Emile, though little given to being astonished, marvelled at the
unconcern with which she submitted to his critical inspection. She
stood and walked easily, and looked neither uncomfortable nor unnatural
in her boyish array, in which the perfect poise of her body showed
triumphantly.
The black wig, under which she had skilfully hidden her red hair, made
her look more pale than ever. The wide sombrero, tilted backwards,
made a picturesque framing to her oval face, and the _manta_ or heavy
cloak, worn by all Spaniards at night, hung, loosely draped over her
left shoulder. Emile promptly twisted it off.
"This won't do," he said. "The _manta_ is never worn like that.
Besides it's not enough of a disguise. Watch how I put it on." With a
few rough yet dexterous movements he arranged the dark folds so as to
hide her shoulders and the upper part of her body.
Then he stood back a few paces. "But your green eyes! A disguise for
_them_ will be impossible. One sees them always."
"_Les yeux verts.
Vont a l'enfer!_"
"Do you know that, _mon enfant_?"
"I've heard it before.
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