The Russian Cipher

AINTS defend us!" I pettishly exclaimed. "Is there no one in the world with an atom of brains? I don't want to go as Night or Morning, nor as Marguerite or Pierrette, or Madame la Pompadour. I want something original!" And I stamped my foot to give emphasis to the remark.
"Shall it be as Carmen, madame?"
I sank into a chair in dismay. Carmen! This was the creature's idea of originality. It was too ludicrous for anger. I laughed, and then, as I raised my eyes to Madame Virot's indignantly bewildered countenance, my glance fell upon a dress in a wardrobe behind her, and I pointed to it in a flutter of excitement.
"Someone has originality, after all," I cried. "What does that dress represent?"
"An ice palace, madame."
"It is superb."
"Certainly, madame, it is superb; it is a miracle," and then, carried away with enthusiasm, she brought it forth and dilated upon it. A pale green dress, covered with a shimmering, sparkling network that looked like frost itself.
"You see, madame, the head-dress forms the snowy pinnacle of the tower, and the eau de Nil embroidered skirt follows the frosted outlines of the building, which is a fac-simile of the ice palace raised last winter upon the Neva. An emerald satin mask, with tiny crystal icicles hanging from the edge, in place of the usual fringe of lace, completes the costume."
"I must have it," I cried; "it is incomparable."
"It is sold, madame."
"I will pay double."
"Impossible!"
"Treble!"
"I would willingly give it to madame, as it pleases her fancy, but I cannot; it was designed according to sketches sent me."
"Tush!" I impatiently exclaimed; "make a duplicate."
"It is impossible, madame, for the dress is for the same bal masqué that you will attend."
"And for whom?" I superciliously queried, for I was beside myself with vexation. "Some nobody who has secured a card by chance and wishes to be thought a princess in disguise, eh?"
"I make for no such people," Madame Virot exclaimed, with a reflection of my own annoyance. "The dress is for the Countess Zarfine. If madame will suggest something else———"
I turned my eyes from the dress that tormented me and racked my brains for something that should excel its splendour, but no idea came to me, and with a contemptuous glare I faced the inoffensive milliner, who had tried to please me for years, and had never more than half succeeded.
"To be original nowadays," I said indifferently, "is, after all, so commonplace, that to be commonplace is to be original. I will go as Carmen."
The daintiness of my epigram pleased me so well that I was almost content, yet as I drove towards the Bois the desire for the costume came upon me again, and I was disconsolate. For it was no ordinary bal masqué where everything was to be pretence, from the characters represented to the fable that the dancers knew not one another. It was all to be real and no dissimulation. There was to be no unmasking time, but everyone was to be incognito from the beginning to the end. It was rumoured that even the host and hostess would drive up to their own house and enter amid the throng. No one was to know anyone, and yet everyone was to know everyone; no master of the ceremonies, no host and hostess, no introductions or formal presentations. The fact that one was there was an official stamp upon one's passport of reputation. It was a Bohemian idea worthy of her who had brought it to Paris—the Countess Zarfine, wife of the Russian Ambassador, and since perforce I must be masked, I would have dazzled by art instead of Nature; yet it was not to be, and I grew peevish as I nursed my discomfiture.