"_Wo_," she said heavily to Elsa's mother still later in the evening,
"_ist eine Schneiderin?_"
"A dressmaker who speaks French...."
Elsa took her out into the dark street again, and in at a neighbouring
archway, till at the back of deep courtyards they found a tiny flat of a
little old lady. "Like this," explained Fanny, drawing with her pencil.
"Why, my mother had a dress like that!" said the little lady, pleased.
"Before the last war." She nodded many times. "I know how to make a
crinoline. But when do you want it?"
"For Tuesday night."
"Ah, dear mademoiselle! How can I! To-day is Saturday. I have only
to-day and Monday. Unless.... Are you a Catholic?"
"No."
"Then you can sew on Sunday. You can do the frills."
All Sunday Fanny sewed frills under the stag's horn, and when she went
to meet Julien in the late afternoon, she had the frills still in a
parcel. "What is that?" he asked, as she unfolded the parcel in the
empty Cathedral, and began to thread her needle.
"My dress for the dance."
"What is it going to be?"
"Frills. Hundreds of frills." She shook her lap a little, and yards and
yards of white frills leapt on to the floor in a river.
"Those flowers you bought, look, you have never put them in water!"
He shook his head, and leaning from his chair, stretched out his arm for
the parcel of white paper.
Pages:
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100