Lady Fanny stepped back to obtain a better view of her handiwork.

“I cannot make up my mind,” she said. “Shall I put a ribbon in your hair, or⁠—no, I have it!⁠—a single white rose!” She picked one up from the table at her side. “You can well spare it from your corsage, my dear. Where is the little buckle Justin gave you?”

Léonie, seated before the mirror, held out the pearl-and-diamond ornament. My lady proceeded to fasten the rose with it above Léonie’s left ear, so that it nestled amongst the powdered curls that were skilfully arranged to resemble a coiffure. The friseur had worked wonders. The curls clustered thickly about the queenly little head, and just one had been coaxed to fall to the shoulder.

“It could not be better!” said my lady. “Give me the haresfoot, wench!”

Léonie’s maid handed it to her, and stood ready with the various pots.

“Just a touch of rouge, I think,” said Fanny. “The veriest suspicion⁠—so! The lipstick, girl!⁠ ⁠… Keep still, my love, I must not overdo it. There! Powder, girl!” The haresfoot fluttered over Léonie’s face. My lady studied the effect intently. “It’s very well. Now for the patches! Two, I think. Don’t wriggle, child!” Expert fingers pressed the patches on: one below the dimple, one above the cheekbone. “Famous!” cried my lady. “Mercy, look at the time! I must hurry! Stand up, Léonie, and you, girl, hand me the dress!”

Léonie stood up in her underdress of lace, ruffle upon ruffle of it falling over a great hoop to her ankles, and watched my lady shake out the folds of soft white brocade. Fanny flung it deftly over her head, so that not a hair was disturbed, pulled it over the hoop, twitched it into place, and told the maid to lace it up. Léonie’s feet peeped from beneath the lace petticoat in shoes of white satin with heels that were studded with tiny diamonds. Buckles flashed on them⁠—yet another present from Avon. Léonie pointed her toe, and regarded the effect gravely.

Fanny came to arrange a lace fichu about Léonie’s shoulders. Out of the lace they rose, sloping and very white. Fanny shook out the ruffles, tied the ribbons, and fastened the two other roses into place over the knot with a pearl pin.

“Why, madame, what is that?” asked Léonie quickly. “It is not mine, I know!”

Fanny kissed her lightly.

“Oh, it is naught but a trifle, my love, that I had a mind to give you! I beg you will not heed it!”

Léonie flushed.

“Madame, you are very good to me! Thank you!”

Someone scratched on the door; the abigail went to open it, and came back into the room with a small silver tray, on which were two packages, and white roses in a silver holder.

“For mademoiselle,” smiled the maid.

Léonie ran forward.

“For me? Who sent them?” She bent over the tray to read the cards. “Rupert⁠—M. Marling⁠—M. Davenant! But how they are kind! Why do you all give me presents, madame?”

“My sweet, ’tis your first appearance. I suspect Hugh asked Justin what flowers he should send.” She picked up the bouquet. “See, child, the holder is so cunningly wrought! What says the card?”

Léonie held it between her fingers.

“ ‘To Léon, from Hugh Davenant.’ Voyons, I am not Léon tonight, but Mademoiselle de Bonnard! What can this be?⁠—from M. Marling⁠—oh, the little ring! Madame, look!” She slipped the wrappings from the last package, and disclosed a fan of delicately painted chicken-skin mounted on ivory sticks. “Oh, this clever Rupert! Madame, how did he know I wanted a fan?”

Fanny shook her head mysteriously.

“La, child, don’t ask me! Stop skipping round the room, stupid! Where are Justin’s pearls?”

“Oh, the pearls!” Léonie ran to the dressing-table, and extracted the long, milky string from one of the boxes there.

Fanny twisted it twice round her neck, cast another distracted glance at the clock, sprinkled scent on to a handkerchief, and over Léonie, gave a last twitch to the brocade gown, and hurried to the door.

“You will be so late!” Léonie cried. “All because you dressed me. I will wait for you, madame, shall I?”

