We assured Madame that she had undercoloured her picture. The reality
surpassed her ideal description.

"Ah!" cried Madame sentimentally, "our beau-idéals--when do we ever see
them? But personally I cannot complain. I have a husband in ten
thousand, and that, after all, should be a woman's beau-idéal, for it is
her vocation. Oh!" with a little scream, pretending not to have heard
her husband come up quietly behind her; "you did not hear me paying you
compliments behind your back, Eugène? I assure you I meant the very
opposite of what I said."

"If you are perverse, I shall not take you to the Regatta next Sunday,"
threatened Monsieur, in deep tones that very thinly veiled the affection
lurking behind them.

"The Regatta!" cried Madame. "Where should I find the time to go
jaunting off to the Regatta? We have a wedding order to execute for that
morning--my hands will be more than full. Figurez vous," turning to us,
"a silly old widow is marrying quite a young man. She is rich, of
course; and he has nothing, equally of course. And what does she expect
will be the end of it? I cannot imagine what these people do with their
common sense and their experience of life. But I always say we gain
experience for the benefit of our friends: it enables us to give
excellent advice to others, but we never think of applying it to
ourselves."

"But the Regatta," we interrupted, more interested in that than in the
indiscretions of the widow. "We knew nothing about it, and thought of
leaving you on Saturday. Is it worth staying for?"