Madame never indulges in any strictures on the new wife, rather she treats the matter as an untoward accident to be made the best of; she is not so short-sighted as to show the slightest malice. Then she takes Laura back to the reception and is interested in hearing who was there and what was done, who was a bore, who is worth inviting, and so on, until Laura finds she has stayed unconscionably. After her visitor is gone she writes the daintiest of epistles, quite as a loving daughter might. She means to sap all the outer fortifications; she even considers if it will not be wise to invite Marcia some time. To say that Mrs. Grandon is delighted is a weak word. Nothing has ever so taken her by storm since Laura's engagement. She carries the letter to Floyd. Had madame foreseen this? "Of course you will go." His eyes are on the letter, where every stroke of the pen, every turn of the sentence, are so delicate. The faint perfume, which is of no decided scent, touches him, too; he has never known any one quite so perfect in all the accessories, quite so harmonious. "How can I?" she says, fretfully. "There is no one to look after the house." Floyd laughs at that. "I should suppose the servants might be trusted, and surely Marcia knows enough to order a meal. You do need a holiday. Come, just think you can go. I shall be in the city a good deal the next month, and as Freilgrath has a domicile of his own--yes, you must answer this immediately." She has a few other flimsy objections, but Floyd demolishes everything, and almost threatens to write for her. There is no reason why they should not all be good friends, even if he has married another person; and he has a real desire to see Madame Lepelletier. He wants to smooth out some little roughnesses that rather annoy him when he thinks of them. So Mrs. Grandon writes that Floyd will bring her down at the required date. Then madame has not miscalculated. She goes to a reception at the Vandervoorts', to a charming tea at the Latimers'. People are talking about Freilgrath and Mr. Grandon, and some new discoveries, as well as the general improvement in science and literature. There is an "air" about the "house Latimer" very charming, very refined, and madame fits into it like the frontispiece to a book, without which it would not be quite perfect. "What an extremely fascinating woman!" is the general comment. Mrs. Grandon has been flurried and worried up to the last moment. She is afraid her gowns are _passe_, that she looks old for her years, and that her prestige as Mrs. James Grandon is over forever. But the instant she steps into the hall at madame's the nervousness falls away like an uncomfortable wrap. The air is warm and fragrant, but not close, the aspect of everything is lovely, cosey, restful. A figure in soft array comes floating down the stairs.