“Yes, child, of course! I want to be there when Jus⁠—when they see you. Come and sit with me while I finish my toilette.”

But Léonie was in no mood to sit still. She paraded in front of the mirror, curtsied to herself, fluttered her fan, and sniffed at her roses.

Rachel worked swiftly tonight, and soon my lady stood up in a gown of rose silk, with a petticoat of silver lace, and the most enormous hoop Léonie had ever seen. My lady whisked the haresfoot across her face again, slipped bracelets on to her arms, and fixed nodding feathers into her marvellous coiffure.

“Oh, madame, it is very fine, I think!” said Léonie, pausing in her perambulations to and fro.

My lady pulled a face at her own reflection.

“It matters naught what I look like tonight,” she said. “Do you like the silver lace, child? And the shoes?” She lifted her skirts and showed a pretty ankle.

“Yes, madame. I like it⁠—oh, much! Now let us go downstairs and show Monseigneur!”

“I am with you in a moment, my sweet life. Rachel, my fan and gloves! Léonie, hold your bouquet in the other hand, and slip the ribbon of your fan over your wrist. Yes, that is excellent. Now I am ready.”

“I am so excited I feel as though I should burst!” said Léonie.

“Child! Remember you are to put a guard on your tongue! Let me hear no ‘bursts’ or ‘pig-persons’ on your lips tonight, as you love me.”

“No, madame, I will remember. And not ‘breeches’ either!”

“Certainly not!” tittered Fanny, and sailed out to the staircase. At the head of it she paused, and stood aside. “Go before me, child. Slowly, slowly! Oh dear, you will break hearts, I know!” But this she said to herself.

Léonie went sedately down the broad stairway that was brilliantly lit tonight with branches of tall candles set in the niches of the wall. Below, in the hall, gathered about the fire, the gentlemen were waiting, his Grace with orders glittering on a coat of purple satin; Lord Rupert in pale blue, with much rich lacing, and an elegant flowered waistcoat; Marling in puce; and Davenant in maroon. Léonie paused halfway down the stairs and unfurled her fan.

“But look at me!” she said reprovingly.

They turned quickly at the sound of her voice, and saw her with candles on either side, a little figure, all white, from the ordered curls to the jewelled heels: white brocade cut low across the shoulders, white lace to form a petticoat, white roses at her breast and in her hand. Only her eyes were deep, sparkling blue, and her parted lips like cherries, her cheeks faintly flushed.

“You beauty!” gasped Rupert. “By⁠—Gad, you beauty!”

His Grace went forward to the foot of the stairs, and held out his hands.

“Come, ma belle!”

She ran down to him. He bowed low over her hand, whereat she blushed, and curtsied a little way.

“I am nice, Monseigneur, do you not think? Lady Fanny did it all, and see, Monseigneur, she gave me this pin, and Rupert gave me the flow⁠—no, the fan. It was M. Davenant gave me the flowers, and M. Marling this pretty ring!” She danced over to where they stood, just staring at her. “Thank you very much, all of you! Rupert, you are very grand tonight! I have never seen you so⁠—so tidy, and tout à fait beau!”

Lady Fanny came down the stairs.

“Well, Justin? Have I succeeded?”

“My dear, you have surpassed yourself.” His eyes ran over her. “Your own toilette leaves nothing to be desired.”

“Oh!” she shrugged her shoulders. “I am naught tonight.”

“You are très grande dame, my dear,” he said.

“That, perhaps,” she nodded. “It was my intention.”

Rupert lifted his quizzing glass.

“You always look a beauty, Fan; I’ll say that for you.”

The lackeys about the great doorway suddenly sprang to attention.

“La, are they arriving already?” cried my lady. “Come, child!” she led the way into the big ballroom, that ran the length of the house. Léonie looked about her appreciatively.

“Voyons, this pleases me!” she said, and went up to one of the great baskets of flowers to inspect the frail blooms. “We are all very grand, and so is the house. Monseigneur, Rupert is beautiful, is he not?”

