paper.

"Mademoiselle appears to be well accustomed to business habits," observed
M. Durand, with a smile.

"That is because I have been trained to them since childhood," she
replied. "My plan is to place this document myself in the hands of Madame
la Duchesse de Montgeron."

"You can do so this very afternoon, if you wish. Thursday is her
reception day," said the notary, rising with a bow, preparatory to taking
his leave.

"I shall take good care not to fail to call," earnestly replied the fair
Lady Bountiful.

She telephoned immediately to her head-groom, ordering ham to bring
around her brougham at three o'clock.

CHAPTER XVIII

A MODERN TARTUFE

At the same hour that the elegant carriage of Zibeline was conducting her
to the Hotel de Montgeron, M. Desvanneaux descended from a modest fiacre
at the gate of the hotel occupied by Eugenie Gontier.

The first impulse of the actress--who was engaged in studying a new role
in her library--was not to receive her importunate visitor; but a sudden
idea changed her determination, and she gave the order to admit him.

"This is the first time that I have had the high favor of being admitted
to this sanctuary," said the churchwarden, kissing with ardor the hand
that the actress extended to him.

"Don't let us have so great a display of pious manifestations," she said,
withdrawing her hand from this act of humility, which was rather too
prolonged. "Sit down and be sensible," she added.

"Can one be sensible when he finds himself at your feet, dear
Mademoiselle? At the feet of the idol who is so appropriately enthroned
among so many artistic objects!" replied the honey-tongued Prudhomme,
adjusting his eyeglasses. "The bust of General de Prerolles, no doubt?"
he added, inquiringly, scrutinizing a marble statuette placed on the high
mantelpiece.

"You are wrong, Monsieur Desvanneaux; it is that of Moliere!"

"I beg your pardon!--I am standing so far below it! I, too, have on my
bureau a bust of our great Poquelin, but Madame Desvanneaux thinks that
this author's style is somewhat too pornographic, and has ordered me to
replace his profane image by the more edifying one of our charitable
patron, Saint Vincent de Paul."

"Is it to tell me of your family jars that you honor me with this visit?"
said Eugenie.

"No, indeed! It was rather to escape from them, dear Mademoiselle! But
alas! my visit has also another object: to release you from the promise
you were