notice a linnet when a bird of paradise was about, however sweet her
voice? Tell me that, my dear?"

Paul Harley aroused himself and laughed heartily.

"Yet," he said, "I think with Miss Beverley, that this love of elegance
does not always make for happiness. Surely it is the cause of half the
domestic tragedies in France?"

"Ah, the French love elegance," cried Madame, shrugging, "they cannot
help it. To secure what is elegant a Frenchwoman will sometimes forget
her husband, yes, but never forget herself."

"Really, Marie," protested the Colonel, "you say most strange things!"

"Is that so, Juan?" she replied, casting one of her queer glances in
his direction; "but how would you like to be surrounded by a lot of
drabs, eh? That man, Mr. Knox," she extended one white hand in the
direction of Colonel Menendez, the fingers half closed, in a gesture
which curiously reminded me of Sarah Bernhardt, "that man would notice
if a parlourmaid came into the room with a shoe unbuttoned. Poof! if we
love elegance it is because without it the men would never love
_us_."

Colonel Menendez bent across the table and kissed the white fingers in
his courtier-like fashion.

"My sweet cousin," he said, "I should love you in rags."

Madame smiled and flushed like a girl, but withdrawing her hand she