Avon surveyed his tall, rakish young brother.

“Would you call him beautiful?” he drawled.

“Devil take you, Justin!” spluttered his lordship.

A footman stood in the wide doorway, and rolled forth names. Rupert effaced himself, and Lady Fanny went forward.

An hour later it seemed to Léonie that the whole house was full of gaily dressed ladies and gentlemen. She had curtsied a hundred times; she still could hear my lady’s voice saying: “I have the honour to present to you Mademoiselle de Bonnard, madame, my brother’s ward.”

Very early in the evening Avon had come to her with a young man beside him: a young man dressed in the height of fashion, with orders on his breast, and a marvellous wig upon his head. Avon had said:

“My ward, Prince. Léonie, M. le Prince de Condé desires an introduction.”

She curtsied very low; Condé bent over her hand.

“But mademoiselle is ravissante!” he murmured.

Léonie rose from her curtsy, and smiled shyly. M. le Prince laid a hand over his heart.

“Mademoiselle will honour me for this first dance?” he said.

She thought him a charming boy, no more. She put her hand on his arm, and smiled sunnily up at him.

“Yes, please, m’sieur. It is my very own ball! Is it not exciting?”

Condé, accustomed to débutantes who were properly bored, was enchanted with this frank enjoyment. The fiddlers struck up, the couples took their places behind him and Léonie.

“Must we go first?” she asked confidentially.

“But yes, mademoiselle, surely!” he smiled. “You lead your very own ball.”

Lady Fanny, standing by the door, touched Rupert’s arm.

“Who has the child got for partner? It should be a prince of the Blood at least, by the orders! Who is it?”

“Young Condé,” Rupert answered. “You wouldn’t know him, Fan. He’s only twenty or so.”

“La, how did Justin get him here so early?” gasped my lady. “He to lead her out! She’s made for life! Look, he’s laughing! Oh, she has captivated him, never fret!” She turned her head to find Avon behind her. “Justin, how did you contrive to get Condé here so early? You’re a wizard, I vow.”

“Yes, it was well thought of, was it not?” said his Grace. “You will present her next to De Brionne. He is just come. Who is that child with the silver roses on her gown?”

“My dear, I don’t know! There are so many new faces I protest I cannot remember to whom they all belong! Justin, Condé is enchanted! There’s not a man in the room will not hasten to Léonie’s side having seen him so enraptured! Ah, madame!” She rustled away to greet a latecomer.

“I think I’ll go to the card-room and take charge there,” said Rupert ingenuously, and prepared to depart.

“Quite unnecessary, my child,” said his Grace, barring the way. “Hugh has it well in hand. You, boy, will lead out Mademoiselle de Vauvallon.”

“Oh, lud!” groaned Rupert, but he moved away to where Mademoiselle was seated.

When next Fanny had leisure to observe Léonie she saw her seated on a couch in an alcove, drinking negus with her partner. The two seemed to be enjoying themselves hugely. Fanny watched, well pleased, and presently, evading the group of young men who were one and all clamouring for an introduction, she took the Comte de Brionne over to the alcove, and presented him. Condé rose, and made a leg.

“Oh, mademoiselle, you must save one little minute for me later!” he said. “When may it be?”

“We will meet somewhere,” said Léonie. “I know! Under the big palm over there, at⁠—at ten minutes past eleven!” She twinkled. “That is like an adventure!”

“Mademoiselle, I shall be there!” Condé promised, laughing.

Fanny stepped forward.

“My brother’s ward, m’sieur. M. de Brionne, Léonie.”

Léonie set down her glass, rose, and curtsied. Her brow was wrinkled. Inexorably Fanny bore Condé away.

“Mademoiselle looks worried?” De Brionne gave her her glass again.

She turned to him, and smiled engagingly.

“M’sieur, I am very stupid. I cannot remember who you are!”

