Wordlessly Hélène lifted the skirt to display her shoes.
Madame Dupre smiled. 'I know that,' she said soothingly. 'So don't worry, I have already thought of it.'
Hélène looked relieved. She posed in front of the mirror, watching the folds of silk shift and fall. The gown seemed to have a lifeblood of its own. Then she turned questioningly to Madame Dupre. 'What have you thought of for shoes?'
'I shall sew silk slippers with soft leather bottoms. They will tie around your ankles with white silk ribbons, rather like ballet slippers.'
Hélène beamed. On an impulse she hugged Madame Dupre. 'You're a genius!' she said happily.
Madame Dupre looked pleased, but her voice was gruff. 'Careful!' she said. 'You're crushing the dress! Now, off with it! I want to finish it on time. We have less than ten hours until the ball.' She helped Hélène to undress. 'You go and eat. Before you take your bath, look in my nightstand. I have some scented bath seeds. Pour a handful into the tub.'
By four o'clock Hélène had completed her grooming. She had bathed twice and carefully washed her hair. When it was dry, she did what Madame Dupre had told her to do—winding it as tightly as possible around her head and pinning it in place. Then she went back down to the sewing room.
The gown was nearly finished. Hélène just stood there staring at it, transfixed. She shook her head in disbelief. She had never seen anything quite so lovely. It lay on the table, and Madame Dupre was deftly sewing a surfilage along the hem. The surfilage wasn't necessary, but it was an added luxurious touch. Hélène knew that only the finest garments had this finishing touch that would keep the hem from fraying. Not that the gown would be worn enough to fray. But she knew that Madame Dupre wanted it to stand up to the most lavish designer gowns at the ball.
'There. Fini.' Madame Dupre sighed with approval and let the hem fall back down on the table. 'Try it on once more,' she said. 'I've got to see if it needs any last-minute adjustments.'
Eagerly Hélène slipped into it. Her eyes glowed and her breath came in short, excited gasps. The gown was spectacular indeed. Its very simplicity gave it a style of its own. Madame Dupre stepped back to study the effect. She nodded with satisfaction.
'It's more beautiful than anything I've ever seen in Vogue,' Hélène said in a hushed voice.
Madame Dupre nodded. 'It fits perfectly. Thank God, no adjustments are needed. Now, slip out of it and hang it up on one of the hangers. I'm going to work on the slippers now. In the meantime, I want you to go and see the gardener. Tell him the Comtesse said it was all right to deliver enormous bunches of baby's breath to me immediately.'
Hélène frowned. She had forgotten all about the flowers. She wondered what on earth they were for.
At seven-thirty she got dressed. Madame Dupre was like a fussing, clucking mother hen. First the slippers. Hélène slipped into them and tied the silk ribbons around her ankles. She tried walking around the room in them. It was like walking on air. They let her move with a grace she'd never known she had. Then the gown. After Madame Dupre approved the way it fell, she reached for a matching silk turban she had sewn and slipped in over Hélène's head. It covered her skull tightly, hiding her ears and framing her face. It made her forehead look elegantly peaked.
Then came the crowning touch. The flowers. Madame Dupre picked up a cluster of baby's breath she had tied together with almost invisible wires and pinned it to the back of the turban. The flowers looked like a lacy halo growing up out of the silk. Then she reached for an enormous thick boa of more baby's breath. This, too, she had wired carefully together. She draped it around Hélène's shoulders and bodice. Then she got out her needle and deftly stitched it on.
Hélène let out a gasp when she looked at herself in the mirror. It was a fairy-tale gown. The lacelike flowers were far more elegant and beautiful than jewels could ever be.
Madame Dupre glanced at her watch. It was five minutes until eight. She stood back and smiled with satisfaction. She knew that for the first time in her life she had sewn a masterpiece. A masterpiece that was not a copy, that had not been inspired by anyone except herself. Suddenly she felt very tired. Soon she would be able to rest.
'You look beautiful!' she told Hélène proudly.
Hélène's eyes were moist with tears. 'I don't know how I can ever thank you.'
Madame Dupre's eyes narrowed. She said hoarsely, 'Wipe away those tears! You don't want to have puffy red eyes, do you?'
