francs seventy-five centimes, congratulating themselves on the surplus
of twenty-five centimes from their three weeks' savings. Madame
Valière packed it with her impedimenta into the carpet-bag lent her by
Madame la Propriétaire. She was going by a night train from the Gare
de Lyon, and sternly refused to let Madame Dépine see her off.

"And how would you go back--an old woman, alone in these dark November
nights, with the papers all full of crimes of violence? It is not
_convenable_, either."

Madame Dépine yielded to the latter consideration; but as Madame
Valière, carrying the bulging carpet-bag, was crying "_La porte, s'il
vous plaît_" to the _concierge_, she heard Madame Dépine come tearing
and puffing after her like the steam-tram, and, looking back, saw
her breathlessly brandishing her gold brooch. "_Tiens!_" she panted,
fastening the "Princess's" cloak with it. "That will give thee an
air."

"But--it is too valuable. Thou must not." They had never "thou'd" each
other before, and this enhanced the tremulousness of the moment.

"I do not give it thee," Madame Dépine laughed through her tears. "_Au
revoir, mon amie_."

"_Adieu, ma chérie!_ I will tell my dear ones of my Paris comrade."
And for the first time their lips met, and the brown wig brushed the
grey.