th a groom, some one would be sure
to say that he was her lover. They say that she drives out without any
female chaperon beside her in the carriage. Well, if she had one, they
would probably find some other malicious thing to say. Paris has become
like a little country town in its gossip."

"And all this," added a third member, "because she is as lovely as a
dream, and because she drives the handsomest turnout in the Bois. If
she were ugly, and contented herself with a hired carriage, she would be
absolved without confession!"

"Where the deuce does Christian charity come in, in all this gossip?"
said Henri de Prerolles to himself, who had just entered the box and
overheard the last remarks. "Will you grant me your hospitality until
the beginning of the next act, gentlemen?" he said aloud. "My sister's
box is full of guests and transient visitors; she can not admit even
me!"

The General was a great favorite with the members of the club. One of
them rose to offer him his place.

"I shall stay only a moment, to escape a cloud of questioners in the
foyer. Every one that stops me asks--"

"About the new recruit in the Duchess's box, eh?" said a member. "We,
too, wish to inquire about her; we are all leagued together."

"Thank you, no," said the General.

"But if it is a secret--"

"There is no secret about it," the General replied; and in a few words
he explained the enigma.

"Why, then," exclaimed the senior member, "she is indeed the fowl that
lays the golden eggs! What a lucky bird will be the one that mates with
her!"

The rising curtain sent the spectators back to their places. The augurs
of the Duchess's box reinstalled themselves before it where they could
examine at their ease through their lorgnettes the fair stranger of whom
so much had been said; and, mounting to the next floor, the General was
at last able to find room among his sister's guests.

"You can see for yourself that our young friend is altogether charming,"
whispered Madame de Nointel, behind the shelter of her fan, and
indicating Zibeline.

"If you pronounce her so, Madame, she can receive no higher praise,"
said Henri.

"Say at once that you think me exasperating," laughed the lady.

"Was it not you that first called her Zibeline?" Henri inquired.

"Yes, but she calls herself Valentine--which rhymes, after all. Not
richly enough for her, I know, but her means allow her to do without the
supporting consonant. See how beautiful s