retied like a cravat; she must needs take it as it was. As they passed
along, returning the salutations of all the guests who were so eager to
smile upon them, Sidonie had a momentary thrill of pride, of satisfied
vanity. Unhappily it did not last. In a corner of the room sat a young
and attractive woman whom nobody invited to dance, but who looked on at
the dances with a placid eye, illumined by all the joy of a first
maternity. As soon as he saw her, Risler walked straight to the corner
where she sat and compelled Sidonie to sit beside her. Needless to say
that it was Madame "Chorche." To whom else would he have spoken with
such affectionate respect? In what other hand than hers could he have
placed his little Sidonie's, saying: "You will love her dearly, won't
you? You are so good. She needs your advice, your knowledge of the
world."

"Why, my dear Risler," Madame Georges replied, "Sidonie and I are old
friends. We have reason to be fond of each other still."

And her calm, straightforward glance strove unsuccessfully to meet that
of her old friend.

With his ignorance of women, and his habit of treating Sidonie as a
child, Risler continued in the same tone:

"Take her for your model, little one. There are not two people in the
world like Madame Chorche. She has her poor father's heart. A true
Fromont!"

Sidonie, with her eyes cast down, bowed without replying, while an
imperceptible shudder ran from the tip of her satin shoe to the topmost
bit of orange-blossom in her crown. But honest Risler saw nothing.