are in the same position, madame, in spite of the
_difference of our stations_," answered Madeleine, with cold sarcasm.
"Nothing can change my resolution."

"But the dress is mine!" cried Madame de Fleury. "I will prove that it
is mine; but we will settle that question afterward. Meantime, I order
you, Mademoiselle Victorine, to have that dress placed in my carriage."

"I order you not to touch it!" said Madeleine.

Madame de Fleury now became so much exasperated that she seemed to be on
the point of seizing the dress and carrying it off in her arms.

Madeleine perceived her intention, and, suddenly lifting the dress out
of the _carton_, rolled it up rapidly, for the materials were light.

"I prove to whom the dress belongs, madame, by disposing of it _thus_!"

And with the most perfect tranquillity, she flung the disputed prize
into the fire! It was burning brightly, for the day was cool, though
spring had commenced.

The marchioness, for a moment, was stunned; but, as the flames caught
the lace, she cried out, "Save it! save it! It is burning! What an
infamous action! What a crime! It has killed me!"

She dropped upon the sofa, and was seized with one of those hysterical
paroxysms which French women designate as an _attaque de nerfs_.

Victorine, with a great display of distress, flew to the sufferer,
loosened the strings of the bonnet which she was recklessly
crushing,--held a bottle of sal volatile to her nose (for the
Frenchwoman was always prepared for similar pleasant excitements, and
carried a vial in her pocket), and commenced rubbing the lady's hand
with great energy.

"Save,--save the dress! Do not let it burn!" Madame de Fleury gasped out
between her sobs.

"The dress is beyond saving, madame," replied Madeleine; "it no longer
exists."

At this moment the marchioness suddenly recovered.

"And you have destroyed it? You have destroyed a toilet which would have
made me talked of for a week! It is abominable,--it is disgraceful,--it
is _criminal_!"

Madame de Fleury always used the strongest terms where matters of the
toilet, the most important interests of her life, were in question.

"What am I to wear this evening? What is to become of me?"

The marchioness wrung her hands, and wept in genuine tribulation. She
sunk back again upon the sofa, as though prostrated by her crushing
sorrow.

Madeleine allowed the grief of the fine lady to expend itself in
incoherent lamentations, and then said