this way or that, is enough to settle a destiny. No wonder they were nervous and excited. Self-confidence vanished as it had never done before, even in an "Histoire de France" contest at school. And in matters of toilet there is no such thing as luck. There seemed to be an idea that Fate could be propitiated by self-abnegation. The looking-glass extorted the most humble confessions.
"I am a fright!"
"As for me, I am perfectly hideous!"
"I told maman how it would be!"
"Now, it's no use!"
"It is that Madame Treize! ah, what a demon!"
"I can hardly stand in my slippers, they are so tight."
"And mine are so loose,—perfect ships."
"Ah, that Renaudière! the rascal!" came in chorus from all, for they all knew the shoe-maker well.
"Just see what wretched gloves!"
"Look at my bodice! My dear, it was laced three times over,—the last time more crooked than the first."
