Monte Carlo in the morning is very unlike Monte Carlo in the afternoon
or evening.
Though the sun poured down on the beautiful gardens, there was a sleepy,
unawakened look about the place—an air of _déshabille_. The majority of
the windows of the Hôtel de Paris were still closely shuttered, and the
Paradise of Pleasure Seekers, as it has been somewhat cynically called,
was now given over to the toilers whose lifework is to provide life-ease
for others.
Dozens of gardeners were busily engaged in sweeping the paths of the
embowered gardens, and in watering the brilliant, many-hued blossoms
which compose the vast, carpet-like parterre in front of the Casino.
Ant-like convoys of country folk, laden with vegetables, flowers, eggs,
cheese, and so on, were moving slowly across the Grande Place.
Lily looked about her with curiosity and interest. The Monte Carlo of
the foreigner and the gambler was still fast asleep. Was it likely that
any of the smart shops would be open?
The Countess called out to the driver and the carriage stopped. Then,
turning to Lily, she observed: “We will walk to the Galerie Charles
Trois. I know a very good dressmaker there—as a matter of fact, she is
connected with the Polda family, for her grandfather was steward to your
Uncle Angelo’s grandfather. Her sister keeps an hotel in the Condamine.”
The Galerie Charles Trois, with its luxurious-looking, magnificent
restaurants and elegant shops, also looked strangely deserted, though it
was occupied by an army of dusters, sweepers, and window-washers.
Several of the shops were shut, but still, many were open, and the two
ladies walked slowly along, admiring the pretty things on view. What
specially fascinated Aunt Cosy were the jewellers’ windows, and Lily had
never seen such splendid gems or such gorgeous ornaments even in Bond
Street or Regent Street.
All that makes of Monte Carlo a place absolutely apart seemed this
morning more vividly real to the English girl than anything she had seen
yet. Those for whom all these preparations were being made, and all
these luxuries laid out, were still heavily asleep for the most part.
But the army of men and women who ministered to their pleasure were all
hard at work, for the most part with an air of anxiety and fatigue on
their faces. Even the working folk of Monte Carlo do not go early to
bed.
At last, when they were close to the end of the Galerie, the Countess
exclaimed: “Here we are!” And Lily, looking up, saw a modest little
shop, inscribed in gold letters, “Madame Jeanne.” In the window were
displayed three simple-looking hats and a muslin gown, also a plain grey
and white silk jumper, with regard to which, nevertheless, Lily told
herself that it was one of the prettiest jumpers she had ever seen.
“Now, Lily,” said the Countess earnestly, “you may absolutely trust the
taste of Madame Jeanne. She was _première_ in a great Paris house before
she started for herself; and though there may not seem to be much in the
shop, what there is will be of the very finest quality; also, she will
know what young girls are now wearing in Rome and Paris.” As she said
those last words she walked into the shop, and a pleasant-looking,
middle-aged woman came forward.
“Madame la Comtesse? This is indeed a pleasure!” she exclaimed
effusively. “Why, it is more like years than months since last I had the
pleasure of seeing Madame la Comtesse!”
“Yes, my good Jeanne,” said the Countess graciously. “It is indeed a
long time since we met. But the Count went to your sister’s hotel only
yesterday, and was able, I am glad to say, to do one of her clients a
little service. I am bringing you to-day a good new customer! We want
two or three pretty dresses, and we want them at once. As you see,
Mademoiselle is in half-mourning, so we must only choose white and grey
gowns, for mauve is not a young girl’s colour.”
“I can make Mademoiselle something very pretty,” began the woman, but
the Countess cut her short: “We want _to-day_ a simple, yet smart, coat
and skirt, an afternoon Casino and restaurant gown, and a simple,
girlish evening dress. We want to take them away now, this morning.”
Mme. Jeanne looked a little uncomfortable, and also a little surprised.
“Everything is very dear——” she began, hesitatingly, “though of course I
should always make a very special price for Madame la Comtesse.”
“I count on that, my good Jeanne, for Mademoiselle will pay ready
money.”