De Brionne was taken aback for a moment. It was not thus that young ladies were wont to address the son of Louis de Lorraine. But he could not resist the fascination of Léonie’s eyes. Moreover, where Condé had been pleased De Brionne would certainly not be affronted. He returned the smile.

“You are new come to Paris, mademoiselle?”

She nodded.

“Yes, m’sieur. Now let me think. I know! You are the son of the Comte d’Armagnac⁠—M. le Grand!”

The Comte was much amused. It was probable that he had never before met a lady who pondered thus naively over his genealogy. He settled down to enjoy himself, and found that he was required to name most of the people who passed, for Léonie’s edification.

“Voyons, m’sieur, you know everybody!” she said presently. “You are being very useful to me. Now tell me who it is dancing with Monseigneur?”

“Monseigneur?”

“Yes, the Duc⁠—my⁠—my guardian.”

“Oh⁠—! That is Madame du Deffand.”

“Truly?” Léonie regarded the lady intently. “She amuses him, I think.”

“She is a very amusing lady,” said De Brionne gravely. “Did Condé point our notables out to you?”

“No⁠—no.” Léonie dimpled. “We found such a lot of other things to talk about, m’sieur. He told me about duels, and what it is like to be a royal prince.”

De Brionne began to laugh.

“Did you ask him, mademoiselle?”

“Yes, m’sieur,” said Léonie innocently.

In the doorway Fanny was curtsying low to the Duc de Penthièvre, who had just arrived. He kissed her hand with pretty gallantry.

“My dear Lady Fanny! One was bouleversé when one learned of the return of the so charming Lady Fanny!”

“Ah, m’sieur!” She smiled, and spread out her fan.

Avon came up with Madame du Deffand on his arm.

“My dear Penthièvre, I am rejoiced to see you.”

“Mon cher Duc! Madame, votre serviteur!” He swept a bow. “Tell me, Alastair, where is this ward one hears tell of?”

“My ward⁠ ⁠… let me see, she was with De Brionne a moment ago. No, she is dancing now with my brother. In white, with the rose in her hair.”

De Penthièvre looked across the room to where Léonie was circling gracefully round Rupert. Their hands were held high, her foot was pointed, and she was laughing.

“So!” said de Penthièvre. “Our débutantes will tear their powdered locks, Duc!”

The rooms grew more crowded. Some time later Lady Fanny, proceeding to the refreshment room, met her husband in the hall, and said radiantly:

“My dearest love, what a success! Have you seen the child? De Penthièvre has danced with her, and Condé! Where’s Justin?”

“Gone into the little salon. You’re satisfied, sweet?”

“Satisfied! Paris will talk of naught but this ball and Léonie for weeks to come! I shall keep them talking, I promise you!” She hurried away to the refreshment room, found it crowded, with Léonie the centre of a delighted and admiring group. Fanny took a forlorn lady under her wing, and bore her off in search of a cavalier.

In the card-room they discussed the Duke’s latest whim.

“Mon Dieu, Davenant, but what a beauty! What colouring! What wonderful eyes!” cried Lavoulère. “Who is she?”

The Chevalier d’Anvau cut in before Hugh could reply.

“Ah, he is proud of her, is Satanas! One sees it clearly.”

“He has reason,” remarked Marrignard, toying with a dice-box. “She has not only beauty, but also espièglerie! I was amongst the fortunate who obtained her hand. Condé is greatly épris.”

The Chevalier looked at Hugh.

“She is like someone. I cannot think who it may be. I have racked my brains, but it eludes me.”

“Yes, it is true,” nodded Lavoulère. “When I set eyes on her it came to me in a flash that I had met her before. Is it possible that I have done so, Davenant?”

“Quite impossible,” Hugh said fervently. “She has but just come from England.”

Madame de Marguéry, playing at lansquenet at an adjacent table, looked up.

“But she is French, surely? Who were her parents?”

“I do not know, madame,” said Hugh with truth. “As you know, Justin is never communicative.”

