Young Madame de Bellegarde was dressed in an audacious toilet of crimson crape, bestrewn with huge silver moons--thin crescent and full disks.
"You don't say anything about my dress," she said to Newman.
"I feel," he answered, "as if I were looking at you through a telescope.
It is very strange." "If it is strange it matches the occasion.

But I am not a heavenly body." "I never saw the sky at midnight that particular shade of crimson," said Newman.
"That is my originality; any one could have chosen blue.

My sister-in-law would have chosen a lovely shade of blue, with a dozen little delicate moons.

But I think crimson is much more amusing.

And I give my idea, which is moonshine." "Moonshine and bloodshed," said Newman.
"A murder by moonlight," laughed Madame de Bellegarde.