I realized that anyone would have looked like a princess in that dress, but all the same, I was amazed by the sight of my own reflection in the mirror. “It’s … it’s incredibly lovely!” I whispered in awe. Xemerius snorted. He was sitting beside the sewing machine on a leftover scrap of brocade, picking his nose. “Girls!” he said. “First they do all they can to get out of going to a ball, and as soon as they have some silly old outfit like this to wear, they practically wet themselves with excitement.” I ignored him and turned to the creator of this masterpiece. “But the other dress was perfect too, Madame Rossini.” “Yes, I know.” She was smiling broadly. “You can ’ave it on another time.” “Madame Rossini, you’re an artist!” I assured her fervently. “Oui, n’est-ce pas?” She winked at me. “And as an artist, you ’ave to look at zings a leetle bit differently. Ze other dress was too pale for ze white wig—you ’ave a complexion zat cries out for strong … comment on dit?