Vehemently Hélène shook her head and wiped her eyes.
Madame Dupre took her hand and squeezed it affectionately. 'Enjoy yourself.'
And then there was a knock at the door. A footman in red satin livery had come to escort Hélène downstairs.
The guests were already arriving as Hélène swept down the carved stone staircase behind the footman, and she could hear the faint sounds of an orchestra somewhere within the chateau. She tried not to show her nervousness. Delicately she lifted the skirt of her gown so that she wouldn't trip on the hem. She caught sight of herself in an ornate pier glass and gasped. She still couldn't quite believe that the reflection she saw there was hers.
Several guests were milling about at the foot of the stairs, the men in hand-sewn tuxedos, the women in lavish gowns and elaborate jewels. Hélène's eyes caught the flashing of diamond chandelier earrings, the sparkle of weblike necklaces of diamonds and emeralds, the deep fiery flashes of rubies, the cool moonglow of sapphires. She could see the expressions on the guests' faces as they looked curiously up at her. They were all stunned.
They stepped aside for her as the footman led her through the open double doors of the Salon de la Rotonde. The room was crowded with guests. The Comte and the Comtesse were standing inside the door, greeting the guests as they arrived. Hélène could see Hubert at the far end of the room. He was impatiently pacing up and down, looking at his gold pocket watch. With a quick motion he snapped it shut. He looked very handsome in black tuxedo and white silk shirt and bow tie.
Suddenly all conversation in the room stopped. For a moment Hélène wondered why. Then she knew. She could feel all their eyes upon her.
For a moment she hesitated. Then gracefully she dropped a curtsy in front of the Comte and Comtesse. When she got back up, Hubert was suddenly beside her, touching her arm.
The Comtesse smiled at Hélène. 'Extraordinary,' she murmured. 'You are quite lovely. And Madame Dupre is a genius. You must tell her for me.'
'Thank you, Comtesse. I shall do that.'
The Comte smiled at Hélène, his blue eyes looking at her with quickening interest. Then Hubert led her aside. A manservant presented a silver tray with glasses of champagne. Hélène took a glass and sipped delicately, looking at Hubert over the rim. But she drank very slowly. She had decided to have no more than two glasses all night long. She would be above reproach.
'Who is she?' she heard a young woman in an apricot Dior gown ask an older one.
'I do not know, cherie. But I'm going to have to find out where that gown came from.'
Hubert smiled at Hélène. 'You are quite a sensation. I had no idea you were so beautiful.'
She smiled, genuinely pleased.
'Would you like to go to the ballroom?' he asked.
She nodded, and he took her arm and led her down a long hall. She gasped in amazement. The hall was lined with linen-draped tables. Spread out on them were lavish hors d'oeuvres: bright red 'trees' of crayfish; silver tubs filled with escargots; platters of scallops, mussels, oysters, and clams; tiny quail eggs on beds of Iranian caviar. There was an abundance of everything, all artfully arranged around a dazzling ice sculpture. Predictably, it depicted the familiar lion and salamander holding the crest of the de Légers.
Hélène was even more dazzled when they entered the ballroom. For a moment she could only stand there staring. She had never seen anything so festive. The room was enormous, with a high, fanciful trompe l'oeil ceiling and columned walls. All around the room were palms from the hothouses. Concealed among the
graceful branches were flowerpots whose orchids gave the appearance of growing among the palm fronds. Overhead, the crystal chandeliers sprouted forests of slender white candles, and the walls danced with flickering light. At the far end, on a small stage, an orchestra was playing waltzes.
'Would you care to dance?' Hubert asked, executing a solemn little bow.
Hélène looked out across the shiny floor. It was still early. No one was dancing yet. She nodded, handed her champagne glass to a passing footman, and let Hubert pull her into his arms. Soundlessly he swept her across the room. Her gown rustled and billowed like a graceful white cloud, and the baby's breath looked like hundreds of snowflakes frozen around her.
When the waltz ended, another one started up. A few more couples were whirling around them now, moving across the floor with the grace of lithe swans. One waltz melted into another. And another. And another. Hélène had no idea how many they danced. 'I think I need a rest,' she said finally.
