always says it is at our disposal."

"How many times must I tell you that I don't choose to be under any
obligation to that woman?"

"O Sidonie"

"Oh! yes, I know, it's all understood. Madame Fromont is the good Lord
himself. Every one is forbidden to touch her. And I must make up my mind
to be a nobody in my own house, to allow myself to be humiliated,
trampled under foot."

"Come, come, little one--"

Poor Risler tries to interpose, to say a word in favor of his dear Madame
"Chorche." But he has no tact. This is the worst possible method of
effecting a reconciliation; and Sidonie at once bursts forth:

"I tell you that that woman, with all her calm airs, is proud and
spiteful. In the first place, she detests me, I know that. So long as I
was poor little Sidonie and she could toss me her broken dolls and old
clothes, it was all right, but now that I am my own mistress as well as
she, it vexes her and humiliates her. Madame gives me advice with a lofty
air, and criticises what I do. I did wrong to have a maid. Of course!
Wasn't I in the habit of waiting on myself? She never loses a chance to
wound me. When I call on her on Wednesdays, you should hear the tone in
which she asks me, before everybody, how 'dear Madame Chebe' is. Oh! yes.
I'm a Chebe and she's a Fromont. One's as good as the other, in my
opinion. My grandfather was a druggist. What was hers? A peasant who got
rich by money-lending. I'll tell her so one of these days, if she shows
me too much of her pride; and I'll tell her, too, that their little imp,
although they don't suspect it, looks just like that old Pere Gardinois,
and heaven knows he isn't handsome."

"Oh!" exclaims Risler, unable to find words to reply.

"Oh! yes, of course! I advise you to admire their child. She's always
ill. She cries all night like a little cat. It keeps me awake. And
afterward, through the day, I have mamma's piano and her scales--tra, la
la la! If the music were only worth listening to!"

Risler has taken the wise course. He does not say a word until he sees
that she is beginning to calm down a little, when he completes the
soothing process with compliments.

"How pretty we are to-day! Are we going out soon to make some calls, eh?"

He resorts to this mode of address to avoid the more familiar form, which
is so offensive to her.

"No, I am not going to make calls," Sidonie replies with a certain pride.
"On the contrary, I expect to receive them. This is my day