t go yet, I beg you!"

She overwhelmed her with all sorts of fascinating little tricks of
action and expression, without acknowledging, of course, that she was
determined to detain her until Jansoulet's arrival, in order to make her
contribute to her triumph.

"You see," said the good woman, pointing to the Armenian, sitting,
majestic and solemn, his tasselled hat on his knees, "I have to take
poor monseigneur to the _Grand-Saint-Christophe_ to buy medals. He could
never do it without me."

"But I want you to stay. You must. Just a few minutes more."

And the baroness glanced furtively toward the gorgeous, old-fashioned
clock hanging in a corner of the salon.

Five o'clock already, and the stout Afchin did not come. The Levantines
began to laugh behind their fans. Luckily, tea had just been served, and
Spanish wines, and a quantity of delicious Turkish cakes, which were
found nowhere else, and the receipts for which, brought to Paris by the
ex-slave, are preserved in harems, as certain secrets connected with the
finest confectionery are preserved in our convents. That made a
diversion. Hemerlingue, who came from his office from time to time on
Saturdays to pay his respects to the ladies, was drinking a glass of
madeira at the small table on which the refreshments were served,
talking with Maurice Trott, formerly Said-Pacha's bath-master, when his
wife, always mild and tranquil externally, approached him. He knew what
fierce wrath must be hidden beneath that impenetrable calm, and he asked
her timidly, in an undertone:

"No one?"

"No one. You see to what an outrage you have exposed me!"

She smiled, her eyes half-closed, as she removed with the ends of her
fingers a crumb that had lodged in his long black whiskers; but her
transparent little nostrils quivered with awe-inspiring eloquence.

"Oh! she will come," said the banker, with his mouth full. "I am sure
she will come."

A rustling of silk, of a train being adjusted in the adjoining room,
caused the baroness to turn her head quickly. To the great delight of
the cluster of "bales" in one corner, who were watching everything, it
was not she who was expected.

She bore but little resemblance to Mademoiselle Afchin, the tall,
graceful blonde, with the tired features and irreproachable toilet,
worthy in every respect to bear a name as illustrious as that of Dr.
Jenkins. In the last two or three months the beautiful Madame Jenkins
had changed greatly, had gr