The woman’s face cleared as if by magic. “If I have not got exactly what
Mademoiselle requires, I can borrow something from one or two of my
rivals,” she said smiling.
The two ladies were shown into an inner room panelled with
looking-glass. There they waited for a very few minutes—though the
Countess was fidgety, and kept saying that she thought Jeanne might
hurry herself a little more—before two neatly-dressed girls with
beautifully-done hair, brought in, the one a selection of
delightful-looking pale grey and cream coats and skirts, and the other
an armful of filmy white blouses.
Lily tried on all the coats and skirts, but the second one she had put
on obviously suited her the best. It was of a delicate, pale
brownish-grey tint, and though it was very simply made, she was at once
agreeably aware, as she gazed this way and that, seeing reflections of
herself wherever she turned, that she had never looked so well-dressed
in her life as she looked in this little coat and skirt.
As for the blouses to be worn with the frock, they were all so pretty
that she could not make up her mind between them, and she ended by
choosing five.
Before she took off the coat and skirt, Mme. Jeanne suddenly exclaimed:
“Surely Mademoiselle will want a hat to match the costume?” And before
Lily could answer a delightful little grey toque, trimmed with Mercury
wings, was produced.
The selection of a muslin gown and of a silk coatee to wear with it was
a very quick affair. In spite of the Countess’s objection to mauve, Mme.
Jeanne persuaded her that Mademoiselle would look well in deep violet.
The collar and cuffs of the coatee were of dark fur, and the same note
of colour was repeated in a tiny round purple hat trimmed with some
pompoms of fur which Lily felt she must certainly buy too!
Then came the important question of the evening dress. Over that
business the two ladies spent a long time. Gown after gown was rejected
by the Countess as too elaborate, and not young enough for her niece,
and at last Lily felt quite tired out of standing like a doll to be
dressed, redressed and undressed.
Mme. Jeanne, on her side, began to wonder if she would ever please her
difficult client, the Countess Polda, when suddenly a simple pale grey
chiffon gown was produced and slipped over Lily’s head. It was what is
called in England a picture dress. It belonged, that is, to no special
time or fashion, and it was extremely becoming to the wearer’s delicate,
brilliant complexion, and beautiful fair hair.
“Even if Mademoiselle is in mourning, could she not wear with this gown
a turquoise-blue velvet belt?” Without waiting for an answer, Mme.
Jeanne fetched a bit of turquoise ribbon and put it around the girl’s
slender, rounded waist. The effect was enchanting!
But the sight of the velvet ribbon made Lily feel guilty. Though she
often felt now as if she were living in another world, she did not
forget The Nest at Epsom, and Aunt Emmeline’s long, loving kindness to
her. She grew very red, and said quickly: “I would rather have a black
belt.”
“No, no, not black!” exclaimed Mme. Jeanne decidedly, “but grey if you
like, to tone in with the gown, Mademoiselle. That will be quite pretty.
And here is something else—a real bargain this time!” As she spoke she
went to a cupboard and took out a black and white striped evening cloak.
It was a very attractive garment, though perhaps a little old for a
girl.
“This was ordered by a war widow; but between ordering this cloak and
its completion, which was only three days, the lady became engaged! So
she made up her mind she need not wear mourning for her departed hero
any more. Only three hundred francs?”
She threw it over Lily’s shoulders, and the girl realised that it gave a
touch of elegant finish to her appearance.
“The cloak goes so well with this dress,” went on Madame Jeanne,
“because it, also, was copied from an old picture—a picture which hangs
in the Palace of Monaco. If I may venture to advise Mademoiselle, I
should have this beautiful cloak repeated when Mademoiselle goes back to
colours. It would look exquisite in pale lemon yellow and turquoise
blue.”
And as Lily was still hesitating, Mme. Jeanne exclaimed: “Oh, but I
forgot—there is a bag that goes with the cloak. That alone was to have
been a hundred francs, but I shall give it to Mademoiselle—it shall be
thrown in!”
She pulled out a drawer, and took from it a quaint little silk bag. The
clasp was of light tortoiseshell, and it really was a charming little
object.
