Her dress was astonishing now that Mistral could see it in the gaslight. Of bright green satin, it was covered all over with butterflies embroidered with tiny jewels. They glittered and sparkled as she walked so that while in some ways it was pretty and attractive it was also incredibly gaudy.

Her hair, too, dressed in a profusion of curls, was ornamented with a wreath of butterflies, while her cheeks were vivid with rouge and her lips as crimson as the bouquet she carried of tiny roses. But Mistral saw, too, the friendliness of her wide smile, the pleasant gentleness of the expression in her blue eyes.

Stella looked at her reflection in the mirror then put up her hand and gave the butterfly a little pull. The last thread broke and it came away in her hands.

‘There, it’s come right off,’ she exclaimed.

‘It must be sewn on again,’ Mistral said, ‘because I am afraid the satin is torn a little underneath. I do apologise most sincerely for my clumsiness.’

‘You needn’t do that,’ Stella smiled. ‘It doesn’t matter to me, I promise you. To tell the truth I don’t like this dress much, but it was so expensive that Chrissie – I mean my sister – thought I’d better have it.’

It seemed to Mistral such an extraordinary reason for buying a dress that she could think of nothing to say. After a moment Stella remarked in a low voice,

‘You ought to be going, you know, you mustn’t stay here talking to me.’

For a moment Mistral did not understand, and then slowly in sheer embarrassment the blood came into her cheeks. She had not thought of the pretty woman who was always with the Rajah as being a bad woman, but now she understood what Stella was trying to explain to her. Even as she understood, she knew, too, that this English girl could not speak French.

One of the reasons why she had not asked the woman to sew on the butterfly was because she had no idea how to give the order.

Mistral’s smile was very sweet.

‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘but first of all I must repair the damage that I have done to your gown. Will you allow me to ask the cloakroom attendant to mend it?’

Stella looked relieved.

‘I’d be glad if you would,’ she said. ‘I can’t speak their jargon. I have enough trouble getting my cloak every night.’ Mistral turned to the attendant.’

‘Please bring a needle and thread,’ she said in French. ‘Mademoiselle has damaged her dress and needs it repaired.’

‘Certainement, Mademoiselle, je viens tout de suite,’ the woman replied.

‘That’s awfully kind of you,’ Stella said.

‘It is very little to do after half ruining your gown,’ Mistral replied.