"Have you read that novel which--"

He did not allow her to finish, but replied, with a superior air, that
he only read two novels in the year.

As for the exhibition of paintings at the Art Club, it was not worth
troubling about; and then, every topic being exhausted, he rose and
leaned over Juliette's little sofa, conversing with her in a low
voice, while the other ladies continued chatting together in an
animated manner.

At length: "Dear me! he's gone," exclaimed Madame Berthier turning
round. "I met him only an hour ago in Madame Robinot's drawing-room."

"Yes, and he is now going to visit Madame Lecomte," said Madame
Deberle. "He goes about more than any other man in Paris." She turned
to Helene, who had been following the scene, and added: "A very
distinguished young fellow he is, and we like him very much. He has
some interest in a stockbroking business; he's very rich besides, and
well posted in everything."

The other ladies, however, were now going off.

"Good-bye, dear madame. I rely upon you for Wednesday."

"Yes, to be sure; Wednesday."

"Oh, by the way, will you be at that evening party? One doesn't know
whom one may meet. If you go, I'll go."

"Ah, well! I'll go, I promise you. Give my best regards to Monsieur de
Guiraud."

When Madame Deberle returned she found Helene standing in the middle
of the drawing-room. Jeanne had drawn close to her mother, whose hands
she firmly grasped; and thus clinging to her caressingly and almost
convulsively, she was drawing her little by little towards the
doorway.

"Ah, I was forgetting!" exclaimed the lady of the house; and ringing
the bell for the servant, she said to him: "Pierre, tell Miss Smithson
to bring Lucien here."

During the short interval of waiting that ensued the door was again
opened, but this time in a familiar fashion and without any formal
announcement. A good-looking girl of some sixteen years of age entered
in company with an old man, short of stature but with a rubicund,
chubby face.

"Good-day, sister," was the girl's greeting, as she kissed Madame
Deberle.

"Good-day, Pauline! good-day, father!" replied the doctor's wife.

Mademoiselle Aurelie, who had not stirred from her seat beside the
fire, rose to exchange greetings with Monsieur Letellier. He owned an
extensive silk warehouse on the Boulevard des Capucines. Since his
wife's death he had been taking his younger daughter about everywhere,
in search of a rich husband for h