and her
friendly greeting brightens all the surroundings. What is there in the
air of Paris which preserves the beauty of a woman's face beyond the
natural term, like a pastel under its glass? The delicate blonde with
her keen eyes looked to me three years younger than when I saw her last.
She began by asking after you, and how you were, dearest, showing great
interest in our domestic life. Then suddenly she said: 'But your book,
let us talk about your book. How splendid! You kept me reading all
night.' And she showered upon me well-chosen words of praise, quoted two
or three lines with great appropriateness, and assured me that my old
master was delighted; he had begged her to tell me so, in case he should
not be able to tear himself from his documents.

Red as you know I always am, I must have turned as scarlet as after
a hunt dinner. But my joy soon passed away when I heard what the poor
woman was led on into confiding to me about their embarrassments. They
have lost money; then came Astier's dismissal; now the master works
night and day at his historical books, which take so long to construct
and cost so much to produce, and then are not bought by the public. Then
they have to help old Rehu, the grandfather, who has nothing but his
fees for attendance at the Academie; and at his age, ninety-eight,
you may imagine the care and indulgence necessary. Paul is a good son,
hardworking, and on the road to success, but of course the initial
expenses of his profession are tremendous. So Madame Astier conceals
their narrow means from him as well as from her husband. Poor dear man!
I heard his heavy even step overhead while his wife was stammering out,
with trembling lips and hesitating, reluctant words, a request that if I
could----

Ah, the adorable woman! I could have kissed the hem of her dress!

Now, my dear sister, you will understand the telegram you must have
received a little while ago, and who the L400 were for that I asked
for by return of post. I suppose you sent to Gobineau at once. The only
reason I did not telegraph direct to him is that, as we 'go shares' in
everything, our freaks of liberality ought, like the rest, to be common
to both. But it is terrible, is it not, to think of the misery concealed
under these brilliant and showy Parisian exteriors?

Five minutes after she had made these distressing disclosures people
arrived and the room was full; Madame Astier was conversing with a
complete self-posses