“Oh, yes; I’m expecting him at half-past four. He had to go for a ride with the two Du Buits. They’re coming to tea here, too,” said Germaine. “Gone for a ride with the two Du Buits? But when?” cried Marie quickly. “This afternoon.” “He can’t be,” said Marie. “My brother went to the Du Buits’ house after lunch, to see Andre and Georges. They went for a drive this morning, and won’t be back till late to-night.” “Well, but—but why did the Duke tell me so?” said Germaine, knitting her brow with a puzzled air. “If I were you, I should inquire into this thoroughly. Dukes—well, we know what dukes are—it will be just as well to keep an eye on him,” said Jeanne maliciously. Germaine flushed quickly; and her eyes flashed. “Thank you. I have every confidence in Jacques. I am absolutely sure of him,” she said angrily. “Oh, well—if you’re sure, it’s all right,” said Jeanne. The ringing of the telephone-bell made a fortunate diversion. Germaine rushed to it, clapped the receiver to her ear, and cried: “Hello, is that you, Pierre? ... Oh, it’s Victoire, is it? ... Ah, some presents have come, have they? ... Well, well, what are they? ... What! a paper-knife—another paper-knife! ... Another Louis XVI. inkstand—oh, bother! ... Who are they from? ... Oh, from the Countess Rudolph and the Baron de Valery.” Her voice rose high, thrilling with pride. Then she turned her face to her friends, with the receiver still at her ear, and cried: “Oh, girls, a pearl necklace too! A large one! The pearls are big ones!” “How jolly!” said Marie. “Who sent it?” said Germaine, turning to the telephone again. “Oh, a friend of papa’s,” she added in a tone of disappointment. “Never mind, after all it’s a pearl necklace. You’ll be sure and lock the doors carefully, Victoire, won’t you? And lock up the necklace in the secret cupboard.... Yes; thanks very much, Victoire. I shall see you to-morrow.” She hung up the receiver, and came away from the telephone frowning. “It’s preposterous!” she said pettishly. “Papa’s friends and relations give me marvellous presents, and all the swells send me paper-knives. It’s all Jacques’ fault. He’s above all this kind of thing. The Faubourg Saint-Germain hardly knows that we’re engaged.” “He doesn’t go about advertising it,” said Jeanne, smiling. “You’re joking, but all the same what you say is true,” said Germaine. “That’s exactly what his cousin Madame de Relzières said to me the other day at the At Home she gave in my honour—wasn’t it, Sonia?” And she walked to the window, and, turning her back on them, stared out of it. “She HAS got her mouth full of that At Home,” said Jeanne to Marie in a low voice. There was an awkward silence. Marie broke it: “Speaking of Madame de Relzières, do you know that she is on pins and needles with anxiety? Her son is fighting a duel to-day,” she said. “With whom?” said Sonia. “No one knows. She got hold of a letter from the seconds,” said Marie.