day of drawing lots for the Wig the exuberant hotel retained its
imperturbable activity.

Not that they really drew lots. That was a figure of speech, difficult
to translate into facts. They preferred to spin a coin. Madame Dépine
was to toss, the "Princess" to cry _pile ou face_. From the stocking
Madame Dépine drew, naturally enough, the solitary five-franc piece.
It whirled in the air; the "Princess" cried _face_. The puff-puff of
the steam-tram sounded like the panting of anxious Fate. The great
coin fell, rolled, balanced itself between two destinies, then
subsided, _pile_ upwards. The poor "Princess's" face grew even longer;
but for the life of her Madame Dépine could not make her own face
other than a round red glow, like the sun in a fog. In fact, she
looked so young at this supreme moment that the brown wig quite became
her.

"I congratulate you," said Madame Valière, after the steam-tram had
become a far-away rumble.

"Before next summer we shall have yours too," the winner reminded her
consolingly.




XI


They had not waited till the hundred francs were actually in the
stocking. The last few would accumulate while the wig was making. As