trampled into fragments on the hearth-rug, and a snow-storm of feathers
from a white boa had drifted over the furniture. On the wash-stand a
spangled white tulle hat lay drowning in a basin half full of water.

[Illustration: Their fluffy laces burnt and blackened. Chiffon fichus
torn in ribbons strewed the carpet. Page 138.

--_Rosemary._]

It was a sight to turn the brain of Madame in the magasin of smart
"confections," nor would the presiding genius of the toy shop have gone
scathless, for Rosemary's possessions had not been spared by the
cyclone.

Dolls had lost their wigs, their arms, their legs; and beautiful blue
eyes had been poked into far recesses of porcelain heads, with ruthless
scissors. Little dresses of silk and satin had been flung to feed the
flames which devoured ill-starred blouses; picture books had made fine
kindlings; and that proud and stately mansion which might have afforded
shelter to many dolls had collapsed as if shattered by a cyclone.

"Oh, Angel, is it some dreadful dream?" wailed Rosemary; and Evelyn
found no answer. But Hugh had pounced upon a card pinned on the window
curtain; and as he held it out, in eloquent silence, she read aloud over
his shoulder; "Compliments of Mademoiselle de Lavalette."

At the end of the first shocked instant, they both laughed wildly,
desperately. It was the only thing to do.

"After all," gasped Evelyn, "she has paid me back--what she owed