those very same circles of London society into which she herself had
vainly striven to penetrate.

Now at last, one of this same hated class, provoked beyond self-control,
was allowing childish and unreasoning fury to outstrip the usual calm
irony of aristocratic rebuffs.

Juliette had paused awhile, in order to check the wrathful tears which,
much against her will, were choking the words in her throat and blinding
her eyes.

"Hoity! toity!" laughed Candeille, "hark at the young baggage!"

But Juliette had turned to Marguerite and began explaining volubly:

"My mother's jewels!" she said in the midst of her tears, "ask her how she
came by them. When I was obliged to leave the home of my fathers,--
stolen from me by the Revolutionary Government --I contrived to retain
my mother's jewels ... you remember, I told you just now. ... The Abbe
Foucquet--dear old man! Saved them for me ... that and a little money
which I had ... he took charge of them ... he said he would place them in
safety with the ornaments of his church, and now I see them round that
woman's neck ... I know that he would not have parted with them save
with his life."

All the while that the young girl spoke in a voice half-choked with sobs,
Marguerite tried with all the physical and mental will at her command to
drag her out of the room and thus to put a summary ending to this
unpleasant scene. She ought to have felt angry with Juliette for this
childish and senseless outburst, were it not for the fact that somehow she