“Oh!” Madame cried. “He loves to make a mystery! It is to intrigue us all! The child is quite charming, and wellborn, of course. That naive innocence should make her success assured. I would my daughters had it.”

Meanwhile Lady Fanny had sent Rupert to extricate Léonie from the refreshment room. She came back on my lord’s arm, and chuckled gleefully.

“Madame, M. le Prince says I have eyes like stars, and another man said that a shaft from my eyes had slain him, and⁠—”

“Fie, child!” said my lady. “Never tell me all that here! I am going to present you to Madame de la Roque. Come!”

But at midnight Léonie escaped from the ballroom, and wandered into the hall. Condé, coming from one of the other salons, met her there.

“The little butterfly! I went to look for you, mademoiselle, and could not find you.”

Léonie smiled upon him.

“Please, have you seen Monseigneur, m’sieur?”

“A dozen monseigneurs, little butterfly! Which one do you want?”

“My own Monseigneur,” said Léonie. “The Duc of Avon, of course.”

“Oh, he is in the farthest salon, mademoiselle, but shall not I do as well?”

She shook her head.

“But no, m’sieur. I want him.”

Condé took her hand, and smiled down at her.

“You are unkind, Fairy Princess! I thought you liked me just a little?”

“Yes, I do. I like you very much,” Léonie assured him. “But now I want Monseigneur.”

“Then I’ll fetch him for you at once,” Condé said gallantly.

“But no! I will go to him, m’sieur. You take me!”

Condé presented his arm promptly.

“Now you are a little kinder, mademoiselle! Is this monseigneur going to bring you to Versailles, I wonder?”

“Yes, I think so. Will you be there? Please do, m’sieur!”

“Of a certainty I shall be there. Then, at Madame de Longchamps’ rout I shall meet you, surely?”

“I do not know,” she said. “I think I am going to a great many routs, but Monseigneur has not told me which ones yet. Oh, there he is!” She released Condé’s arm, and ran forward to where his Grace was standing. “Monseigneur, I have been looking for you. The Prince brought me. Thank you very much, m’sieur!” She held out a friendly hand. “Now you will go and dance with⁠—with⁠—oh, with somebody! I do not know the names!”

Condé kissed the small hand.

“You will bring her to court, Duc?”

“To the levée next week,” said his Grace.

“Then I am satisfied,” Condé said, bowed, and left them.

The Duke looked down at his ward in some amusement.

“You dismiss royalty very summarily, Babe.”

“Oh, Monseigneur, he is quite young, and very like Rupert! He did not mind, do you think?”

“He did not appear to mind,” said the Duke. “What do you want with me, infant?”

“Nothing, Monseigneur. But I thought I would come to find you.”

“You are tired, infant.” He led her to a couch. “You shall sit quietly with me awhile.”

“Yes, please, Monseigneur. It is a very nice dance, I think. I have danced with a great many grand people, and they were all very kind to me indeed.”

“I am glad to hear it, child,” he said gravely. “How does your Prince please you?”

“Oh, he is fort amusant! He told me ever so many things about court, Monseigneur, and he explained who the people were⁠—oh no! It was M. de Brionne who did that. I said ‘Bah’ to the Prince, I am afraid, but he liked it, and he laughed. And I danced with Rupert⁠—and oh, Monseigneur, with M. d’Anvau! He said he was sure he had met me before!” Her eyes danced. “I wanted to say, ‘But yes, m’sieur. I brought you wine at Vassaud’s one night!’ ”

“I sincerely trust you did not, infant?”

“Oh no, I was very discreet, Monseigneur. I said ‘Tiens! Me, I do not think I have met m’sieur before.’ It was not at all true, was it?”

“Never mind, child, it was a very proper reply. And now I am going to present you to a very old friend of mine who desires speech with you. Come, infant!”

“Qui est-ce?” she asked.

He walked slowly with her through the salons to the hall.

“It is M. de Richelieu, my child. You will be very polite to him.”

