The Green Satin Gown | Page 4

aloud, "I have found the proportion!" I shook
myself again, and began to dress. And now a happy thought struck me.
Glancing at the portrait on the wall, I saw that the fair girl was dressed
in green. Was it? Yes, it must be--it was--the very same dress! Quickly,
and as neatly as I could, I arranged my hair in two great puffs, with a
butterfly knot on the top of my head, in the style of the picture; if only I
had the high comb! I slipped on the gown, which fitted me well enough.
I put on the slippers, and tied the green ribbons round and round my
ankles; then I lighted all the candles, and looked at myself. A perfect
guy? Well, perhaps--and yet--

At this moment Jessop entered, bringing a pair of yellow gloves; she
looked me over critically, saying nothing; glanced at the portrait,
withdrew, and presently reappeared, with the high tortoise-shell comb
in her hand. She placed it carefully in my hair, surveyed me again, and
again looked at the picture. Yes, it was true, the necklace was wanting;
but of course--
Really, Jessop was behaving like a jack-in-the-box! She had
disappeared again, and now here she was for the third time; but this
time Madam Le Baron was with her. The old lady looked at me silently,
at my hair, then up at the picture. The sight of the pleasure in her lovely
face trampled under foot, put out of existence, the last remnant of my
foolish pride.
She turned to Jessop and nodded. "Yes, by all means!" she said. The
maid put into her hand a long morocco box; Madam kissed me, and
with soft, trembling fingers clasped the necklace round my neck. "It is a
graceful compliment you pay me, my child," she said, glancing at the
picture again, with eyes a little dimmed. "Oblige me by wearing this, to
complete the vision of my past youth."
Ten stars of chrysoprase, the purest and tenderest green in the world,
set in delicately wrought gold. I need not describe the necklace to you.
You think it the most beautiful jewel in the world, and so do I; and I
have promised that you shall wear it on your eighteenth birthday.
Madam Le Baron saw nothing singular in my appearance. She never
changed the fashion of her dress, being of the opinion, as she told me
afterward, that a gentlewoman's dress is her own affair, not her
mantua-maker's; and her gray and silver brocade went very well with
the green satin. We stood side by side for a moment, gazing into the
long, dim mirror; then she patted my shoulder and gave a little sigh.
"Your auburn hair looks well with the green," she said. "My hair was
dark, but otherwise--Shall we go down, my dear?"
I will not say much about the evening. It was painful, of course; but
Effie Gay had no mother, and much must be pardoned in such a case.

No doubt I made a quaint figure enough among the six or eight gay
girls, all dressed in the latest fashion; but the first moment was the
worst, and the first titter put a fire in my veins that kept me warm all
the evening. An occasional glance at Madam Le Baron's placid face
enabled me to preserve my sense of proportion, and I remembered that
two wise men, Solomon and my Uncle John, had compared the
laughter of fools to the crackling of thorns under a pot. And--and there
were some who did not laugh.
Pin it up, my dear! Your father has come, and will be wanting his tea.
I can tell you the rest of the story in a few words.
A year from that time Madam Le Baron died; and a few weeks after her
death, a parcel came for me from Hillton.
Opening it in great wonder, what did I find but the gown, the green
satin gown, with the slippers and fan, and the tortoise-shell comb in a
leather case! Lifting it reverently from the box, the dress felt singularly
heavy on my arm, and a moment's search revealed a strange matter.
The pocket was full of gold pieces, shining half-eagles, which fell
about me in a golden shower, and made me cry out with amazement;
but this was not all! The tears sprang to my eyes as I opened the
morocco box and took out the chrysoprase necklace: tears partly of
gratitude and pleasure, partly of sheer kindness and love and sorrow for
the sweet, stately lady who had thought of me in her closing days, and
had found (they told me afterward) one of her last pleasures in planning
this surprise for me.
There is something more that I might say, my dear.