Hubert hooked his arm into hers and led her away from the swirling guests. She saw that the Comte and Comtesse were now standing at the edge of the dance floor. The guests must have all arrived, she thought.
The Comte made a little bow to Hubert and smiled at Hélène. She could feel his penetrating blue eyes upon her. She felt herself flushing.
'May I have the pleasure of this dance?' he asked.
Then she felt his hand on her arm. She started. Whatever she had felt at Chez Gaston with Hubert was nothing compared to the powerful surge that now coursed through her body. Was she to feel this with every man who touched her? she wondered.
'You look lovely,' the Comte told her softly as they swirled around the floor. 'May I compliment you on your gown?'
'Thank you,' Hélène murmured politely. 'You are too kind.'
'White suits you so much better than black,' he declared. 'You should wear white always.'
Her heart pounded and she looked up at him. He remembered what she'd worn at the dinner three weeks ago! Was it possible? They hadn't exchanged two sentences. He had hardly looked at her.
When the music stopped, he led her back to Hubert. The Comtesse smiled. For the first time, Hélène noticed the Comtesse's jewelry. She wore nothing but gold earrings. They were large and looked very old. Raised in relief on them were the salamander, the lion, and the crest of the de Légers. Hélène realized that the Comtesse must own much fine jewelry, but since she chose to wear these, they must be quite precious.
'My dear Comtesse,' a fawning, woman's voice said from behind.
They all turned. 'Why, Baronne, how delightful that you could come,' the Comtesse said smoothly. 'For a while I didn't think you were going to make it.'
The Baronne laughed a high, brittle laugh. 'I'm afraid I'm always late.'
Hélène stared at the Baronne. She was in her mid-thirties, red-haired, sharp-eyed, and bony. She wore a Balmain gown of scarlet satin and her neck was draped with blood-colored rubies. A palsied, very old gray-haired man stood on one side of her, a beautiful young woman in green on the other. The young woman wore an emerald necklace and matching earrings and held herself with cool self-confidence.
Curiously Hélène wondered if the red-haired woman could be the Baronne de Savonnieres. She glanced at the poised beauty. Was that Mirielle?
Were they the ones the Comtesse had gossiped about during the dinner, so delighted that she'd invited them?
The Comtesse smiled and introduced Hélène. So it was the Baronne de Savonnieres and Mirielle. And the old man was the Baron.
Mirielle gave Hubert a reproachful look and touched him on the arm. Her face was close to his. 'I haven't seen you for ages,' she said in a husky voice.
He smiled uncomfortably at her. 'I'm afraid I have been kept very busy. I must apologize for the neglect.'
The Baronne's eyes flashed and she smiled like a shark. Her teeth were long and pointed. 'Aren't you going to ask her to dance?' she said slowly.
Hubert knew when he was cornered. He bowed to Hélène. 'Please pardon me for a few minutes,' he said. She watched as he dutifully hooked his arm into Mirielle's and led her across the floor.
'They make a charming couple, don't you think?' the Baronne said approvingly.
The Comtesse nodded wordlessly. Smoothly she changed the subject and brought Hélène into the conversation. After one dance, Hubert returned with Mirielle.
'What is the matter?' the Baronne asked with undisguised acidity. 'Only one dance? Don't tell me you have become stingy!' She flashed Hubert a disapproving look.
Hubert smiled politely and gestured to Hélène. 'I have invited Mademoiselle Junot to the ball. I'm afraid it is my duty as her escort to show her some attention.' Before the Baronne could reply, he bowed to Hélène. 'May I have the pleasure?'
Hélène couldn't help smiling at Mirielle's vitriolic look as they waltzed away.
'Who is she?' the Baronne asked angrily, watching Hélène.
'A friend of the family's,' the Comtesse replied vaguely. 'A very charming young lady.'
'Yes. . .' The Baronne's voice trailed off as she gazed sharply around the room. 'Come, Mirielle. I see some Rothschilds over there. . .' She pointed a splintery finger to a cluster of people standing at the far side. Immediately they hurried toward them, the old man limping along behind. The Rothschilds saw them coming and fled onto the dance floor, waltzing in the opposite direction.
'What a dreadful woman,' the Comte said when the Baronne had left. 'I can't understand why you always invite her.'
