I see it. So ... and so. A ceinture panne, couleur de feuille d'automne touched with gold broderie. Hein? Oh, very distingué, hein?"
 
"It must not be expensive"; we had to say that to Madame Aurore all that first day, at regular intervals¹¹. But she had her way. She sewed hard, and she chattered¹² as hard as she sewed.
 
Bettina ran across her in the passage that first evening as Madame Aurore came up from supper. And they began instantly on the fruitful theme of "green gown." My mother called out to Bettina that she had talked enough about clothes for one day, and in any case she had left us to go early to bed. Bettina regretted her rash promise—wasn't the least tired, and could have talked clothes till cock-crow! There was some argument on this head at the door, in which Madame Aurore joined, with too great a freedom, and an elaborate air of ranging herself on my mother's side. This pleased, least of all, the person Madame Aurore designed to propitiate¹³.
 
Madame Aurore, I am sure, had not been in the house an hour before she had taken the measure[Pg 227] of our main preoccupation. Mademoiselle Bettina ought to be grateful, she said, to have a mother so devoted¹⁴, so solicitous¹⁵. Standing¹⁶ near the open door, she piled up an exaggerated case of maternal¹⁷ love. There was nothing in life like the love between mother and child. Ah, didn't she know! Her own little girl——
 
My mother said she must have the door shut now, and I was sent to undo¹⁸ Betty's gown.
 
Bettina thought it angelic of Madame Aurore not to resent our mother's lack of interest in the small Aurore. According to Bettina, Madame showed a wonderfully nice disposition¹⁹ in not withdrawing her interest from us after that. She seemed rather to imply: very well, you don't care about my child ... but I am still ready to care about yours.
 
"Parfaitement!" ... the little dressmaker remembered Bettina's passing Dew Pond House the summer before. It was true what Hermione had reported. Madame Aurore had leaned out of the window to watch Bettina. She had even expressed the wish that she might have the dressing²² of cette jolie enfant.
 
Oh, but life was a droll²³ affair![Pg 228]
 
Bettina thought it entirely²⁴ delightful²⁵. She went about the house singing. The first time Madame Aurore heard Bettina she arrested the rapid stab of her basting²⁶ needle: "Who ees dat?"
 
"That is my youngest daughter."
 
"She tink to go on ze stage?"
 
"Oh, no."
 
"Not? It ees a vast, zat."
 
She was always cold.
 
Whenever we were out of the morning-room she piled on the coal. On the second day I remonstrated. Fuel, I explained, was very expensive so far from the coal-fields. She smiled. "You are ze careful one, hein?" and she looked at me in a way which made me uncomfortable.
 
But I did not feel about the poor little creature as my mother did.
 
My mother went so far as to wish we had not sent for her. She would never have allowed her to come if she had seen her first. I thought my mother severe.
 
Everybody else, including the servants, liked Madame Aurore. No wonder. She spent her life doing things for people. Sewing for us all[Pg 229] day like mad, so that our two best frocks might be finished in spite of the shortness of the time; and still ready at nightfall to show the cook how to make p'tite marmite, or sauce à la financière—equally ready to advise the housemaid how to give the Bond Street, not to say the Rue²¹ de la Paix, touch to her Sunday alpaca, and chic²⁷ to old Ransom's beehive hat.
 
If she asked them one and all more questions in a minute than they could answer in a month, what did that show but the generous interest she took in her fellow-beings?
 
Bettina, with her little air of large experience, said that Madame Aurore was the most "sympathetic" person she had ever met. Madame Aurore's benevolent²⁸ concern about our clothes, our soups, sauces, and servants, and everything that was ours, extended to our friends and relations and everything that was theirs. She had never, she said, known people—let alone such charming people as we—with so few acquaintances. Bettina thought Madame Aurore was sorry for us.
 
She asked a great deal about the Helmstones. "Ze only friends and zey are avay for seex mont!" Ah, it was well we were going to London. We[Pg 230] should die, else, of aloneness. Aunt Josephine plainly was the one ray of light in our grey existence. Where did she live? Lowndes Square! Ah, but a very expensive and splendid part of London! No news to us, who had our own private measure for social altitudes. Bettina had looked out Lowndes Square on our faded map of London. Aunt Josephine was only a private person, but she lived nearer the King and Queen than the Helmstones did.
 
And for all her being a Biosophist she had asked us to stay for the Coronation. Bettina frequently led the conversation to the great event of June. But this queer little Frenchwoman was more interested in Aunt Josephine than she was in the King and Queen. Here was distinction for an Aunt!
 
And what was she like—this lady? We must have a picture of our only and so valuable relation.
 
Bettina went and rooted about in the deep print and photograph drawer, till she brought Aunt Josephine to light. Very faded and old-fashioned looking, but Madame Aurore regarded the face with a respectful enthusiasm. "Oh, une[Pg 231] grande dame¹! une vraie grande dame!" Madame Aurore understood better now what was required.
 
We repudiated²⁹, on our aunt's behalf, the idea that she was so much grande dame as philanthropist, thinker, recluse³⁰. We did not deny her grandeur³¹. We but clarified it; or, at least, Bettina did.
 
"Bettina talks too much to that woman," my mother said to me privately³². She sent for Bettina and told her she was not to speak to Madame Aurore about anything except her work.
 
Bettina thought to interpret this order literally³³ would be inhuman³⁴. Besides, she considered it very nice of Madame Aurore to take such an interest in us. "I am grateful when people take an interest," said Bettina with her air of superiority.
 
When my mother heard that Bettina had been discussing Aunt Josephine, and had unearthed³⁵ the photograph to show to Madame Aurore, she was annoyed. "Go and bring me the picture," she said.
 
Bettina went into the morning-room, and looked about for some minutes. The little dressmaker sat there, in a litter of white and green, sewing[Pg 232] furiously. Bettina said at last that she hated most dreadfully to bother Madame Aurore, but where was that old photograph?
 
Madame Aurore looked up absently. "Had Mademoiselle Bettina not taken it out?"
 
"Perhaps I did——" Bettina scoured³⁶ the house.
 
Aunt Josephine's photograph was never found.
 
I was glad our mother did not know that Bettina had told Madame Aurore about the pendant and the diamond star. Bettina excused herself by saying Madame Aurore had been so certain a lady like our mother must have jewels, and that she would lend them to her daughters, in order to put the finishing touch of elegance³⁷ to our toilette. Betty had felt it due to our mother to acknowledge that a part, at least, of this exalted³⁸ expectation was not so wide of the mark. And Bettina endorsed³⁹ Madame Aurore's opinion that a diamond star certainly would "light up" my ivory satin and old lace. Also—but no, we must do without.
 
The green frock was all but finished. We had[Pg 233] brought the cheval glass out of my mother's room. She was "not strong enough to stand the patchouli," so she missed the great moment of the final trying on. Bettina stood before the glass, looking somehow more childish than ever, or rather seeming less of common earth and more of fairyland, in the tunic-frock of green, her short curls on her neck.
 
My fancy that she was like somebody out of "The Midsummer Night's Dream," was set to flight by Madame Aurore's shower of couturière's compliment, mixed with highly practical considerations, such as: "See how it falls when you sit down. Parfaitement! And can you valk in it? But wis grace!" Bettina proved she could. "A merveille! Sapristi! Mademoiselle Bettine would see the sensation she was going to create in London. Could she lift ze arm—hein?" Mais belle⁴⁰ comme un ange!—many makers⁴¹ ............