“Yes, Monseigneur,” she said docilely, and nodded her head to a young exquisite who was smiling at her and trying to catch her eye. “I have been very polite to everyone tonight. Except Rupert, of course.”

“That goes without saying,” said his Grace, and took her back into the ballroom.

A middle-aged exquisite was standing by the fire at one end, holding animated converse with a plump lady of some beauty. Avon waited until others had gathered about his lady, and then he went forward.

Richelieu saw him, and came to meet him.

“Ah, Justin, the promised introduction! Your beautiful ward!”

Léonie took her hand from Avon’s arm, and curtsied. Richelieu bowed to her, and took her hand, and patted it.

“Child, I envy Justin. Justin, go away! I shall look after mademoiselle very well without you.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said his Grace, and went away to find Lady Fanny.

Armand de Saint-Vire pounced on him as he crossed the hall.

“My friend, who is that girl?” he demanded. “I craved an introduction. Miladi Fanny was good enough to present me. I talked with the sprite⁠—mon Dieu, qu’elle est jolie!⁠—and all the time I asked myself: Who is she? Who is she?”

“And did you obtain an answer from yourself?” inquired his Grace.

“No, Justin, I did not! Therefore I ask you: Who is she?”

“She is my ward, dear Armand,” smiled his Grace, and passed on as Mademoiselle de la Vogue came up.

Fanny was in the refreshment room, with Davenant. She waved to Justin as he entered.

“I have earned a moment’s repose!” she said gaily. “Lud, Justin, I’ve presented a score of children to each other and never caught one of their names! Where’s Léonie?”

“With Richelieu,” he said. “No, Fanny, you need not to be alarmed. He is under oath to be discreet. Hugh, you have been a godsend to me this night.”

My lady began to fan herself.

“We have all of us worked a little,” she said. “My poor Edward is with the dowagers, playing at ombre, and Rupert has scarce been inside the card-room.”

“You have worked the hardest of us all,” said Hugh.

“Oh, but I have enjoyed myself so prodigiously!” she said. “Justin, I don’t know how many young beaux have not been making love to Léonie! Condé is ravished, he tells me. Do I not make a famous chaperon? When I present Léonie I feel fifty⁠—yes, Hugh, positively I do!⁠—but when I meet Raoul de Fontanges again⁠—ah, then I am back in my teens!” She cast up her eyes.

But presently people began to take their leave, and at last they were alone again in the hall, tired but triumphant.

Rupert yawned prodigiously.

“Lord, what an evening! Burgundy, Hugh?” He poured out several glasses. “Fan, you’ve torn your lace.”

Fanny sank into a chair.

“My dear, I do not care if ’tis in ribbons. Léonie, my pet, you look worn out! Oh, my poor Edward, you did nobly with the dowagers!”

“Ah yes!” said his Grace. “I have to thank you, Edward. You were quite untiring. Infant, can you still hold your eyes open?”

“Yes, Monseigneur. Oh, madame, M. le Prince said that my dress was ravishing!”

“Ay⁠—” Rupert shook his head at her. “I’d give something to know what you’ve been at this night, rogue! Did old Richelieu make love to you?”

“Oh no!” Léonie was surprised. “Why he is quite an old man!”

“Alas, poor Armand!” said his Grace. “Don’t tell him so, infant, I implore you.”

“Nor anyone, my love,” said her ladyship. “It would fly round Paris! He would be so chagrined!”

“Well, who did make love to you?” asked Rupert. “Besides Condé.”

“He didn’t, Rupert! No one did.” Léonie looked round innocently. “He only said I was a Fairy Princess. Yes, and he said that about my eyes.”

“If that’s not making⁠—” Rupert encountered a glance from his brother, and broke off. “Oh ay! I’m dumb, never fear!”

“Monseigneur,” Léonie said. “I kept thinking it was a dream! If they knew I had been a page I do not think they would have been so kind to me. They would have thought I was not enough respectable!”