“Thank you so much, Jeanne! I knew I could count both on your kindness
and on your beautiful taste,” said the Countess very cordially. “And
now,” she turned to Lily, “we must go off to the bank and get the money
for Mme. Jeanne! Make out the bill Jeanne, and remember that we are
paying cash!”
Madame retired into an inner room for a few minutes, then came back and
handed the account to the Countess.
“I hope Madame la Comtesse will consider that I have been more than
reasonable,” she said a little nervously.
The Countess frowned as she looked over the bill. Then she sighed. “Yes,
my good Jeanne, I suppose that these monstrous prices _are_ being given
nowadays! But still, three hundred and fifty francs for a muslin
gown—and two hundred for the silk coatee! The sort of gown which as a
young girl I should have had for a hundred francs—or less, indeed, had
it been made at home! And the hats? Jeanne, Jeanne—the hats are surely
very costly for a young girl?”
Madame looked over the bill as if she had forgotten what she had put
down for the hats; then she observed with a virtuous air: “I will take
ten francs off each of the hats to please Madame la Comtesse.”
All this time Lily stood by, not being consulted, not even knowing the
amount which she was going to pay. The only time she herself had
interfered had been in connection with the grey gown. The Countess had
seemed to think that the price of the very simple chiffon frock—five
hundred francs—was really too much. But Lily had suddenly felt she
_must_ have _this_ dress! It was the prettiest evening gown, so she told
herself secretly, that she had ever had the chance of wearing, and she
did not want to lose it.
“Get everything packed as quickly as possible,” exclaimed the Countess,
“for the Count and I have a great deal to do before the arrival of Count
Beppo.”
“Is Count Beppo coming to Monte Carlo?” exclaimed Madame Jeanne,
evidently much interested by this little item of news.
“Yes,” said the Countess. “He was not coming till the spring, but now,
to my great joy and satisfaction, he has been able to leave Rome, and we
hope he will be with us for some time.”
“And is Mademoiselle also staying at La Solitude?” asked the woman.
There was a touch of eager, but kindly, inquisitiveness in her voice.
“Yes, my good Jeanne,” said the Countess. “We hope to keep my niece all
the winter.”
“I hope it will not be long before I see Madame la Comtesse again,” said
the woman.
“As you know, I cannot walk uphill, and carriages are now so
expensive——” the Countess sighed. “But still, while my son is here I
hope to come down to the town now and again, and I will certainly look
in.”
She went out of the shop, followed by Lily. “Now, my dear, we must go to
the bank, come back here, and then return as quickly as possible to La
Solitude. You will not mind lunching by yourself? Uncle Angelo and I
have several things to do in view of our beloved Beppo’s visit—and his
train arrives at two o’clock.”
Not for the first time the girl was struck by Aunt Cosy’s air of fierce
determination. She looked, in spite of her weak heart, energy
personified.
But, determined as was the Countess Polda, there was a strain of
obstinacy in Lily Fairfield, too, as the older lady sometimes found to
her cost.
When they got back to La Solitude, before the Count and Countess started
for Monte Carlo, quite a passage of arms took place between them. The
Countess was not satisfied with the simple frock in which Lily had come
down that morning, and, to please her, Lily changed into a white serge
skirt and put on one of her new blouses. But, even so, the Countess was
still dissatisfied.
Then it was that Lily made a stand. “No, Aunt Cosy, I really can’t put
on one of the smart dresses we bought this morning—I should feel so
queer and uncomfortable!”
Aunt Cosy had given in, but there came a gleam of anger in her bright
blue eyes. “I asked you to do so in your own interest,” she said coldly.
“Beppo is very observant. He is an expert as to ladies’ dress. I have
heard him make very scathing remarks about the clothes worn by certain
pretty ladies!”
A very scathing reply trembled on Lily’s lips—but she forced it back;
and, at last, to her secret relief, she saw the Count and Countess
disappear together on their way down to the town. What a singular young
man Beppo Polda must be! Lily made up her mind that she was not going to
like him.