uch they were attached to each other--I am speaking of that
unaccountable resolution of Jacqueline's."

Madame d'Avrigny here came forward with her usual equanimity which
nothing disturbed, unless it were something which interfered with the
success of her salon.

She was of course very sorry for her friends in trouble, but the
vicissitudes that had happened to her theatricals she had more at heart.

"After all," she said, "the first act did not go off badly, did it? The
musical part made up for the rest. That divine Strahlberg is ready for
any emergency. How well she sang that air of 'La Petite Mariee!' It was
exquisite, but I regretted Jacqueline. She was so charming in that lively
little part. What a catastrophe!

"What a terrible catastrophe! Were you speaking of the retreat she wishes
to make in a convent? Well, I quite understand how she feels about it! I
should feel the same myself. In the bewilderment of a first grief one
does not care to see anything of the world. 'Mon Dieu'! youth always has
these exaggerated notions. She will come back to us. Poor little thing!
Of course it was no fault of hers, and I should not think of blaming
Monsieur de Cymier. The exigencies of his career--but you all must own
that unexpected things happen so suddenly in this life that it is enough
to discourage any one who likes to open her house and provide amusement
for her friends."

Every one present pitied her for the contretemps over which she had
triumphed so successfully. Then she resumed, serenely:

"Don't you think that Isabelle played the part almost as well as
Jacqueline? Up to the last moment I was afraid that something would go
wrong. When one gets into a streak of ill-luck--but all went off to
perfection, thank heaven!"

Meantime Madame Odinska was whispering to one of those who sat near her
her belief that Jacqueline would never get over her father's loss. "It
would not astonish me," she said, "to hear that the child, who has a
noble nature, would remain in the convent and take the veil."

Any kind of heroic deed seemed natural to this foolish enthusiast, who,
as a matter of fact, in her own life, had never shown any tendency to
heroic virtues; her mission in life had seemed to be to spoil her
daughters in every possible way, and to fling away more money than
belonged to her.

"Really? Was she so very fond of her father!" asked Madame Ray,
incredulously. "When he was alive, they did not seem to make much of him