they sat at their joyous breakfast the next morning, ere starting for
the hairdresser's, the casement open to the October sunshine, Jacques
brought up a letter for Madame Valière--an infrequent incident.
Both old women paled with instinctive distrust of life. And as the
"Princess" read her letter, all the sympathetic happiness died out of
her face.

"What is the matter, then?" breathed Madame Dépine.

The "Princess" recovered herself. "Nothing, nothing. Only my nephew
who is marrying."

"Soon?"

"The middle of next month."

"Then you will need to give presents!"

"One gives a watch, a bagatelle, and then--there is time. It is
nothing. How good the coffee is this morning!"

They had not changed the name of the brew: it is not only in religious
evolutions that old names are a comfort.

They walked to the hairdresser's in silence. The triumphal procession
had become almost a dead march. Only once was the silence broken.

"I suppose they have invited you down for the wedding?" said Madame
Dépine.