"Go up and call Mademoiselle," said I.

In two or three minutes she came down. I have not had such a
shock in my life. I uttered exclamations of amazement in several
languages. I have never seen on the stage or off such a figure
as she presented. Her cheeks were white with powder, her lips
dyed a pomegranate scarlet, her eyebrows and lashes blackened.
In her ears she wore large silver-gilt earrings. She entered the
room with an air of triumph, as who should say: "See how
captivatingly beautiful I am!"

At my stare of horror her face fell. At my command to go
upstairs and wash herself clean, she wept.

"For heaven's sake, don't cry," I exclaimed, "or you will look
like a rainbow."

"I did it to please you," she sobbed.

"It is only the lowest class of dancing-women who paint their
faces in England," said I, _splendide mendax._ "And you know
what they are in Alexandretta."

"They came to Aziza-Zaza's wedding," said Carlotta, behind her
handkerchief. "But all our ladies do this when they want to make
themselves look nice. And I have put on this nasty thing that
hurts me, just to please Seer Marcous."

I felt I had been brutal. She must have spent hours over her
adornment. Yet I could not have taken her out into the street.