The Comtesse smiled wisely. 'To add spice to the party, of course. People love tension, and the Baronne supplies it naturally.' She looked over the dance floor with satisfaction. So far, the ball was a huge success. Her eyes caught sight of Hélène. 'Hubert and the girl look well together, don't you think?'
The Comte nodded. 'They certainly do,' he said slowly. 'She is very beautiful. And she dances well.'
'Yes,' the Comtesse said with a sigh. 'It is a pity that she has no title.' She glanced up at her husband. 'Well, Philippe. Aren't you going to ask me to dance?'
He turned away from the dancing couple. 'Of course,' he said. He bowed gallantly and waltzed the Comtesse across the floor. She moved very elegantly but with an economy of movement that precluded natural grace. Every now and then he would catch a glimpse of Hubert and Hélène. Yes, the girl was quite stunning, he thought with sudden longing. And she moved well. Like an angel. Somehow, she made you know that she was a woman and you were a man.
Hélène left the ball at one o'clock. Hubert caught her arm. 'Where are you going?'
She smiled. 'Upstairs. I have a long journey ahead of me tomorrow. I'll need my rest.'
'You're leaving, then.' His voice was flat.
She nodded. 'Yes. Our work here is over.'
'But don't you want to stay?'
She looked into his eyes. There was a painful shadow within the black pupils. 'I'd like to stay, but I can't, Hubert. There are things that I must do.'
'What kind of things?'
She was silent for a moment. How could he ever understand what she had to do? How could she explain to him that her dreams were glossy pieces of paper glued together to become a magazine? She was certain that he would never understand her need to create something. For him, life was glittering parties, beautiful women, fragile grapes. 'I have to go, Hubert,' she said firmly. 'I'm sorry.'
He looked at her sullenly. 'I thought you loved me,' he said.
Silently she looked out across the crowded dance floor. She saw the beautifully dressed couples moving elegantly in time to the music. She saw the jewels of the women glittering around their patrician throats like the chandeliers high above their heads. She saw the self-assurance of these women, the bearing and style and confidence that could come only from a high-placed birth. That was the type of woman Hubert needed. Someone elegant and cultured and composed. Someone who knew how to make small talk, which wines to serve with dinner, what types of people to invite in order to make a party a succes
s.
'I thought I loved you, too, Hubert,' she said softly. 'But I'm not ready for love. And I'm not right for you.'
He reached out and grasped her hand. 'We could get married!' he said quickly. 'I am the future Comte. You would be the future Comtesse. We could live in the Chateau Loustalot while my parents are alive. Then we'd move in here.' He squeezed her hand in desperation. 'In time, you would learn to love me.'
She stared at him. For a moment she didn't know what to say.
Then she smiled sadly. She shook her head. 'It wouldn't work, Hubert,' said gently. 'I'm sorry.'
When she got to the servants' quarters she could no longer hear the sounds of the ball. Although the connecting door to Madame Dupre's room was shut, Hélène was very quiet. She knew that the woman must be exhausted, and she was afraid of waking her up.
Slowly Hélène took off her turban, slipped out of her gown, and hung it carefully on a clothes hanger. In the morning she would remove all the baby's breath and then carefully pack the gown. Cinderella's ball had not lasted long. Five beautiful, exciting hours. Now she was a seamstress again. Suddenly she realized that she was tired and that her feet were aching from all the dancing.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and unlaced her slippers. At last she had time to think. Thoughtfully she massaged her feet, kneading her ankles with her hands. Had Hubert been serious about his proposal? she wondered. Probably. But there were two things she believed a successful marriage needed. Love, and acceptance from the family. She knew that she did not love Hubert enough to become his wife. She was not sure that he loved her. Perhaps he had mistaken infatuation for love. And acceptance from the family? She had no family to speak of, but he did. Would the Comte and Comtesse have allowed a marriage between their heir and a seamstress? She couldn't be certain, but she believed they wouldn't.
Abruptly she got to her feet and walked over to the round window. She bent down, parted the curtains a crack, and looked out. The night was dark and misty. In the light of the gaslights, one after the other, she saw chauffeured limousines pulling up to the marble steps. The guests were departing. The ball was over. For everyone. But not as much as for her.
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