ince
never passed Mme. Picard without greeting her. She responded with a
little deferential courtesy. She was one of those people, becoming rarer
and rarer nowadays, who have the exact feeling for distances and
conventions. There was, however, a little remnant of familiarity, almost
of affection, in the way in which she said "prince." This did not
displease Agenor; he had a very good recollection of Mme. Picard.

"Ah, prince," said Mme. Picard on seeing Agenor, "there is no one for
you to-night in _my_ boxes. Mme. de Simiane is not here, and Mme. de
Sainte Mesme has rented her box."

"That's precisely it. Don't you know the people in Mme. de Sainte
Mesme's box?"

"Not at all, prince. It's the first time I have seen them in the
marquise's box--"

"Then you have no idea--"

"None, prince. Only to me they don't appear to be people of--"

She was going to say of _our_ set. A box-opener of the first tier of
boxes at the opera, having generally only to do with absolutely
high-born people, considers herself as being a little of their set, and
shows extreme disdain for unimportant people; it displeases her to
receive these unimportant people in _her_ boxes. Mme. Picard, however,
had tact which rarely forsook her, and so stopped herself in time to
say:

"People of _your_ set. They belong to the middle class, to the wealthy
middle class; but still the middle class. That doesn't satisfy you; you
wish to know more on account of the blonde. Is it not so, prince?"

Those last words were spoken with rare delicacy; they were murmured more
than spoken--box-opener to a prince! It would have been unacceptable
without that perfect reserve in accent and tone; yes, it was a
box-opener who spoke, but a box-opener who was a little bit the aunt of
former times, the aunt _a la mode de Cythere_. Mme. Picard continued:

"Ah, she is a beauty! She came with a little dark man--her husband, I'm
sure; for while she was taking off her cloak--it always takes some
time--he didn't say a word to her. No eagerness, no little attentions.
Yes, he could only be a husband. I examined the cloak. People one
doesn't know puzzle me and _my_ colleague. Mme. Flachet and I always
amuse ourselves by trying to guess from appearances. Well, the cloak
comes from a good dress-maker, but not from a great one. It is fine and
well-made, but it has no style. I think they are middle-class people,
prince. But how stupid I am! You know M. Palmer--well, a little while
a