The old residence was to be re-bought, and refurnished from France; the _avant scène_ at the opera had been engaged; the old cook was to be hired back from the club at a fabulous price; the old balls and the old dinners were to gladden the city--so said they who seemed to know. Nothing was to be spared, nothing stinted--at her age, with no child or relative, and life running short for pleasure. Diamonds, laces, velvets, champagne, Château Yquem--"Grand Dieu Seigneur!" the old Creole servants exclaimed, raising their hands at the enumeration of it. Where the news came from nobody knew, but everything was certified and accepted as facts, although, as between women, the grain of salt should have been used. Impatience waxed, until nearly every day some one would ring the bell of the old residence, to ask when the mistress was going to move in. And such affectionate messages! And people would not, simply could not, be satisfied with the incomprehensible answers. And then it leaked out. The old lady was simply waiting for everything to arrive--furniture, toilets, carriage, etc.--to make a grand _entrée_ into her old sphere; to come riding on a throne, as it were. And still the time passed, and she did not come. Finally two of the clever-heads penetrated the enigma: _mauvaise honte_, shyness--so long out of the world, so old; perhaps not sure of her welcome. So they determined to seek her out. [Illustration: THE ROOM IN THE OLD GALLERY.] "We will go to her, like children to a grandmother, etc. The others have no delicacy of sentiment, etc. And she will thus learn who really remember, really love her, etc." Provided with congratulatory bouquets, they set forth. It is very hard to find a dweller on the very sea-bottom of poverty. Perhaps that is why the effort is so seldom made. One has to ask at grocers' shops, groggeries, market-stalls, Chinese restaurants; interview corner cobblers, ragpickers, gutter children. But nothing is impossible to the determined. The two ladies overcame all obstacles, and needled their way along, where under other circumstances they would not have glanced, would have thought it improper to glance. They were directed through an old, old house, out on an old, old gallery, to a room at the very extreme end. "Poor thing! Evidently she has not heard the good news yet. We will be the first to communicate it," they whispered, standing before the dilapidated, withered-looking door. Before knocking, they listened, as it is the very wisdom of discretion to do. There was life inside, a little kind of voice, like some one trying to hum a song with a very cracked old throat. The ladies opened the door. "Ah, my friend!" "Ah, my friend!" "Restored!" "Restored!" "At last!" "At last!" "Just the same!" "Exactly the same!" It was which one would get to her first with bouquet and kiss, competition almost crowding friendship. "The good news!" "The good news!" "We could not stay!" "We had to come!" "It has arrived at last!"