Choucrou did not miss her train; she spent her sou royally on a hawked
journal. When they had seen Madame Choucrou off, she proposed to dock
meat entirely for a fortnight so as to regain the week. Madame Dépine
accepted in the same heroic spirit, and even suggested the elimination
of the figs: one could lunch quite well on bread and milk, now the
sunshine was here. But Madame Valière only agreed to a week's trial of
this, for she had a sweet tooth among the few in her gums.

The very next morning, as they walked in the Luxembourg Gardens,
Madame Dépine's foot kicked against something. She stooped and saw a
shining glory--a five-franc piece!

"What is it?" said Madame Valière.

"Nothing," said Madame Dépine, covering the coin with her foot. "My
bootlace." And she bent down--to pick up the coin, to fumble at her
bootlace, and to cover her furious blush. It was not that she wished
to keep the godsend to herself,--one saw on the instant that _le bon
Dieu_ was paying for Madame Choucrou,--it was an instantaneous dread
of the "Princess's" quixotic code of honour. La Valière was capable of
flying in the face of Providence, of taking the windfall to a _bureau
de police_. As if the inspector wouldn't stick to it himself! A
purse--yes. But a five-franc piece, one of a flock of sheep!

The treasure-trove was added to the heap of which her stocking was
guardian, and thus honestly divided. The trouble, however, was that,
as she dared not inform the "Princess," she could not decently back
out of the meatless fortnight. Providence, as it turned out, was
making them gain a week. As to the figs, however, she confessed on the
third day that she hungered sore for them, and Madame Valière readily